#poetscorner
he lost his way, he knows not when.
chasing false idols he mistook for men.
he'd lose the child, if he only knew then -
he'd find a way to be a man again.
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 1:24 PM UTC
this is no place for songs; songs are for heroes
and the carpets and garlands are all floating lifelessly:
a striking resemblance
of the islands —
our islands —
disappearing one by one.
this is no place for songs;
instead, you will hear the sirens screaming —
haunting the walls of your home
and you shall never again watch
and they shall never again drown.
and in the shadows, they lurk.
in the depths, they await.
save your breath for prayers,
save your words for a scream.
from the phantom waves where you'll be drowning,
gods spare not a sight.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 12:06 AM UTC
i am so tired of
my wrists being a battlefield —
the shrines for all the times i fell —
they all keep falling apart,
and nothing lasts long enough
for all these wounds
to turn into scars.
maybe the problem is that scars mean you're healing.
maybe the problem is that i'm not.
i have worn this skin away —
long shunned by softness
and each day, i cannot fathom how
i can ever manage to hold gentle things —
press them against my chest
when everything i hold
bleeds and breaks,
including me.
i wish my tongue was more made for poems
and not for dry-swallowed poppies;
the moon flinches at the very sight.
i flinch too.
and i am so tired of my entire skin
being a battlefield
when no one can see the casualties
buried quickly —
buried well.
and oh, what i'd give to be
soft enough to grow flowers on graveyards —
and soft enough not to break myself.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 10:04 AM UTC
Mummy used to buy me hair grease,
for my hair was a seismic wave of crease.
The scalp crying sweat,
the tantrums were the onset.
Wide tooth comb have mercy on the nots,
nests of lies and cheeky clots.
The flurries of dandruff deposit,
the skeletons in the closet.
Mummy brought out the blue magic,
the long strands thirsty to become ethic.
Such a wave of moisture,
like the silkiness of an oyster.
A perfect layer of braided Cornrows,
blended amongst the tropical mangoes.
Mummy says to me you’re a woman now,
be prepared and ready to plough,
the knotty hairs of your little ones.
Go and buy the same hair grease,
to ensure their naughty traits mature into peace.
Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 1:38 AM UTC
I've been trying to fill a void
It's gruesome work really
So many ******* Polaroids
With nothing to see really
I still don't remember when
This dark empty whole appeared
I just remember you left, then
He sat there, as if he'd been here
At least the night, she holds stars
This presence, sits next to me
Smoking cigarettes, eating bars
I think it too wants to forget me
He's even tried to swallow me whole
Taking over every single blood cell
I was so drunk, he almost had my soul
I couldn't do anything, but ******* yell
Now he just sits next to me
Trying again...
Every other sad week
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
My love is a flower,
So desperate
To cling to the dirt on her feet-
Breathing the sound of the wind,
Petals reaching
For the ghost of a sun
Long gone,
Sunken under the silhouette of
You-
Are an ocean
I ache to swallow
Afraid I’ll drown-
In your love
Is a drug
Of warmth and light,
It is all I need
In this dark-
Tonight.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 3:16 AM UTC
I haven’t quite
Decided
Wether these veins that web my heart
Are roots
Or fault lines,
But I’m starting to believe-
That maybe
They can exist
As both.
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 2:47 AM UTC
If only you could hear,
All these words that I’ve discovered
Written upon the walls of my mind,
Disappearing at the wake of light.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
Love, don’t be afraid
We’ve all gone places we cannot hide,
Written stories we won’t deny,
But look at us,
Living. Tonight,
Alive.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
You held me in your arms and whispered,
“Baby, I’ll make you my queen,”
But darling, don’t you get it-
I don’t need your love
To make me something I already am.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 1:26 AM UTC
Is it possibly, strange believing,
you’re somewhere else but, still here,
Not physically close by but a feeling
Is it reassurance - perhaps a safety tier
a presence somewhat instinctive around me.
I speak to you, didn't always do,
not commonplace between us, conversation:
sometimes there'd be an answer, from your perspective.
Whenever now I question my determination,
a moments ponder- what might have you selected.
Character of courage and trust: ruled by fairness.
Silent belief - dignified and true,
moral sensitivities caring and kindness
None, ever, placed prominently on view,
just waiting behind your shield, for careful use in crisis.
Solitary - not seemingly lonesome but quiet,
yet, when needed around to convey
considered words, and sturdy hands to guide.
You wisely put to use, new skills, knowledge learnt,
supporting the family if required from day to day.
in thoughts is where your lingering presence exists
reminds, so much still to learn – that’s why
your story, the about you, we will want to hear,
absent physically - true, yet in thoughts indeed they persist,
You never left completely Dad, you’re still here.
