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Cate Mar 2015
Finding myself tired and uninspired
at least the bed left me today.
I did my laundry
what more do you want from me
I can't think of much else
in this haze.

Sometimes,
the passions stop.
I no longer see the sputtering
of yellow lines down
a highway

as something I could recreate
into a beautiful composition.

The sky is only grey
and no longer the keeper of
nostalgic malaise.

My feet only move me
when bothered for the trouble
and howl and moan
every mile of road
they encounter.

I don't have a real position on
the matter
when my thoughts scatter
and I'm left with hollow eyes
and a succulent consciousness
gone dry.
I don't have a snarky reply

just another useless day
I unwillingly offer up
to the unforgiving clock
and a loss of sentiment.

C.e.m.
3.10.15
Jack Connolly Mar 2015
I think will write a poem.
But what about?
It should be about something important,
Like sub-Saharan drought
Maybe it should be funny,
Well that made me laugh.

I think I will give it a nice rhyme,
Like orange and door hinge.
Or place a hidden message,
Egnirc em ekam t'nod.
It could be deep,
But your as deep as water in a spoon.

Lyrical might my poem be,
Stop you'll sound like a loon.
It could be about struggling,
Except you don't live in a box.

How do I start it,
And what should it be called.
Ill check these poetry books,
How many stanzas just one or three?
This is harder than it looks,
Ill stick to tv.
Justin S Wampler Feb 2015
"Gin and tonic Vince."
"What, no shots tonight Jason?"
"It's Justin, and no."
"Well howabouta beer Justin?"
"Yeah alright."
Justin S Wampler Feb 2015
I don't care about the grass
I don't care about the sky
But I care for you and I

I don't care about the air
I don't care about the sea
But I care about 'we'

I don't care for gourmet food
I don't care for Baton Rouge
But I care very much for you

I don't care
I don't care
But I care
Do you see?
Mari Anjelyn Jan 2015
Unloved* and undesired
Felt like the universe conspired
Unfocused and uninspired
Tell me, will I ever get tired?
I can't be perfect,
no inspiration for happy.
I try, and try again,
with no luck burrowing through.
Please understand:
I can't sound happy,
in this metal box of no hope.
Remedy Dec 2014
My muses are no longer amusing,

the pen no longer spills red ink.

The clouds in my mind do not condense,

thus rain cannot stain the paper.

A blank slate, though cliche

is the only thing I see.

Perhaps to mean rebirth,

yet the newborn does not go blind.

The faces are stamped on each letter,

even if it is not from nor adressed to them.

Ink can be smudged, yet the one who smears it

can still read the fine print.
Mari Anjelyn Dec 2014
I couldn't find another rhyme
To lovingly write to you this time
I guess this happens every time
I don't think of you, oh how sublime!
---

I'm trying not to think about you.
I don't want to, but I have to.

---
I remember days
When I was inspired
By the beauty of a rose
Or the agony of heartache
But now my muse is stagnant
I hear no sweet sweet songs
I hear no soul rending cry

No breeze caresses my face here
No harsh wind blows against me
The air moves as a man in a cell
A slow, putrid circle of apathy

No great loneliness afflicts me
No great host accompanies me
Yet no sense of community is upon me
I have no connection between souls
Yet here I am
Yet I am here
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