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Kris Fireheart Apr 2023
My home. My safe place!
My sanctuary of peace and calm!

Deaf as I am,  I'm glad to have friends,
When someone tries to steal from my mom!

So we kept watch, over her van,
Seeing the shadows of an unknown man,

We're suited and booted; my knife
And his gun,
And we're ready to take him,
Or force him to run!

******* all,  I have work
In the morning,
But I'll be ****** if we don't
Send him a warning!

Our shout brought him out,
And we watched him run,
To go steal elsewhere,
But he'll have no fun!

Not here; not now.
At my grandmother's house.
So I stand and I shake,
Eyes wide open; awake,

A knife at my side, with
My rage as my guide.
Hell no! Not here!
Not now!

My home.  My safe place,
My sanctuary of calm!
So I await the coming sunrise;
No one ***** with my mom!
Someone tried to steal my grandma's van tonight. So the adrenaline has overpowered my sleeping pills, and now I'm stuck with the urge to ****. But that's fine by me; I'll stay awake! I work tomorrow,  but I'll never be late.
Serendipity Mar 2023
By the window she wavers,
elegance and grace
unfolding from the movements of her gloved hands.

Animated red lips
move with skill
as she tells a tale
that would make sailors blush.

Eye's flashing and dashing
like the lighthouse
in the middle of a storm.

A whirlwind of blonde hair
who had fought with the wind
sits awry on her head.

I watch as her story unravels,
and the air around her buzzes
with her electric voice.

I make the mistake
of escaping with her wallet,
and am left to wonder,
how her story ends.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2022
We all saw you on TV. See
we all felt you, on TV.
We effectually react/ or change the channel.

Seeing with, you and I, we seeing
we share science, we know bits
of many common childhood mystery
religion moralizing stories, animating
representative good and evil having beings,

eaters of roots and seeds;
eaters of blood, raw flesh;
eaters of the processed meat, made
from what clams eat, while making pearls
worth the merchant's speculation, see,
look, if this pearl were thine to own, yours
alone. If this pearl were thine, to form
using layering lightflex laminate fluid to form,
smooth curve force to mollify vitious spikes
as one creature soothes the pain caused,
when a certain signal calls for pearling,
biometric symbiotic gnosisnot using
a natural pattern found in viscous,
snottish fluids flowing just above
the bottom line reality, priced per
one man estimated ethos, may
haps, taken and called granted, per
happenstance, standing, there take it,
weigh the worth, at least, it cost you
this much attention, and left
an edge to look over…
take this thought,
taste test, notice salt, hmmm.
-- such taste, sweet
-- such taste sharp, and bitter…
Notice sticky hook to any attention paid
-- remember, re
member reading for all the roles…
This Is Your Life,
unforgiveable forethought odd after effect.
-- taste and see, we all are good, our lies are evil.

Novels in genres, are stories in familiar
feeling places. The realmmmm re-creational
master of monstors degrees, stages, steps,
tic to last held thought, ties to all held thoughts,
- who buys horror and shame hero stories?
- who buys cops are Platonic Guardians stories?
- who buys we, that people, are stories?
Vicarious as the pope,
we feel the ef
in efforting to display the glory of knowing.

- ceasing to effect the art's official form of love,
- sincere affection, effectively applied plasterwise.

Nothing new, sort of classless, drivel, driving assumptives
sorted on commonalities, professional confession,
yes, we guessed you exist, so we said
I do this for money, or
no,
I do this to make pearls, when something in me
is grinding at my gut, make, make, make me,
a pearl none shall ever see,
make me, think.

On earth, as in my own peace of mind, let it be.
Awen. Amen, and all the other translations of make it so.
The narrow focus keeps the hearth alight. Thank you for being my dear reader.
My Dear Poet Apr 2021
They stole a word
from a poem I wrote
Stealing
the meaning
leaving just a note
“We’re sorry for the damage,
we hope you don’t mind
we’ve just taken a lend
of a word from a line”
They left no name
no number to call
Just a few words
and that was all
Then just the other day
I read on the news
a poem became famous
for a word that was used
that made the world weep
over their lies and their theft
critics hailed it
‘the true and only’
‘honest poem’
in the world left
Caleb A Johnson Jan 2021
Another day
Another dime
Another useless
Unheard rhyme

Another day
another dime
On the ladder
I do not pretend to climb

Another day
another dime
Another way for me
To waste my time

Another day
another dime
I make a dollar for you
And lose some of mine

Another day
another dime
I bear the burden
Of your wimpy spine

Another day
another dime
The suffering you leave
Is your greatest crime

Another day
Another dime
There will be no justice
It's all broken this time
Myrrdin Dec 2020
Stumbling in unceremoniously
To perform the theft of me
I had never been afraid
Until you taught me I should be
Gilbert Nov 2020
A mosaic of falling seeds
spins me sickly into a coma.
The only thing that saves, keeps
me from tumbling down - her aroma.

All the thoughts like ants have gone away,
they crawled through my ears, my mouth.
Oh, the mouth, the royal taste - just stay,
rave on my flesh, love well-wrought .

And there I lie - on the lips
that are not mine - neither his.
Rather die than lose those strips
of pretty scarfs I could kiss.
Randy Johnson Dec 2019
Even though you did me wrong, I've written a few poems about you.
You came in my house and stole some pills, that was a bad thing to do.
You also borrowed some money but didn't repay what you owed.
Sadly, you can't celebrate this Christmas because you died half a year ago.
This will be the first Christmas since 1969 that you're not alive.
You died six months ago today, you weren't able to survive.
You had a heart murmur but half a year ago, your heart stopped beating.
When it came to death, it was something you had no chance of defeating.
DEDICATED TO JOHN W. BROWN (1970-2019) WHO DIED ON JUNE 3, 2019.
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2019
Reach out and touch
The reflective surface,
Nearly-perfect, infinite.
She's an unbreakable object held
Within stasis,
A long-durational sleeper,
Motionless in her far-off stare.

Time dilation may be absolute,
But there's no denial
Of a sundry smile
And questioning brow.

Glass divides she
From true self,
Kept in the hold
As priceless cargo
That once inspired the likes
Of da Vinci.

Thus Snow White wasn't quite dead
When the trap was sprung,
Her day lay in wait
For a kiss of life:
An event horizon.

Lift the lid
It did,
And with a centuries-old yawn,
She fixed her face upon
Her growing public,
And broke through
Hibernation,
To give birth to a star.
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