You Are..
Michael C Crowder @scorsby Friday, March 8, 2019
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 2:49 PM UTC
Dear love,
Let me in
To the darkness where the sun
Has never once
Kissed the ground,
Trust that I’ll thread carefully,
But understand that what we have
will grow recklessly.
Let me hold you
When it gets hard,
Carrying the world
Atlas hold steady, I’m right here
By your side.
Let my skin spread across
Your ancient night
Like a blanket of stars
Let me bring back the light.
Let me feel everything
My smoke caressing the air
Our touch fire, igniting each other
Know I’ve burnt hundreds
of matchsticks, trying
To find the one that lights me up.
So let me,
Fall in love
Madly and deeply.
And when it’s over-
I want to be so broken
My pieces will scatter the earth
Like wishes I blow
In search for you,
Love.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 7:51 PM UTC
The sky has decided to drop me
Into the fate of gravity,
Crashing into you arms
Where you chose,
To let go.
Now I’m free falling
Way past the stars
Into the dark
Where I’m learning to fly
In love with
My lonely
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 12:32 AM UTC
You think it doesn’t matter
Maybe I should just shut up and mind my own business
Leave your eyes to stare daggers
And your slippery tongue to burn castles
I’m not apologizing
For fighting back
As you cut apart and dissect
Life into *** and breast,
Measuring beauty on a scale you’ve created out of blood
And buying worth out of bone you pulled from our spines.
How much do we have to give
For our voices to be heard,
Cause you best believe
We’ll give it all we got
No more standing in the corner
Watching sisters fall on their knees
Crying in front bathroom mirrors
Whispering promises you can’t keep.
No. Tonight we are standing
With her.
And your better know that this time
When we scream,
The world will echo back.
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
I get lost fighting
Against the current
Of these thoughts
Screaming
“Worthless”
And all I can do
Is whisper
“Enough”
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 12:05 AM UTC
I plucked a wish from the ground,
Wondering why
It destined to die
Choked in a field of thorns
I guess destiny wanted to play.
So I whispered as I blew
Freeing hope from this reality
“Darling, go
And find my love”
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 10:10 PM UTC
I don’t want
To wait until I love
Myself.
I want to love
Myself
So much
I care.
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
I wish I could stop
Searching for your ghost
When we both know
You’ve moved on
Realities away from us
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
a poet sits in a corner
mind adrift floating some eons away
nether here nor there
but somewhere in between
yesterday and tomorrow and today
a reflection escaped from a mirror
a voice without a mouth
an ocean trapped in a tear
a story told over and over again
in a forest where every tree growing
makes its own sound
death is a mystery woven
into the fabric of life
grief is the thread
to which we use to mend our hearts
tragedy is the sacrificial lamb
to the alter where we will find
our laughter again
and love...
love is a sweater in the lost and found
waiting to be worn by anyone
in need of warmth
knitted from the softest yarn
from the generosity of kindness
love is row of crooked deciduous teeth
in a fresh bright smile
not yet ready to be traded
for quarters and trinkets
all giggles and sugar
in the innocence of youth
the magic of children
love is adrift
a vibration
connecting every heart
from this corner to that drugstore
from the gas station
to the solemn park bench
both here and there
anywhere and everywhere
looped through yesterday
and tomorrow and today
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 12:02 AM UTC
Moon phases agree,
apogee to perigee,
precept time and seas.
Moon (Haiku)
Michael C Crowder @scorsby 18th March 2019
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
The fakeness of fake reality
is in reality ...
fake
and is of no consequence.
If you, in reality,
are fake
the consequence of the fakeness
is - your reality,
Ipso facto, this consequence,
your - fakeness
should cease, in reality
or - prepare for consequences
which - in reality - won't be fake.
The Fakeness Of Fake Reality Michael C Crowder 17th March 2019
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 8:43 AM UTC
Rainbows for chasing,
the moon for the aiming,
forming in clouds, faces
for inspiration,
beckoning, is life ahead
full of credible opportunity,
beside empty promises creating,
truthful reality.
Standing tall, girding *****
I, reached for the unreachable
so - distantly close, impulsive forward, surges.
without doubt,
or plan,
missing by the - conceivably smallest,
actually - furthest amount,
yet still moving through,
pushing the immovable, climbing
the inaccessible,
falling - frequently,
never reaching nethermost depth,
buoyed by a recognition,
realising - all this fighting - striving
failing - miserably,
doing it all - wrong,
was not failure, but a justified lesson
on coping in the mire of existence.
The rainbows beauty explained in science,
gives it simplicity. A reality water and sunlight,
nothing really to chase,
or catch.
