Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ken Pepiton Jun 20
The big ice is melting, you can't stop it.

It's not your fault. You did nothing. You were made for such a time.
You happened, to be live,
right.
Look, out o'body, like from the moon,

what part can we conntinue to ****? What part of
The earth, our spaceship spiraling through

the galaxy, you believe that, right? The galaxy,

one among, right, many many many galaxies, right? We know
somebody knows,

but me, do I know? You know, but me
the maker of this bubble

fractaling into
now.
All time in all place is now right now. Life the fool says has an end

thought speed. Time, endure in timeless thought

constant instant

----
cross di mention al for givin' me this opportunity
to compete
for your attention, in th enoise... e'therealorgnot

pause, plenty o' time, think about nothin'

Peace making is as intuitive as love making was when you...

did you ever, make
anything? Love as a word lacks the power folk claim it holds,

truth. There's the peacemaker's hammer, by god.
Truth.
Chains fallen from the oppressed,
captives all set free,

was that not the fast we fasted? What is this we see,
now?
******* mockin' wisdom of d'sages and richi-shitstictics
myst or mist
occlusin inclusion, bubble barrier, here

safe in no doubt, no fear, no lie, keep saying it,
till it's true,

or yu can imagine it is and see it was not due to you.
raw but timely, if y'ax me.
Hunter Green Jun 10
Does this wall that separates me,
From the chance I have to fully be free,
Require another, a strong and guiding future,
Some opposite to rectify, or is that just a rumor?

A rose in light dawning,
The life of the earth,
A season of thawing.
Oh golden light, leave me now,
This endless fight, something new to be found.
Paul Apr 8
First, a tundra in stasis;
a white-*****, emptied book
whose unmade letters sleep:
icy, furled, and blank. Then,

breath; a near audible thawing
of unbridled shapes and mute
fire; now, the bright stampede
of hooves breaking into the field. Next,

words.
a poem about the process of conceiving and writing a poem. hope you like it.
Chrissy Ade Mar 17
A snake will always be a snake
No matter how much you want it to change
You cannot will something to change
When it is comfortable in its skin
A snake will scour the terrains of this earth,
Slithering on its underbelly to patiently wait
For the perfect opportunity to present the perfect victim
A bite that strong will never infuse you with honey,
Sweetening your veins like a cup of coffee
No, a snake will permeate you with venom
Traveling through your blood like a wildfire,
Spreading its poison as fast it can
Burning everything from the inside out
Hoping to **** you in an instant
It feeds on the tragedy for breakfast
But savors the pain for dinner
Accept the nature of its ways
Because trust is foreign to a snake
Believing its heart can be thawed and saved
Is a waste of time
When its wickedness and deceit
Are the only things that can keep it alive
Long time, no post :P I found a writing prompt online where I had to include three specific words: snake, honey and thaw! I hope you guys like the end result of this!
Juhlhaus Feb 9
Mercury expands
As pinched faces are eased and
Flowers remembered
Hints of a thaw.
Johnny walker Nov 2018
Winter long last has arrived
I'll hibernate In order to
survive lack of money lack
of heating the expected
harshness of long drawn out
winter days got to used to the
exceptional summer we had
await the thaw the arrival of
Spring again sun come bursting
through
Winter cold no heating no money I'll do
as the bears hibernate
oh Candy
was caught
of failure
to compete
or straw
her bone
with him
a dire
inquisition mired
in *******
that she
breathe there
adamant and
safe a
counselor  of
substance abuse
and yore
why is she there with him fend off counsellor.  a specialist in *******.
Josh Cheshier Apr 2018
I looked off in the distance, a horizon of mountains strung together, the whole range atop an alpine lake.

I looked out only to be fixated on your tanned skin wadding off in the water, the same skin that I’d watched darken in the summers sun, the same skin I became so familiar with under the covers of blankets and snow. Layered but much paler then than your tone now, it always was winter months that inspired warmer thoughts.

But there you are, you’re no longer the warm thoughts I pined to grasp.
You’re here in view and more than I could’ve ever imagined, watching you unlace your boots and rip your socks off in rolled clumps as you marched through the overly saturated banks still recovering from the past, the thawing warmth of spring at the end of a snow season, just like you.
Taking high steps, you feel the mud tugging at your heels, attempts to hang on, to cling instead of breaking clean free only to be washed away with another plummeting progressive step. Each part of you beginning to drown a little more in the experience.
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
...asking if I'd "--left the kitchen because it was too hot?" as I'd brownies in the oven and dinner warming on the stove.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVIII)


Lo, nary voice flits through this warm pretense
Whose eye is April's in a trice, the pale
Blue heavns white clouds dim with four geese' detail,
And yes, a silent flock of birds which thence
Fly past, light flashing off their wings, a sense
Of deathly naught held like a notice frail
Warm hours are but a tease, as sparrows fail
To merrly answer, whiles I feign what hence?
Thin nonchalance, just as last night in tour
Where I "performed" sae poorly with a crew
Of local poets at the Lit Fest.  Were
Their kindness not Thy mercies, LORD, what through
Our vain hours should we answer?  Is't sae poor
I cherish 'gain these minutes I once knew?

27Jan18
I'd only thought in looking out the kitchen window on all that it was too silent in the kitchen sans bird voices, when lo, there were none to be heard after all. NOTE for L14:  in 2011 I used to hang out on the back stoop in the warmer hours.
Next page