Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
Panicked mechanical howls
echo off the silver moon
blankets the summer crisp air
blending in with the ghosts of the weeds
and the angels in the trees
flashing lights blocading the streets
in hopes of preventing tragedy
every night it’s Hamlet out on this street
this stage has been played a hundred times
the ending never changes
nadine shane Aug 2018
when i am with you,
i feel
particles of myself
slowly sweep away
until
i am no more
than an empty entity
of existence.

instead,
i am
a melancholic siren;
consternation constanly emerges
from the salty ocean
i baptize myself in
to rid myself
of the blood of agony
on my lips.

sailors enchanted
by the wicked melody
i speak of;
eyes closed shut,
listening closely to
the languages
my mouth formed;
demise imbuing
their eyes
for this sonata
is bewitching yet atrocious.

yet you pay
no heed
to my woes,
even after the
nights transitioned
into light years;

i call for you,
you dare not
look back at me;
for i looked
just like everybody else,

just another
mistaken identity.
z, this one’s for you.
galio Apr 2016
she is not the innocence
of the sweet ladies in the water
but the sirens that call to me
beckoning,
never touching

she no longer resembles
the sunset at the ocean
but the violent waves
that tossed the ship

and she is never the sunshine
that guided my mast to shore
but the red light, the fog
that left me wondering
and
lost
Sara Jul 2018
My heart is whole
but it has sharp edges.
It got wet on my sleeve;
now, it hangs from my necklace

-round like a pendant; hurt hangs
round my neck with a vengeance:
like a lighthouse on a dark night,
blinding sailors. It’s offensive.

It draws them near like a siren's call,
but the sky bleeds red at the first sign of morning.
The captain is certain he'll lock land at dawn,
but does any siren ever sing a song without a warning?
Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning; red sky at night, sailor's delight.
Sharon Talbot Jul 2018
A subsonic growl emerges
As the red wolf plunges forth
From his concrete cave.
He shoulders aside the weaker creatures,
In his rush, for the men inside
Live for the hunt.
The siren howl is high at first,
Wild and eager, hysterical.
As he gains his stride
On the pavement path,
His whine swings into a rocking pulse,
Keeping time with the fire,
Or the blood spurting from a man.
Behind the pack there is a white dog,
Sturdy and square, trained and sure,
With a lyrical howl.
He keeps pace yet there is no lust
For the hunt, no need for blood.
They circle the waiting disaster,
Disgorging men in black and white,
The hulks rumble as they wait.
Wolves lick up the flames
While the white-dressed men
Lap up the blood.
The wolf prowls as the flames die
But stands guard as the
White dog points to the man.
He has chosen to save.
A fire truck roared somewhere in town and it made me think of the growl of a wolf. The white truck is obviously an ambulance and the white wolves are EMT's! I know, it's absurd imagery but I had some fun with it.
Asiah Mangham Jun 2018
Constant competition with your mind and body.
Giving a lick only to receive it 10x harder.
The sirens of you wale.
The louder they become the more unaware you become to the feeling.
It's not a fight anymore ... Just a beat down.
trf May 2018
i rest my head gently
against wooden beams,
cigarette smoke clouds
pillow case dreams

on a star spangled night
dangling feet off a ledge,
the moon bends light
along a noose i've pledged

the devil calls my name
the weight pulls me down
the angels aren't to blame
ignore their siren sound

i kneel beside my bed
and shake my fists above
this reckless life i've led
sings blue cobalt love
Overlooking Star mountain, my backyard's landscape; I like to have a break, dangle my bare feet over a 60 foot drop and try to smile. It's a sight to behold.
Next page