Moon - oh moon - my most favourite, still my dreamstone,
is but a stark beautiful presence,
removing sunlight reveals a satellite bleak,
nothing is here to seek,
or take aim,
likewise our cloud perceived faces,
expectations are best - unexpected.
If controlled by endeavour and aquasition
disappointment may be somewhat - repositioned,
attainment of skills formerly devoid of utilisation
revived, re-given to make something, that in truth,
can be ameliorated.
if only to yours truly
.
Still Chasing Rainbows . Michael C Crowder 10th March 2019 @scorsby
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
Unwittingly and surprisingly so often ignored is appreciation.
Of gifts, the love, the nurture received, given in true benefaction.
Even lack of spoken gratitude from the receiver, by the giver it is perceived.
Accordingly that which is given and is conspicuously wordlessly received
from the recipient, bathed in sublime silence, shines the appreciativeness
When physical attraction evolves into the love for each other entirely,
overwhelmed with gratitude for feelings, passion, desire, intrinsic sensuality.
In carnal gratification intertwined lovers, murmur words the moment in time set
as the act of true love, lovers appreciation of each other is a prerequisite,
kindling their deep and profound recognition of the symbiotic enchantment
Individuals have so much in life for which to celebrate in thankfulness
Taken for granted are emotional feelings of those who daily acquiesce.
Actions, items the mundane, all forgotten overlooked values unconsidered,
A list almost without end, descriptions of conceded gratitude left unsaid,
until its familiar benefits cease, revealing immediate impact of gratitude held concealed.
The Quality Feeling Of Thankful Michael C Crowder 30th December 2018
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
Everything, is fine,
it is. Fine,
If I have that again, it will, make me sick
It will always get stuck in my throat,
I would choke. Sick,
that I don't need, Don't eat.
leave it out? Totally.
Someone might see,
know, help, me? Getting worse.
Help myself. Normality,
keeping things usual. Work.
Pull myself together? get over it, don't be silly:
That's not helpful,
don’t say anything.
What's happening? I've never passed out before.
You in my head will you explain
What to do, yes you; I'm losing,
help me?
see things I'm missing. Ignore.
Remember being sick ? I don't want that, leave,
I Need food to keep the same.
Not. Change.
Food others have makes me feel unwell. Don't eat.
I. Tremble, consider, stare, UNABLE TO EAT MEALS,
Eat: with everyone, sit, quiet, be slow,
as much as possible, I will leave.
At least I tried. To observing eyes. I did well?
Touch leave, take leave tremble, later, maybe. No.
Don't want to, yet: need to think,
what I'm going to have? where I'm going to eat?
you can tell me, yes, no.? Safe food list, alters,
becomes not safe. It has changed, different cold.
Leave it. If it's not the same, colour, shape, smell,
not safe, Wait. It's on the list. Avoid it, the date is old,
milkshake
best.
In therapy, I speak, I listen, you unravel.
Best?
help me? keep to timetable? Its achievable.
What has really happened.?
Avoid? Try? Listen. Try, try
Is it fine?, me trying, still worried, concerned.
Not what you thought
(ARFID) Michael C Crowder September 2018
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
Through voracious eyes devotees, peruse writings, clever literature all styled to thoughtful poetic ways
eloquently, exposing wounds of body and soul, discovered distrust, anger much regret, sadly even fear,
thereto shortcomings in life, of people, their actions, loves and lies promulgated in illuminating phrase.
Technology endows contributors with outlets for venting suchlike occasions using artistry is here.
Passionate poignant experiences most well written, some not are duly shared to attracted communal eyes.
declarations of 'I have cared so much I'm wounded mortally', some bask in lost or unrequited loves last kiss,
several employ inner strength 'whatever happened, I don't care, I'm resilient, I survive', shared with poetic pride
concise verses rework obvious reminders, may motivate suggestion that opportunity shouldn't be missed.
Modest words abundantly profound begin remarks that reassures, with the - I'm here for yous'- symbolic embrace,
in support it is written, 'I know what you mean' and from a great distance - empathise, but I have little to say.
Health issues aren't fixed by artistic pennings, only face to face professional advice forms the strongest base,
Writings from the poetic inner self may become positive steps, for futures not, staring in depressions face.
Much is written with sensitivity oft-times is judged by content, overlooked is why and how it is composed.
For instance suicide educes fear however. dubiety invites, is it fiction or truly despair?
Writing as an art observes, describes, creates imagery, of sadness and joy, escapism, fictional or no.
Poetic creators who web-wide commune through stories, thoughts, secrets, ideas, dreams, let the poetry be shared .
Poetry www Michael C Crowder 12th January 2019 @scorsby
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC