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Rickey Spence Mar 12
12/9/2021

Sitting in this parking lot, the blasting sirens wail outside,
I watch the flashing clouds, the spreading lightning,
I feel the pulling wind, the pressing sky,
I watch the empty streets, the waving trees,
I hear it raining on my roof, the crickets in December,
And I really hope I’m not an idiot, sitting in this parking lot.
gray Jul 2021
Take me to the place I know.
The lake that looks cold, where the wind stings your skin.
Take me there, away from here. Away from
saltine tears and diminishing reality.

Take me to the place I think I know.
The cliff by the sea, where the waves crash loudly.
Take me there, take me anywhere.

I don't even know what is reality.
Mikko May 2021
Discredit not the busy honey bee,
or the hedgehog that makes the grasses stir
The old owl that makes it's nest in the fir
Admire the deer pacing the woods with glee!
No bard does justice to the roaring sea,
no sculptor the grace of a wild flower
Or the nurturing of a rain shower,
or majesty of an ancient oak tree

The beauty of Nature, a peaceful sight
Like swans taking flight in the rose sunset
Deep deserts where small foxes show no fear
of man, and to feel a thunderstorm's might
All these wondrous things and more can be met
on this miracle, blue-green biosphere
Throwback from 2014, wrote this on a trip to Lapland. I usually write from a completely introverted standpoint, just spewing emotions so this observatorial description of nature-avenue is very foreign to me. However when a landscape is beautiful enough, it evokes something.
Hussein Dekmak Apr 2021
The elderly man who used to greet me with a soft smile, while sitting on the bench in front of his lawn, is no longer around!

The bench is still there, yet the elderly man had been replaced by his grim - faced grandson playing on his phone!

As I pass by the bench, I wonder what type of legacy the elderly man had left behind!

Hussein Dekmak
Edited 2
Erian Rose May 2020
her eyes shielded the pain
under ocean waves
setting dusk of sunset haze
she saw the world
at a different side of things
Jessica S Sep 2018
It’s not you, it’s me. I know we’ve been going strong for quite sometime now but to be honest, I’ve found myself very unhappy with who I’ve become. I know we’ve gotten immensely comfortable with each other but in comfort, there is no growth. So I need to start taking risk. I need to start coloring outside of the lines because it has the potential to be something magnificent and beautiful. And if it isn’t, that ok too. Because chaos doesn’t always have to lead to madness, for there is truth in chaos, and that is what I want to find; my truth, my voice, my story.

I’ve held myself back because of this fear that I am not good enough, that I don’t have what it takes; that I don’t actually have anything important to say. But there’s something inside of me; something strong and powerful that wants to be heard. So who am I to cage that in? Look, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t afraid, because to be honest, I’m terrified. But I think I need to live in this fear for a while to really understand what I’m capable of. I need to push myself and expand the dimensions of who I am to be able to see what I can accomplish.

I’ve been so focused on not failing that I stopped trying. I found solace in your presence and made excuses to not writing. But I can’t be that person anymore. I’m sorry Writer’s Block, I need to set myself free.
Colm Jun 2018
With every month that fades away, don't live in fear of what you're forgetting. But try anew as you always have, to find the truth of you, in each new setting...
New. Welcome. Good luck.
Donald Durham Mar 2018
you are all infinite
you, my children of the night
pagan wanderers on destinies lips
patrons of the streets, lonely, empty, wanting
I seen a generation fall
I seen a generation crumble
and be reborn.
You my midnight sorcerers on deaths hitlist
listless and searching
I seen the dance of a power divide
Ego denied, angry id, broken steps
steps
steps
steps
we walk steps in the open,
we talked talks of confession to the night
it held us, comforted us
We the unwanted zombies
of unheard promises and dysfunctional rational
you are all beautiful
undaunted by the lines
the crooked lines, cut mishapen, disater mishappen
Cheers to my world, my surrounding reality
scared and scarred by tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow
My vagabond lies, my homeless truths
You, my enormous, analytical algorythms of disobedience
of disorder, of chaos
Musicians playing perpetual reqiuems
Jazz of the dead, jazz of the wanderer, jazz of the beautiful
Show your hand, yell your claim
stake your play.
concrete mazes, blinding buildings, urban solitute
I have found you, I have seen you,
you poets of denial, poets of disaster
Prose of temptation
Words of lament
Speak to me my children of the perpetual night
My children of music, of poetry, of paintings telling me the broken down minds, the sacrificed
economy of love
I am lost in these streets
I am at home in the unknown
I am nothing but a dream, denied
We are together
all together, here, here and now
Lost together
Crowded solitude
Lets be solidified as one
You, my children are emptied of being full
full of unknown, full of yourselves and filled with *****
Drunken stories of lullabies lost
Pour me another, make it a double. doubled down truth
hit me
Cigarette stained finger tips
Plucked tense strings,
Strings so tense you could feel their vibration
We sit, listening, ears pointed at God,
Waiting to be lulled into compliance
I have seen your cigarette stained
Finger tips
Pluck strings of lament and prophecy
Sing me into your future
Oh beautiful melody
Oh wandering progressions
Telling tales of my transgressions
Oh trusty chords
Lovers speak only lies,
With cigarette gently sleeping between exhausted lips
Let us lie here
Here in this desolate desert moonscape
Forlorn homeless shelter
New antiqued flashood of home
I have seen us staring
Staring into the void,
Into the fullness of emptiness
These are not just dreams
Fevered and sweating out the ingested fungus
They are the dystopian dreams of
Every young adult novel
Of every science fiction, battered, back pocket edition
Dog eared, notes in the margins, yellowed with love, book.
They are the lost bibles of us,
Of our current histories and our future stories.
My friends
Gathered, exuberant, broken and shattered
Passing time on the the stools of inebriation
Come forth and be counted
The artist hang burnt offering from crimson skies
Sacrifices of the soul
Sacrifices of humanity
Exercises of humility
Stand here before me and and be chastised
A public flogging, a private shaming
A social satired informal gathering
Gaining peer reviewed synthetically blended praise
The dab hazed hipsters
Losing time,
faking time,
Cutting lines, sparking fires inside
Burn
Burn
Burn
Lose me in the iridescent, fill me in with acrylic
Wash me out with acid and cry-
Cry over me, cry with me
I am nothing, and we are everything.
This is still a work in progress, I am very proud of it and it does need some editing, so if any one would like to lend me their red pen skills, I'd be much appreciated. Also, like I said it's not done. I desire for this poem to run about 15 minutes.
Lylock Jan 2018
Of sleepless summer nights
And lazy days at noon
The sun stays longer
Before rousing the moon
From a frozen sleep
When midnight  wanes
Shortly after sunset
But the light outside still
From the sleepless city
Dawn burning till come again
No real darkness to call to sleep
No comfort cold to steal up
On limber haunches
To call the hour
And ***** the lights out
Instead of this
A warmth unfamiliar
That calls for a coverless sleep
And the stillness that holds
For the hazy summer
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