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I've found you, runnning everywhere
in my bloodstream
I've found you, to be the power source
for my heartbeat
I've found you, to be the essential part
in a perfect dream
#notes#
Yes I do feel very attracted to her
I must admit
M-E 3d
1.
I thought
but before, I took a pill to not
Thought in a screaming pillow
In a muddy grave and shallow
That mind that shall to think
began heating
That heart that shall to love
stopped beating
Not dead, I'm not
Just the pill's effect
The soulmate that I reject

2.
Feeling weightless
Numbness throbbing in all limbs
Then eyes opened on a dream
Awake on the world's stream
Pouring in a cup that cannot be filled
Pouring grieve that cannot be milled
nor be healed.
I've put out his flames in an ashtray

3.
I dreamed that one day I will wake up
Grow as my dreams grow up
Shrink as my hopes shrunk
Then realize it's another box.
Corey Feb 4
it was a soft, palpable silence that can only occur in the absence of familiarity. there was plenty of sound, but it all felt—empty.

the babbling of the steam, accompanied by the calm rustle of leaves as a slow wind crept upstream. the humming and singing of the birds high above. the occasional croak of the far off frog, or splash of an unidentified creature returning to the brisk water.

my toes felt the chill as i stepped in myself. grainy water brushed by my feet—abrasive from the debris i knocked up with my heavy step. smooth rocks poking at my soles.

the water sloshed as i dragged my shin through the stream feeling the cold slowly take over my body. venturing deeper than i thought the stream got. the smooth small rocks underneath my feet turned to slippery stones that shifted under my weight, but that i wouldn’t be able to lift.

my toe stubbed into a softer object just as the water had reached my chest. i paused, feeling the rush of water pass by every part of my body. my feet feeling a slow pull to my left, while my torso was being pushed heavily in the same direction.

the softer object was the root of the tree on the opposite side of the stream. i stepped on it, slipping twice before finding my way up. i climbed the labyrinth of roots out of the stream and stood on the sloped trunk. it was not a fallen tree, but contorted. it sloped out above the water.

i crawled up the trunk passing branches that were beginning to turn barren with the colder weather. i sat near the end, high above the water. i watched the water flow past me. i watched a few leaves fall in and get rushed away. i watched the branches around me slightly sway with the wind.

i saw a fawn drinking from the water upstream. i watched it lift its head for a quick look around, then down to continue drinking. it showed no sign of knowing my presence despite how i broke the silence: the splash of an unidentified creature returning to the water—among the singing birds i was surrounded by, the croak of a far off frog, the rustle of leaves with the slow wind, and the babbling stream below.
shamamama Jan 27
Streambed calls to you
Calls to you to share its stories
Trickling water over rocks
Melt into your timeless day,
Your hands gently caress the living water
You feel its gentleness,
Its strength, its current flowing
through your soul

Where are the fish you seek?

As you sit,
Palms dip in water,
Slowly, Slowly
They come, one by one,
To your cup of hands
Curious, cautious
Tasting finger, nail, knuckle

Cupping them gently
Seeing their colors and shapes
Testing their braveness
Wiggling fingers, they dart and dash
This is your way of fishing

Young hand touching fish,
human spirit touching the spirt of fish
You sense one another
How long can you visit?

Land friend meets water friend
This is what you mean by fishing
fishing, nature, human spirit, young child, living water
mint Jan 22
I have felt the weight of so many feelings pile up inside me over the years
The top layer of myself is composed of a loss for words
I fell in love once and back then it was as if the words would never stop flowing out of me
Poem after poem pouring out of my soul about a girl who i ended up falling so completely out of love with
Ever since then i have looked at my notebooks, stray post it notes once equipped for a passionate flurry of words to be smattered onto and then neatly folded into an origami heart  
I’ve looked at them and felt only loss
Falling out of love overtook me as slowly as falling in
Shy moments persistently becoming noticed until i realized that
I wasnt who i used to be when this all began
And honestly?
I dont know who i am anymore
I really don’t
And perhaps that’s why i havent found the words yet
These past few months i have been urging myself to write, write, write,
You know you will want to remember what this is like so write
But i looked inside myself and all i saw was a confusing blob, a living person with questions for organs and i didn’t know what to do
What had become of who i was
And so i pushed writing away
Words that so easily poured from my fingertips, trapped behind a self made dam
I felt silly
I feel silly
How to i begin to describe that i no longer recognize myself
That the image of who i was
A scared angry depressed teenager has been smeared at, scratched away with rough greedy hands
And i am left looking at an empty husk of an adult
A living breathing ‘what could be’
And i am lost
And i dont know
I must really admit, i know nothing- at all.
i havent written a poem in months. I kept stressing and worrying so i decided to just, let my brain do what it wants. And this is wat it did.
Sharon Talbot Jan 19
Half a mile downstream from the crumbling bridge,
The river began to break up too,
Into washouts and rock-bound pools.

