#collaborative
Wondering where you've been all my life.
Take me into your loving arms.
I just started living.
Darling, I will be loving you till we're 70.
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars.
When you say you need me,
know I need you more.
Place your head on my beating heart.
I'm scared.
Oh, so scared.
But when you're near me,
I feel like I'm standing with an army
of men armed with weapons.
Maybe we found love right where we are.
I love lying next to you.
I could do this for eternity,
you and me.
When my hair's all gone and my memories
fade,
I know you will still love me the same.
When you say you love me,
know I love you more.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
If it smells dead, it probably is
Rot makes no mistakes
I sit and spin my wheels and it takes
Everything inside of me
To rid myself of her stink
Seventeen years of parental nurture
Two weeks of preying in search for;
Only six minutes of squeezing to be
Left only to be filth again
Passed over and forgotten
Are my words too heavy for your song?
Sing loudly so I can hear you
Again, my pale skinned love
As I hover above and sweat into your mouth
Quiet swan song sung, splash of **** all too loud
Calm I grow as from you, I take my cue
Does my breath not fog glass as much as yours?
If I crawl away now, I won't appear to move.
Silently shaking and praying in search for
Something less living, something less grand
Bedside stories told to you once at night
A lone little light plugged in low by your closet
You feared the wrong monsters, and I felt that fright
It clung to the air; you were my first as by my hand.
But my hand pulls away now--
My fingers hardwired, pulling, reaching
For something warm to touch
And you were warm once, too
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
Loss is
a collaborative art
Between the people
Who leave us
And those
who remain
We dance with
the shadows
Of their absence
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 12:29 AM UTC
My home is a wasteland of cigarette butts and coffee cups
Help in repose for better mornings
Where a bitter taste in my throat lays dormant
And I think alone, in regret of nothing
As fresh *** brews and *** ignite, thumbing my finger ring.
Tracing back words in search for other purpose,
realizing secrets as regrettable burden.
Clear throat for first sip, and light a second cigarette.
It is not insomnia but rather being too bored to sleep.
It is not knowing what to do with your hands
When someone says they love you.
It is wanting to discuss film, art--
Hell, anything, with anyone--
Only to talk yourself down
Before the words escape your throat.
And yes, All the words come from there.
Some guttural utterance only heard for those that care.
That pesters you too.
All the nerves in all the world with all the words,
and there's nothing wrong with them in my head.
Passions intermix and weaken,
with every passing moment of thinking,
So I speak of Russian filmography,
mingle as hands press to small of your back.
In an instant, a stutter, a wide expression.
But my hands were always in my pockets anyway.
"Sometimes the curtains are just blue,"
An old professor told me once
From behind his olive green desk--
In front of a whiteboard that made him look small.
Curled over, I respected him more
For the fact that he knew
Nothing everything has a purpose.
Purpose is as purpose does, "I know I know nothing."
Pretentious is as we may be, sentences full of stuffing.
Like our shirts and puffing chests, teach me like you went to university.
Analyze in caffeinated anxiety every word ever said to me.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
annamay: I like the color green. Like the kind of green you find out in the middle of the woods
Reece: And I, a pleasant pink. The kind of pink you can see from the sunrise.
annamay: The green that feels special to only me, and me alone.
Reece: The pink that reminds me of happier memories when I'm on my own.
annamay: This kind of green makes me feel calm and ready to do anything
Reece: Yet, I lie about my favorite color for fear of people judging me.
annamay: People think I'm basic when i say green, but they don't know the whole reason
Reece: I'm afraid of admitting to pink. Who knows what they would think of me then? Anxiety, pushing such petty things to the brink.
annamay: But even if all the pretty things become extinct, I'll always remember that one kind of green
Reece: Watching the sunrise, and seeing the pink; I'll just accept this part of me.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 7:49 PM UTC
the unfamiliar caterpillar
woke to the day
but it was all new
nothing the same way.
why would he stay?
when his body was sore
he woke up on new years
and his fears no longer bore
with his shed of a past life
everything is strife.
but with wings,
every little thing
gleams and feels
right.
right.
right then left then right again.
there you are, my friend.
