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dismember
us meeting in the long dark bar
made of old wooden doors ******* closed
we nerved about conversation and drank
the gruff dense social den drew in
                grew around us                                      
pushing our minds about like
     the ember remains
                                  of a sotted campfire
ploying mother lens
we shuffled into the other
                      cleaved a little and uncleaved
then  tuning out the winters night
we did together leave
dismember                        
the jerking flesh of my heart
nervous excrement
the manner your head rattles
when i lunge at you
this room stiffens with ****
                    running our corpses thru the flame
the gummy dark muffle day-to-night            
       pinball wisdom of creatures                    
                                   ­   below the floor
cactus salad
        me you and our malady
[notes : inspired by Remember  by Joyce Mansour]
minisha 1d
The embrace of spring kisses good bye to the crystals of winters,
and flowers bloom among mosses within crumbling walls,
yet rather that dancing among the roses,
I press myself against the thorns,
since the crimson string ties the last knot
with the bullets cherished by the winters.
based on a personal experience, haha
Gabs T 1d
Nature has no master
But neither does she
Perhaps it is a futile endeavor which men have attempted for centuries to no avail,

To gather her water
To fight against a stone fence as it returns to the earth
Or keep drought from ravaging crops

Can she be had?
To tame her would be a self ruining task
As destructive to the settled as the settlor

Can nature be courted?
Gifted crowns of daisies and garlands of lilac
From her own bounty springs forth more and more
What is there to give to a source of such abundance

But her winter is ruthless!
Taking the young from the flock
Sweetness cannot exist without the bite
That dull void she harbors within

And when summer comes,
She leaves sweat trailed amongst the harvest
With golden wheat stalks strewn about

To tame the wheel of seasons would be futile
Those who came before were swept along clinging to her spokes

So, does she appreciate hesitation?
The willingness to relinquish control
The embracing of uncertainty

Or will she carry on
in her infinite self-assured
forward momentum
Awaiting the next
Writing about a woman again? It’s more likely than you’d think
dismember                          
the jamming fight of my breath
your reciting
the wit that exudes you
i hack mad laughs                      
the room becomes rude hot
              and we burst our fleshes
the seasons collect in some deafening syrup
but still the walls are music with vermin
mushroom tea       you and me
[notes : inspired by Remember  by Joyce Mansour]
Sasha 2d
Twisting, turning.
Frazzled twirling.
Snowflakes glistening.
Snowmen sitting.
Snowballs rolled, ready for fire.
Hot cocoa cups filled ready for hire.

Kids who've been touched by the snowflakes,
Twisting, turning.
And frazzled twirling.
1DNA 4d
She’s Winter’s diamond,
with a heart of snow
Like January’s snowdrop,
comes dropping low
Her tears of frost
belight the road
An ethereal beauty,
with a touch so cold
A frostbitten angel,
numb of pain
An untouched canvas,
lost in vain
As simple as water,
guised in eminence
Beneath the gale,
a child's innocence
Torch the ground,
she will fade
Into puddles of ice,
once a frozen jade
Gaze upon,
you will see
A reflection of her,
a reflection of me.
One of my favourites ♡
Sora May 10
I've been finding myself more
in the arms of uncertainty and nostalgia lately.
Its warmth cascades down my back
like hair made of gold and silk,
draping its familiarity over me
in the form of weary exhaustion.

And yet, when I get too close,
it holds me painfully tighter;
or pushes me away.
Forcing me to feel the dreary shiver
of winter all over again.

Perhaps this affinity surmised
was nothing more
than a suffocating disguise;
its hands holding mine
as if they were akin
to the bequeathed stars above.

I intend to abandon its presence,
as it did to mine;
but then I find it knocking
on my door once more.
And what else shall I do,
than let it in?
when the melancholy of winter comes around yet again, I'll be held; then forsaken once more.
I wonder—
do the trees feel empty in winter,
like abandoned cathedrals with hollowed arches,
their prayers carried off by wind?
Do they mourn the once-gold choir of leaves,
or do they wait—
hands lifted in quiet faith,
hope braided into their roots
like a forgotten hymn?

Does the moon know she is not always whole?
That we love her in pieces—
when she is a shard of silver,
a lost earring in the sky.
Does she ache, too,
a lantern adrift in a sea of indifference,
admired but never held?

There is beauty, I think,
in what is missing—
in the pause before bloom,
in the ache of becoming.
The tree, the moon—
they teach us how to stay
even when we are not full.

Maybe they know.
Maybe they don’t.
But still—they remain.
And maybe that is enough.
Emilia B Apr 27
Gliding my finger over the cracked kitchen tile
Kettle, king of limescale
Waiting and forgetting
One foot in-front of the other
Travel like a skipping rock
The back of my neck burning
Singeing hairs of fever
Fluttering spine cremating
ashes spilling out of my ears.
It’s a citrus sun on a winter day
Frosted fence melting away in an animated motion,
Like butter over a pan
Bubbles on a thorn bush.
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