Pine pitch feet dangle

Splash of water proving
Only that this is where I am
That I can distinguish between hot and cold
And this water is black tea
Floral bouquet basking in a setting sun warm

and I smell like shit
Like gay masturbation
Like a nicotine and divorce bonfire

Still surrounding
Amongst familiar paths of a childhood
Long since passed no one speaks

Letting inner sadist run free
I play hooky with mosquitoes and smother
The embers nearly allowing flaxen glitter
To perish before breathing back just enough life,

Another splash
I am here
Feeling only water and diluted rays
Of sunshine stretching sapling liquor thin
Along shallow canyons breaking surface tension
Sink and sink oh liver of mine
One inch at a time,

Translucent wings carry a plump bug away
Leaving an itch and drip of blood-
So this is why the rivers of the Upper Peninsula
All resemble rusty cinnamon- that colour of bad dreams
Lost concentration
Distance a dilemma
Lost in thought
Still getting in places I shouldn’t be
Is it bad timing if I was going to find out regardless?

Kicking a submerged boulder
Tumbling, plummeting
Into turbid tranquility

Could I ever outrun such a burden as this?

How deep is a puddle?
Underneath the sky
Atop the earth
And soaking into the dirt beside the rugged asphalt

Created beside the hand of man
How it reaches in
To stir itself into a frenzy

How it seeks to meddle and mend the crooked stream
From its own perspective  
When the preference is not to wind but to align

For this I say
Unto the man
Who holds the line
With his elbows locked an intertwined

That a winding way is not a way
Or a challenge from the immortal hand

It's just a steam of the natural
It's just the earth trying to begin again

Pulling the water back to the sea
To grind the eternal rock to sand


And this is why
Directly beside your creation
The puddles began

Shanath 3d

In this torturous silence
That has lasted weeks
And burnt the night down to ashes,
I could hear my heart beat.
Like tiny screams underwater,
Water rushing into the lungs.
I could hear my blood
Walking in my veins
Punching the walls,
Tearing them through
The order of the heart
And pour out everywhere
They could run in.
Outside I lay so still and quiet
My mother should be scared
Of me losing my voice
But she isn't.

I stopped talking at home
Long back,
When I would hear the shouts,
The blows to the doors.
I feel my screams
During my growing years
Consumed the needs for words.
So I lay and this silence
Isn't odd
So no one is afraid for me
But I am.

How else do you
Know a forest is burning
If you don't see the fire.
How else would you
Know the ocean flooding the shore
Unless you feel the waves.
But you don't.
For you are in your buildings,
Behind closed doors,
You don't know when it pours
Unless you walk out in the street.
You don't know the storms,
The tremors that could bring you down,
But in your barricaded homes
You don't.
So tell me how will anyone
Know I am dying
When they don't even see me here?
They don't.

But I can feel
The waves,
The rain,
The heat,
The water I am swallowing.
Because I am all of these
And no one anymore
Can see.

Don't worry you are not the block,
I am the one blocked.

In the silences that preceded
the on going one,
I used to stutter.
I ignored those as irrelevant mumbles
But these are the sentences
That in those stuttered words
were broke.
This block helped me decipher and join those.
Chan S 3d

Love is Given Freely
Flowing Like The Wind
Or Water In The Sea
Once That Flow's Gone
You've Also Lost Me.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA 94042, USA.

In the season of perspiration,
Where demerits of summer are in trend,

Few flowers and leafs are getting dried and shriveled,
Craving for shower.

As the Weather Department announced thunderstorm,

The Sun is on leave,

Flight of birds achieving new heights,

Dark clouds are rolling up in the sky blue

Swiftly there's a fragrance in the air,

nodding of the trees,

chattering of the birds,

Posts and tweets of the humans,

Are the evidence of celebration,
A most welcome to the rain.

Cruella De Vil
Sneakily hides under bin
Waiting to scare me!!

Oh jeez I just cleaned and hose down garden bins and saw biggest spider ever I'm sure it had a furry body !!
Madison 6d

The ocean never runs out of water

I wish it did.


The wind swooping down from the mountains,
swirled around, made the central courtyard,
open to the sky, that brought the nature in all seasons
in to our lives, comes alive with it's signature tune.
Pouring profuse rain, splashing golden wash
of sun shine,smoky mist; around the changing ebb
and flow of seasons we built that house
under  tall ancient trees.the memories of which
we kept,within the strands of double helix
for many generations to come.
The earth,fertile, red,waiting to be  ploughed
and sowed, called to us aloud," A toiler's life
is the best, never would one of you'd  regret,
sow the grains, plant the fruit trees,you are blessed"
We did as the earth wished , wasn't it what we did best?
Wind swept dry leaves, heaped in a far corner
fire, with gentle anger turned, all in to grey ash and dust
we swept  it across the plouged land, ready for new cycle.
Jumping in to the ravine,we swam,it made our beings fresh
then we watered the plants, trees and crops of every kind,
water quenched our thirst, it's cool waves made us calm.
In the night's play, marred with animal calls and owl songs
vast green spaces dominated my extended dreams.
We rode the horses of waves at high seas,the space within
mind was most to be explored,we set about conquering that.

A yell visceral and ground wrenching
Shaking ever so viciously

My legs learned quickly to be rubber
To bend when the wooden shingles shook,
When concrete rippled-
Like waves of a great gray ocean-
To its foundation,

And I would stand as witness
To two fault lines giving way

And I was powerless
To violent assaults of furniture
Ambushing defenseless dandelion fortifications,
To crystal shards of windows and sentimental porcelain
Upon kissing floor,

This is the only affection I saw

When I was young my feet were magnets for glass

Cleaning up debris like a vacuum
Lubricating tile and linoleum
With blood restore a shine long lost bond-
How easily can earth be brought
To a standstill when bearing witness to the destruction of innocence

When I was young my feet were magnets for glass
And my house like my legs were impervious to complete collapse,

Drifting apart like Pangaea
A sea of alcohol slowly splitting land masses in two,
Mother an island of rebirth
Father a faltered landmass of pollution

Now an adult
Now the quakes come no more
But now an adult
I still remain a vacuum,
The exception being
Now, I pull glass from my wrists and thighs
And no longer
Are my feet magnets

You are the calming waters that extinguish the fuming fires inside of me
But these fires are also passionate so without them: I'm a honey-less bee.

A very short, ironic and witty poem usually written as a brief couplet or quatrain. The term is derived from the Greek epigramma meaning inscription.
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