Happy new year.
-Jac + mac
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
If you speak of me in such oily vinegar,
then reply to me with joy subsequent,
I shall think of you as polar Cressida,
as she slalomed between bi-encampment.
To see your mouth forming my name-
Blisters peeled back so I may openly lament-
Of every rolling hill your fingers grazed carefully,
And every forged wanderlust you splashed upon my chest
Hellbent on spent days and evenings anew,
Lipped old promises freshly feigned undue.
Take me for bitter, and taste me all too sweet,
Storm whorled to ebb, still flow we accrete.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:47 AM UTC
There is no more room to wander,
within the wild, blue yonder.
All the skies and seas are dead to explore.
No new ports, forgotten resorts; a lack
of ****** shores for rich men to ravish,
in search of riches much more.
Sea-faring clime possessed on the backs of child,
rode as destiny manifest,
wrote during storm, through mild.
More words than shores coalesced.
But the words explode from me—
Like some powerful wave meant only
To wash things that should not be, away.
Every syllable hovering, quivering
At the corners of my mouth—
As they carry me to beaches where feet
walk less timid, walk with less freedom
than I could ever hope to possess.
If we must be in hope and wish for probity,
in the minds and hearts and waters at sea.
Lift from masthead our daughters and brides,
so they last instead until martrimony decree.
And when vows written in logs of Captain
are all we accomplish lead by sextant see.
All things are permissible deep in our dreams,
yet chapel bell is rung not by sexton, but me.
I am my own Captain—
Luring those splashing wanderers not to safety—
No,
I lead them to drown with me.
The extra weight needed, begged for
So that we may appear as a sixteenth century painting
Brushes stroked in the last sip of black tea
to mimic some reality
Ive only touched myself to in sleep.
We are agasp toward bottoms, and fall from heights.
Whereas one of us sinks,
the other heaves into dives.
We are without fathom,
as water stings our eyes blind.
Struggle, you cannot lack fight, it will happen
whether you wish.
We are both rats, a Captain between us,
forgoing a sinking ship.
You abhor tradition in lieu to survive.
Set it afire,
So we can watch from underneath
As through some television screen
The world we knew, we know
rise up in smoke to signal no one.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:42 AM UTC
Two voices, one sanctuary—where stillness gathers and the heart steadies.
*******************************
Introduction:
These two poems unfold around the same quiet cabin set among trees, flowers, and open air. In “Breathing in Beauty,” Elizabeth writes from the garden behind the cabin, where color, scent, and stillness gather in a gentle embrace. In “Along the Lake’s Edge,” Adam walks the path leading from the cabin toward the water, following the line where forest and lake meet in evening calm. Together, the poems create a shared landscape of rest and renewal, each offering a different way of stepping into peace.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"Breathing in Beauty"
by Elizabeth Scott (Songbird0926)
The softest scents drift through the open window,
calling my name,
longing for my company.
I step through the cabin's back door
and into a world of brilliant colors
blending together,
the light perfume of beauty
enveloping me in a gentle hug.
Watercolors for my soul
sway in the slight breeze,
turning their heads patiently
towards the sun
yet reaching arms towards me,
like small children wanting to be picked up.
I slowly breathe in the stillness around me,
thankful for the peace present here.
Sun, sky, flowers -
my heart steadies as I feel
the calm in the air
and see
colors touch the sky
with wonder,
giving me hope for tomorrow,
and I know
I'm finally home.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Along the Lake’s Edge”
By Adam Wojcicki (VerseBuster)
The cabin settles behind me
as I step into the hush of evening,
following the narrow trail
that winds between pine and water.
The lake lies open and unhurried,
a sheet of silver breathing
with the soft rise of wind.
Shore‑grass leans toward the ripples,
whispering in small, patient voices.
I walk slowly,
letting the quiet gather around my shoulders—
the scent of cedar,
the cool drift of air from the water,
the steady rhythm of my own steps
on the soft earth.
