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eleanor prince Jul 2019
I still wear her shawl
hand knitted
gravel-toned

not an item
I'd buy in a shop
but it's so Mrs. Saks

lamb soft
under many layers
of crusty chill

she'd have it on
standing all of
five feet tall

hands on her hips
peering sharply
down her steep drive

her wooden hut
buried in rambling thorns
of isolation

I'd ask about her life
in the old country
for her as if yesterday

in broken English
she'd tell of the scenes
that bitter day

I'd make notes
to write that essay
so people see

her checklist
sharp as martensite
toughened steel

of mountain fire
fathers and sons
picked off

mothers' wails
silenced
made to look

their babies smashed
screaming in shallow soil
as soldiers laughed

hyenas glibly stealing
a people's jewels
not seeing

the core
lived on
still
Poetic T Jan 2019
Though we wish,
             can we ever find our
                    prince charming..


A shoe may fit, but is it comfortable.


And our happy ever after is but a moment,
         of chemical imbalances before we realise.
  

That we should have smashed
                                  the happy ever after.  
As glass always cuts deep
                                   it only takes time.
Jenn Dec 2018
I always used to say you broke me
as a metaphor
in my poetry
but now that I’m thinking about it

you actually did…
Stepped on, squandered, smashed.
Thrown, trampled, trashed.

Everyone passing you by,
Not wanting to look you in the eye.

They think you're ugly,
Glancing at you smugly.

What they don't know,
Is that you bestow

A beauty they can't even comprehend.
For I think you set a trend.

A trend of great love and beauty,
Who's splattered cement still smells fruity.

They'll never know you like I do,
So let's bid them all Adieu.
Blubber
Sometimes I get tired
Of all the blubber
The grinding of systems
The metal to the rubber

The pushing of points
The singing to the choir
Pickaxe in place of featherc
Look there's a bird upon the wire

Maybe potions going dry
No thank you please
And fingers going all stiff
While here awaits the feast

And vases laying all smashed
Words sitting there all torn
Lets gather the broken scraps
Rearrange them and be reborn

Maybe it's me and only me
Closing an old and tattered page
Maybe I've overstayed my welcome
On an old and creaky stage

Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now
The crows I think they've left
But the cinders upon ash
Still burn bright upon this hearth

Out into the clearing
See it twinkling up ahead
An inkling of some something
Some of us have thought of and said

Merlin's done it agian
Con-Ed's shut down
Tesla's come into power
And White Bear gets his crown
Oh
And
George Carlin is pope
Shakespeare is president
They both know the ropes
And you what ya think?
Wink, wink
Old out dated systems gone haywire, personally,socially, politically. A system soaked in ideals we call 'civilized'.........from my collection The Situation@amazonbooks/taralizdriscoll
Dolly Balou Mar 2018
Betrayal.
That's where it began.

I felt my womb retract deep within my being.
There was a tie between this and my heart, although broken, this I knew.

My heart became overcome with pain, fear, disbelief.
I felt it stop repeatedly.
Beats irregular.
Stunted.
Deafening.

Crumbling into a heap on the grass I cradled my womb as I rocked back and forth, hoping this may stop the pain and retching occurring from within.

Time and space became distorted.
Sound too.

Everything within was shattered.
My spirit was broken.
My skin crawling with terror at the mere fact of my deepest fears now occurring before my eyes.

My physical being attempted to expel the trauma through emesis.
Wailing as an attempt to free the terminal despair.
This was unsuccessful.

I have never felt my eyes flow so extensively in such a small amount of time.
No matter what I done, I was left in a torturous state of hysteria.

How could he rip my heart, womb, soul and trust apart.
Everything I gave.
Everything he said.
Everything we made.

Gone.
Kitt Aug 2017
Chapped lips carry a searing burn
in memory of your scalding kisses
So thus they ache and yearn
throbbing in agonizing reminiscence

As we sought the key that might unstuck
the hallowed steel floodgates of our innocence
We found instead a stroke of bittersweet luck
in respect, I vowed to resist my own appetence

I meet you here in the overgrown tangle of garden
that once nurtured what I let fall to waste
Under the pale moonlight laden in pardon
that I beg from you as I crave another taste

Smashing my precious memories
shattering my gears
Now I beg mercy of my former self
as she caves to icy fears.
Ashna Alee Khan Jun 2017
I was like  
a flaming Tyre  
  
hurtling  
down a mountain:  
  
when it hit a rock  
bounced up  
  
smashed back down  
  
splashed  
burning blobs  
on everyone  
  
...then  
kept going
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