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Marina May 2020
Sitting in the front of shack,
I'm watching the rain falling.
Everything is so fresh,
All colours are very clear.

My cat is watching me,
Quietly from the high,
Wishing come down to me,
In his huge green eyes.

But he didn't make a move;
It's all in water and wet.
But that's ok i guess,
Still watching the rain.

The cat cought my look,
And i cought his look;
Playing the old look game,
Who's gonna blink first.

Thinking on victory, i lost.
The game made me laugh.
Both, still watching the rain,
Only in a different way.
This poem i wrote in 2 minutes. I don't know why but this moment was very inspiring. Anyway, i like this small and simple things that make me happy. This one was literally a droplet/little moment in my life.
Peter Farsje Feb 2020
Beware young and old alike
for the place that is a scary sight.
Its the Pirate's Cove
sure enough, by jove.

Protected by Sunset Reef,
raiders there will come to grief.

There amongst the shoals
many here have lost their souls.

Daring ones who venture
there by skiff,
often fail to spy their shack,
under the cliff.

The shack is there
though hard to see.
Tattered and weathered
and leaning alee.

Their fighting ship
is hard to seek,
for its hidden well up
the nearby creek.

Bloodthirsty pirates
ready to take your life,
to poke you or stab you
with their long, sharp knife.

In the early morning
they may be snoring,
after a wild night
of drinking and sporting.

Pray not wake them
or you risk your life,
by tasting the
bite of their trusty knife.

Seeking their chests
filled with gold
may land you down
in the depths so cold.

So lads and lasses
stay away
and live to see
another day.
baby since you don't
love me anymore
I feel splinters of pain
in my heart's core

you went away leaving
an aching so deep
why couldn't you stay
close to my keep

the void of emptiness
brings no elation
only the essence
of soul deprivation

baby them splinters
baby them splinters
baby them splinters
baby them splinters

you've gone and won't
ever be back
your love for me
but a destitute shack
The piece was inspired by a friend, she suggested that I write a poem about splinters...and this is what I came up with.
my thoughts are bricks
and i built a house out of them
a house with brick walls
and brick floors and a brick roof

they were heavy and hard
and weighing me down
but no one knew...
because i couldn't tell them

they wouldn't understand
why my bed was made of bricks
or why the bricks were caving in on me.

i found no comfort in my house
no solace or peace
i felt trapped

but you understood
and you taught me to not be afraid of the bricks
you showed me all the beautiful things i could build
and how i could paint them any color i wanted

you knocked down my house
and built me a castle

My mind is the house and the bricks are my thoughts.
Atypnoc Dec 2015
I was young, we were naive
we knew we had the option, but didn't see why anyone would ever leave
it was easier back then to give the benefit of doubt
to all the words rolling off of a forked tongue
it was easy to believe
when we were young. We were naive.
Arlo Disarray Oct 2015
Maybe they do it to drive me crazy
I don't know
But there are words constantly knocking on my skull, lining up, and begging to be chosen
I never choose wisely
I'm irrational
and sometimes I suspect I do it on purpose

I've never been one of those girls,
you know, one of those girls who looks happy
One of those people that are easily approached
I'm uninviting
Like a shack at the bottom of a dirt road
that's been boarded up
and the property line is covered in caution tape

My antiquated style has people baffled
My attitude turns people off
And when I actually try to be likable, I end up hating myself

If there was a direction to go, I'd take it
But every paved path is closed off for construction
And pretty soon, there won't be any direction at all
Just one place where we stand
and never move again
Atypnoc Sep 2015
We gather here a consciousness
coincidentally of convenience.
Derelict, the meek once scattered
were rejected,
by grace discovers providence
as brothers in uncommon sense-
                                                        -a­bilities receive projected
condemnation, misdirected.

be who you are,
you have done well-come be who you are.
M Eastman Aug 2015
I want to live
in a tin roofed shack
with a cooking fire underneath
that curls up its smoke
from under an iron ***
watch blue dark clouds
Roll in over the hours
so I can hear it's music
beat a rhythm out on my tin roof
Atypnoc Jan 2015
Comes quite quickly end denies
     No longer able fantasize
What a fool prioritize
     To feed myself such wicked lies
Overwhelms in tortured cries
     The only love ive known still dies
What a fool, you, I despise
     Feebly I demonize
Oh god agree **** compromise
     Take me instead this ****** surprise
So ******* wrong, internalize
     To walk your shoes arent my size
Someday dunno when realiez
     The good, the bad, and always dies

We all born will live to die
     Be so torn, we'll give our lies
Free to mourn all ****** goodbyes
     Agree adorned with compromise

I'm still here
Do they hear?
By all means what I held dear
Forest falling, no one near
I donno quite how I appear
All I know is we're

I'm still here
        good cheer
To thrive
       my dear
The drive
       to steer
Alive we hear

Alive we're here
From What the Shack Means to Me, prompted in November 2014 at
Ye old rickety shack
weathered by time
holding onto memories
of heavy snowfalls and blistering heat
What was life like before the cracks?

Ye old rickety shack
letting moonlight seep through you
revealing a flicker of life
in the night
Is there something more within you?

Ye old rickety shack
barely standing in the field
tossed aside
by the hands that created you
Did rejection hurt?

Ye old rickety shack
haven't moved in twenty years
a carcass stripped down to it's skeleton
to leave an ugly shell.
Did it hurt to die?

Ye old rickety shack
did it hurt?

Ye old rickety shack
did it?

Ye old rickety shack

— The End —