Branches tilt toward the fading light,
catching the last gold of the sun,
and the path curves gently
as if guiding me forward
without asking anything in return.
Here,
between forest and lake,
I feel the day loosen its grip.
The colors soften,
the world exhales,
and something inside me settles too,
a quiet knowing
that this place holds room for me.
And I walk on,
unhurried,
at peace,
carrying the calm of the cabin
into the deepening dusk.
******************************
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 8:11 AM UTC
Written by Mike Hauser and Roger Turner
(We're available for weddings, funerals and bridge openings)
The day I win the lottery
I’m going to buy this town
I’ll do all I can to build it up
Then I’ll tear it down
I’ll build a mall for shopping
Put my name on solid ground
I’ll do all I can to build it up
So folks can gather ’round
They’ll come from miles to see the place
A marvel newly found
I’ll make myself a legend here
Before I tear it down
I’ll pave the streets with promises
Hang banners all around
Cut ribbons, shake a thousand hands
Swear I won’t let them down
I’ll fund the schools, the parks, the plays
Let fireworks resound
They’ll toast my name in every bar
This miracle of town
Parades will roll on every street
The headlines sing my praise
A boom so big they’ll never see
The cracks beneath the glaze
They’ll raise my statue to the sky
Bind stories leather-bound
I’ll smile, sign one last paycheck
And quietly shut it down
Because it never was the town
Or glory, bricks, or crown
It was the joy of building dreams
Just to tear them down
The day I win the lottery
I’m going to buy this town
I’ll do all I can to build it up
Then I’ll tear it down
Jan 4
Jan 4, 2026 at 5:22 PM UTC
Solitude becomes a choir,
An illuminating echo that turns into a horrid cacophony.
Harsh reminder of a dreamer who could not dream,
A painter who could not paint . . .
A singer who could not sing . . .
Come and calm this song, Come and save me,
From this anxiety, that steals the value of my life.
__________________________________________
Fireworks explode, they color your eyes.
Do not sing, do not paint, do not dream, simply write.
Artistry cannot erase desire.
But it can fuel your fire and desire.
Let each stroke, give you sensations.
Of my hand on yours, a state of warmth and delight.
Nonetheless when you suffer,
And beg for “HELP!” know.
I am never.
-🄵🄰🅁
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 9:35 PM UTC
Pink_Ink_Amber:
I miss the summers when the days felt bright and free,
Before everyone kept asking who I’m supposed to be.
Now I chase echoes of scraped knees and muddy skies,
Wishing I’d known those small moments were my prize.
Reece:
Back then, before anxiety had a hold on me,
When peace and joy were as common as a breeze.
Those days, they seem to be long gone.
Yet, I remain, growing older and moving on.
Pink_Ink_Amber:
Beneath the laughter in those pictures, shadows start to creep,
The questions in my head grew teeth and dragged me from my sleep.
I traded fireflies in jars for blue light on my face,
Scrolling through a thousand lives that make me feel out of place.
Reece:
I see a stranger,
In places I've gone but can't remember.
Was that baby,
Smiling so blissfully, really me?
I've dried my eyes from countless tears,
As my fight-or-flight stimulates my fears.
Why can't I just go back a few years?
Pink_Ink_Amber:
We used to measure life in grass stains, not in likes and views,
In games that ran past dinnertime, not deadlines, tests, and news.
Now every thought feels magnified, like we’re beneath a lens,
Afraid of failing silently while watching all our friends.
Reece:
Oh, friends, the good, the bad, the ugly.
Some I wish I'd cherished, others I wish I never met.
People found their cliques, and I look back, solemnly,
Wishing that I had tried, since now we're out of time.
A new chapter is upon us, a new trial that eludes us;
Why can't we return to simpler times,
Where such banes didn't cause a fuss?
Pink_Ink_Amber:
We can't rewind the tape of time or step through childhood’s door,
But maybe all those aching years still shaped what we are for.
So here we stand, a little bruised, yet somehow still alive,
Carrying our younger selves within — the part that helps us survive.
Apr 9
Apr 9, 2026 at 8:51 PM UTC