Riley Myers Feb 13
It wasn't your fault at all
I didn't know who to call, But
You were still in my logs

Always think of your face
An animal I couldn't tame, Yet
I know that nobody's to blame

Working on making it better
Know that it only gets better
I might never let you go
You always make me better
Help me out, under the weather
I might never let you go

I didn't know how to do it
Guess it's only true if the shoe fits
Can't we just watch a movie?

You always think I'm a player;
Got some things I ain't said yet.
Do you really want a relationship?

Working on making it better
Know that it only gets better
I might never let you go
You always make me better
Help me out, under the weather
I might never let you go
Just about the passing time between building trust and having a relationship.
sarah Feb 8
"so you want to be a singer?

well i've got the key

just spread your legs
turn around
head down

don't you know I can make you
or break you?

a little of you in return is all i ask"
I had an odd thought earlier

"I can't sing a duet."

Either I allow my voice to robotically melt into their's
Stealing their melody and warping into an ugly
flat version
that doesn't quite sound beautiful to the ears
(at least I match them... right?)

or I sing loudly
my own tune, my own key, my tongue it's own symphony
it's wonderfully beautiful, but I drown you out
A one woman show! Bravo! Bravo!
I become a solo act.

And then I thought

"Damn, I do the same thing in relationships..."
I can't seem to sing a duet.
molten i woke
to your understated
outro song
pulled aggressively
and left to resonate

i was crowded
at the corpse door
with the curtains drawn
only briefly wishing
phantom pain
on endless vigils
for a swollen soul

sealed the crypt
your moonlit recital ceased
to no applause
magick is everywhere,
in the twitch of a finger,
in the shift of a breath,
in the song of a singer,
in the life that follows death

magick is everything,
the turn of the page,
the feel of the spine,
the whisper of words
that wander through time

magick is everyone,
the lover at night,
the mother in birth,
the workers in the darkness
digging deep into the light

magick is everywhere,
in the shadows of her eyes,
in the pain beneath her soul,
in the tears one births at night
when the light becomes too cold
Medusa Dec 2017
I must go to sleep
For that is where I find him

My traveling first boyfriend.

I must sleep deep and well
This is how he finds me

My traveling first boyfriend.

I will rock myself to sleep
Knowing when and where to meet

My traveling first boyfriend.
A song I am writing for a singer who is a friend. Gonna be very jazzy I hear. I only write the lyrics!
G Rog Rogers Nov 2017
Time did not wash
Her memory away
Time could not
Her beauty fade

She was loved
by all who knew Her
So beautiful So perfect
Wonderful in every way

She always said
She was a singer
That modeling
was a lark

She was a
wondrous singer
and a strikingly
beautiful model

She then the rage
of all around
The stars were
then for Her arranged

She was like lightning
striking minds with beauty
and touching hearts
with caring joy

But love was what
She was all about

We shared our life
and shared our love
But tragedy struck
and we both moved on

Many years went by
when I got the
saddest news
that She was gone

Taken early in life
and now passed on

Oh my Precious Darling
Whom I still love
Now forever
alive no more

Yet still I pray God
She is blessed in Heaven
Because She was
so wonderful
in life on Earth.


this anonymous weaver spun written tapestry
to acknowledge ninetieth plus longevity year
no matter this author unknown, who deftly tries to weave
(for pete sakes) with english poetry
where rhyming threads fire away (from axons to neurons)
at warp speed way out there
attempting to coalesce into
semblance of comprehension from non other than me
a veritable stranger, who considers
ye huff hoke icon, that hoop fully destiny will spare

until one grain of sand takes thee
to eternal blue skies astride astral throne like king henry
with minstrelsy folks housed
the memories hermetically sealed place
thy father’s razed mansion no longer poised far and near
intent to discern adroit banjo finger
picking plucky talent admission for all – free,
whose eponymous trademark je nais sais quois
legendary voice rang like a bell jar in the air.

unsure if this epistle (possibly coming across
as mixed up) like mish mashed verse
ye might arrange and rearrange into a song
living in the country of upstate new york state
epitomizing spartan holistic existence somewhere
over the rainbow with hefty purse
exemplifying decades of fame and fortune
that odds on favorite moost did highly rate
your fount of endless lyrical musical natural playing style

auditory tunes ears did immerse
themselves from just one man’s hand
whether newlyweds who did marry a loving mate
or others exhaling final breath
afore crossing river jordan inside the hearse
while convoy chants favorite chorus abiyoyo
with standard amen for the late
mortal, whereby such preferential fanfare
for loss of precious friend family doth curse.

since thee became deceased no great expectations (by dickens)
feedback will be forth coming to this average joe
who chose to plunk himself down here
and simply let spontaneity take full rein
this spur of the moment ode
(perhaps difficult to comprehend),
oaf hello you will never know
and travel down shady lane

(more akin to boulevard of broken dreams) in the main
with elusive passion to live in tandem with nature
whereby garden this dad could hoe
reaping from sweat of thine brow afterward
upon festival of flowers this body will be lain
but spouse prepared siesta meal,
hence now end this rambling poem to go,
ponder trials and tribulations whilst in need to feed body and brain.

Xan Abyss Oct 2017
I am a Ghost
A lecherous imp with a golden heart staring from a distance at nymphs
in the blooded shine of sunset
Watching from the shadows;
Dreaming in the dark.
Desiring not to disurb
but desperately longing to be part of their world
Desire.... it is a curse
But one I am born to bear
I am a rogue
But one with love in his mineral heart
And joy he wishes to share
I dwell in a dark cave of phantom memories
Haunting me every day
I seek out Queens for company
But harbor a secret desire
to hold them as slaves
To keep them...
And ravish them....
Eternally lock them away..
To creep and crawl like an insect;
Devour the pain that they hide
Possess their body and mind...
To Physically,
Mentally linger inside.
Yet, I am but a child
Though deep in our hearts, aren't we all?
And if we aren't, how tragic,
That the magic should die at all.
And still, I am a man.
A man who knows what he wants.
A man who doesn't believe in borders,
A man with a purpose,
A man who is lost.
I am an angel,
A demon,
A passionate rambler indeed,
I am a dreamer,
A midnight screamer,
A farmer sowing his seeds.
I am imagination,
Wrapped in slight intoxication,
Disguised in a young
but aging man's body,
A plain tornado of human emotions.
So I write,
For I am a writer,
and I sing, so I am a singer,
and I live to perform,
(Which makes me a performer)
Wandering blind towards a sense of identity,
But my journey has gotten no warmer.
Despite this harsh truth,
my path remains clear
& I refuse to surrender to fear.
I have a destiny,
I can see it.
Even if plagued with unusual needs.
A complex person?
But who am I?
No idea.
Found this poem in the notes on my phone. I don't remember why or how I wrote it.
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