Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Myrrdin Nov 2018
There are words
Tumbling round
This brain
Like heavy rocks
In a washing machine
Watch them now
Tumble out
They will pummel you
As they have me
You will see
What you made
Inside of me
Annie Oct 2018
I am etched with ink,
stretched from yoga
and a dangerous habit of thinking.

I am balancing,
edging my way
along this
which someone has placed high
above all of my years,
so that I am trying
(as hard as I might)
not to look down,
into the past.
I write a poem every time I turn another year older; here is twenty years old.
astraea Nov 2018
i’m not the type of girl who kisses boys
by the train-tracks in the moonlight.
not the type who falls so hard for them,
sneaking outside her window and tumbling down her slanted roof-top.

i’m not the type to fall.

but when i look at you,
when i hear your voice,
soft, breathy, and kind i begin to wonder if we could ever make this work
-if i could love you and never leave you, if you loved me back.

i wonder, if i’ll have the courage, to ask
while drinking a pumpkin spice latte for the first time,
if you’d go to a dance with me.
would you kiss me in the moonlight?

would we be able to love each other,
yet only remember beautiful ghosts of dancers swirling around our blurry forms?
do you think i could see you in your dorm,
decorated with streamers and schools, and still be yours?

i’ll never be the type of girl who kisses you
by the train-tracks in the moonlight.
but i would fall hard enough,
if only you feel with me.

take my hand and jump off this cliff and into an endless sea.
Kee Oct 2018
trying not to tumble
in a world with so many obstacles
makes it a thousand times harder
but it makes you strong
at what cost?
destroying every bit of you
until there's almost nothing left
only for you to say 'at least i made it out alive
is that any better than being dead
at least then you won't have to remember
Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
******. No white guy can say that, right.
People who can truly call themselves ******* can. *****-***** ****, W.O.P.,
maybe they can say ******, okeh. But they say it mean,
What'sbout Jewboy?
Can the Kaffen kid say ******?
Sand-******, but not ***** ******. Hecan say ****, too. And *** and *****.

Oy vey, okeh. We can take it. We can take it all. Rules is rules.

That's right. Wanna fight? Wanna be my enemy?

--- Grandpa had a play date. ***- Where's the Fun?
These kids got no guns.
And no enemies. Except imaginary ones.

Greedy little master mind sprouting odd fruits from Pokémon.
Can we make this work? Perfect it, in effect?

Marbles, maybe we can teach that old game and go from there to the funnest parts of FTA... Findtheanswer, like God and Adam played. The rules are some same, bounds, fudges and such. Keepsies, ante-ups and such, too.
Risk is right if-I-can-tation.
Losses can be baked, clayballs,
while momma bakes our daily bread.
Poor kids can make marbles in the sun, since forever, I am sure. Rolly-polly patti and johnny cakes roll marbles into spoons,
Momma knew that stuff. She could shake butter into cream, singin' along Que sera, sera, whatever will be
will be,

but it won't be the death of me,
watch and see,
babu boy oh boy
We can play war until we die, but don't tell the children.
They are the price we are to pay. They must believe.

We swore allegiance for security. We thought it best
for the kids to lie.

You know?
I believe, you know. It's unbelieving I need help with.

Can't you see? We swore allegiance and taught it has become the  honor-us-course-us-po-deserve-us ritual. A rite we pass for the protection of the eagles gathered around the body.

We are proud of our children who die taking
the courses called for, we never ask why,
except when we cry. Silently, inside.

It's our role to remember the glory
of our children dying for the IDEA that lives
in the statue of Freedom
under which our laws allow
might is right, if God was ever on our side.

You know what I mean.
Say so. You know the lies are being told.

Stop believing that is okeh, eh?

Mussleman dominance meme manifests once more to battle the flood of knowing being re-leased or bought, outright, to aid the seekers seeking the meta game.

F.T.A, remember? Find The Answer. Same rules as Hide and Watch,
"All ye, all ye, outsiders hidden in our midst, in free."

"Send me your- poor, huddled masses",
remember being proud of that idea.
Poor thing, lady libertine, so tarnished now that not even Iaccoca's glory loan could gild the actions she sanctioned in the name of the republic for which she (a proxy mate, feminine aspect of God) stands. Sig-n-if-i-cious-ly.

Seig Fried, we say, with the statue of freedom watching over the legislative body, she stands
Quite similar to the Diana of the Ephesians,
in her role as mob solid-if-er, if I know my mythic truths been told.
Trink, trink, trinkits gits the good good luck, light m'fire witcha spark and see a light in the night when the noised of terrors flee.

Rite, we passed those places ages ago, now we hear echoes, only we know them, for we have been taught,
what echoes ever are.
Our own terrors screaming back at us.

Alot of lies are taught wrong and a sleeping giant in a child may dream of other ways to see. New windows on new word worlds expressed in HD Quad-processed realities, child eyes see right through those.

Exactly that happened. Slowly at first.
Good is more difficult to believe you are expert enough to try doing than is evil. Read it again. This couplet or line, as time will tell.

Don't ignore known knowns, stand up under the weight of knowing good and knowing evil. Be good.

We know from conception, we think,
whatever it takes means
take what ever we think right,
pursue happenstances in the favor of my father's world, provided for me, the kid.
The son, a first-man son, some several thousand generations removed. Lucky some body stored the good stuff in the mitochon'orhea, right.
We'd be powerless. O'rhea, double stufft, blessusall.

Otherwise lies are left for kids to learn,
but not to
be left true,
as when they first was told.

Our sibyl e-gran mals tol' em true, as they knew what they passed through, to the moment, then...

Around the fire, dancing shadows, make them play.
All ye, all ye outs, in free! See dancing shadows, en-joy my joy, be strong, long strong, sing along, long, long song

and laugh until you die.
Some con-served ideas will land a man in a prison with no keys.

Imagine that. Take your time, it is no passing fancy. Be here,
with me, a while. Pleased to meet you I am, no comma needed.
Now, we may wait, whiling away a time or two is common, in mortal pauses. Are you dead or alive?

Is it dark or light? Do you see in color here, or in gray?

Who built your prison? I built mine. You'll love it, I imagine,

whenever forever flows past those old lies striving for redemption,
recycling-clingy static hairballs and ghost turds
touch, once more,
*** potentia amber atoms in cosmic chili for the soul
of the loaf-giver, warden of the feeding forces life lives
to give dead things. There's the rub.

Spark to fire? Watts to fuel the favor, Issac, can you lead us in a song? A con-serving song for when the cons a fided or feited,
defeat my sorrows and my shame,
let me see Christ take the blame.

Confidencein ignowanceus. Worsen dignitatus evawas.

Blow on it. Soft. The spark landed in that ghost **** you thought you swept away or ****** into a vortex of hoovering witnesses,
if you whew too strong, you blow yer own little light out, and have to wait for lighten-loadin' bearers
to take care from you.

That can take time, too.

It always takes a while to get deep enough to see the bottom.

Cicero, old friend...

ne vestigium quidem ullum est reliquum nobis dignitatis 

[not even a trace is left to us of our dignity]

From <>

See, from a single spark,
touching a volatile bit o' whatever,
you may see the root of the Roman canker sore
yomamma kistyawit.
And be on yo way,
satisfied minded there do seem to be a way, each day, just beyond the evil sufficiency we find soon after the morning's mercy's been renewed.

And may, if it may be,
ye see a rich man wit' a satisfied mind
and may that man be me in your mirror, as it were.

Carry on, as you were.
Or walk this way, a while,
mind the limp. I'll set the pace.
It ain't a race, y'lil'squirt.

Wait'll y'see.

Waiting is time's only chore this close to shore.

What manner of men are we, who could be our enemy?
What name makes me your enemy?

What peace can you imagine when no words carry hate?
Can you imagine evil peace? Cromwell n'em said they could make peace wit' war.
They lied. Their lies remain lies, evil knowns
are good to know, on the whole.

Knowing makes believing count for more than idle oaths of loyalty to memes mad from the first of forever to now.

now. stop. This is the bottom. I know the way from here.
Do you?
You can say so, but you never know,
if you never make the climb.

And that can take forever, I've been told.
Fun, for fun. Bees in bonnets and such archaic antics, no pun un intended.
The N word test. I chickened out, but under protest. If I say/said a word to hurt a childlike mind, or an innocent ear, I am not being kind. And the black magi said He could care less, he's moving back to Kingston.
Harri Jun 2018
I never meant to love you.
You caught me
On the way to my solitude
And tripped me,
So casually.
Did you even notice
That I fell?
Sarah Markbride Feb 2018
You are guarded, you've put up walls
Waiting For the right one to climb, to explore the corners of your mind.
You haven't always been this way, scared to let them crumble.
You still hope for the one that will make them tumble.
Smile, breathe You will see that not all are the same, not just out to cause you pain.
When you let that person in to see the magic of you, you can begin again.
Begin to be unapologetically you
Celeste Briefs Aug 2017
where there is shade
endless reflections glisten
in the eyes of a stream
where minuscule toes
tumble across beds of flowers
sunlight blooms
through the whispering leaves
of overhanging trees
a raindrop explodes
on my cheek perhaps
wings of silence
fluttering through
this world of sound
and I,
I the traveler,
analyze, with small, hopeful movements,
wordless, the softest touch,
heat of bubbling cells
alight upon the ground
summer dust
flickers upon the skin of the
sky above
Home is calling
Faraway is here
Home is waiting
Further Away whispers lullabies
like a cool breeze,
dancing in and out of
ears that have never been touched,
bones that will listen
react with one another
dancing, shimmering fingertips
imprinting resonance
upon the quivering breast of Gaia
ah, Sonora is silent
oh, Silence is singing
even though nothing is asleep
each atom of the world is dreaming
and though this seems a fantasy
I feel all signals
of wakeful wisdom
micro-ripples echo across the
translucent surface
curiosity follows closely
as a shadow, old friend
I'm going in now,
dreaming of what lies beyond
if this feels too dangerous
I may never come back.
Say good night
close my eyes
Next page