Aged promontories, sandy shores, from
Primeval rivers, compressed by time
From granite, stood sentinel over the rush.
Against these broke hurtling, grey-green waves,
Spitting high in defiance at the rocks’ impasse,
Slowing but briefly, swirling angrily
On their way back to the waiting sea.

Upon a high outcrop, I took up my post
Rod in hand, watching the helpless worm
On his way to death, by whatever claimed him first.
I had not put him there, being squeamish,
“Mindless flesh,” a poet friend had dubbed them.
Still, my companions rigged him on the hook,
In exchange for keeping their joints burning.
Not smoking, I thought, but taking puff after puff,
As my bait was laid on the rack for sacrifice.

We scattered after all our poles were baited,
Claiming ancient pools and all inside them as our own.
I stood highest, near the fiercest waters that shook the rock,
Braced in the March air against the icy spray.
I was there, I told myself, because two men
Needed to catch a fish and prove themselves.
Yet they faded like ghosts into the gloam of evenfall,
As absorption overtook me, and I began to care.
Cast after cast into the roiling waters
Just where the waterfall fumed and broke.

Soon, it was only my goal, and nothing else,
To wage an age-old war against a artful foe.
Each strike brought me hope and each loss determination
Not anger but resolve to outwit them at a game
Invented eons ago by humankind,
And learned by trout to save themselves.
What happened after was of no concern to me,
But let me catch them for the sake of having it be.
The contest alone was all to me, it seemed,
Yet winning the only outcome I could see.

I had pulled three young trout from the churning water,
Energized despite their mediocre size,
When there came a tug just beneath my perch that taunted,
Promising the battle I craved.
So I cast the remnants of my sacrificial bait
Upstream, where currents swept it beneath my feet,
And there he was! No doubt the oldest trout in the hills,
Lingering below me to tease my newfound ****.
I set the hook well, so I thought, and reeled him high,
Fifteen inches long and heavy as he twisted in mid-air.
He thrashed like a madman above the rock,
Just beyond my reach,
--Then was gone…

When all was over, I had three fingerlings, not much,
While my helpful companions had none for all their work.
I told them not to fret, that it was merely luck,
But I knew better. When they asked me what I did
To catch the few, wee fish who now sizzled in the pan,
I answered haltingly, already memories fading of my quest,
Finally telling my rivals that I knew not why
Capturing a fish meant so much on that day.
“I do,” said one with a laugh.” I asked “Why?”
“It’s easy to explain,” he said…”you were high!”

?
Sharon Talbot
Based on a true story from long ago.
ice flow
in river
there milt
on milk
island but
that gilt
below steal
bridge was
back flow
and rip
down quarter
as German
maniple wouldn't
impede this
on the
canal in
the junction
Pete King Dec 2018
I stopped striving for the perfect year,
Because my concept of "perfection" was flawed.
I was chasing a scenario in which,
I could go a full rotation of the sun
without anything going astray,
All my dreams being fulfilled.

This search for perfection,
Was like looking at a window,
And being annoyed because
All I could see was a sheet of glass.

But, I decided to alter my desires;
Try to live single year in hopes of good autobiography.

Meaning;
To say yes more often.
And say no when needed.
To relish in successes.
And learn from mistakes.
To love without exception.
And to be kind without expectation.
To revel in every single wonderful moment as they come,
And not letting their fleeting nature feed the bitter parts of me.

Don't chase the perfect year.
Chase an amazing story.
Leave readers captivated.
And your grandkids bored-to-death.
Poetic T Dec 2018
The condensation of our deeds
           dripped like rain on the glass.
Steaming up the virtues that
              weren't spoken.
But deeds condensed within
                                      our actions.

We spoke no syllables,
               but everyone
               was etched in clenched fists
                               against moist glass.

His kisses where like streams running
           down my back, to the reservoir
of passion dripping over the fringe of
                                      my gasping waves.

Each was crashing in strength,
                         and I drowned
                                             within him.
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