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 May 2018 blaise
rained-on parade
You wanted a love like in the movies;
rain drenched white shirts, palms covered
in daisy pollen; I love you more than--
a phone call, long distance, your fingers
curling the telephone wire like you're pulling me
towards you
like a fibre optic pheromone.
Soundtracks of a jazz piano, and old jukebox hits,
flared skirts and Mary Jane shoes, square dancing.

But most of the time, we don't get to choose
the colour of the bedsheets. In this story,
I know you're going to leave me. I can sense
the zoom of your eyes, rolling away from me.
The lighting in the room, like the ones where something
awful is about to happen: a sad, sick orange
like a cheap sunset; the music, or lack thereof,
the way you bite your lip like you're about to
break my heart.

You look to the ground, and I know this is where
the narration will start;

this is the story of the first time
someone broke my heart.  
She's going to look up at me
and say the words,
It's all over-


and in a jump frame
the thunderclap will mask the sound
of my heart shattering, the sob disappearing
into my throat.

You wanted a love like in the movies,
honey,
we all did.

But then the rain came, and the flowers
drowned in their beds.
You left your umbrella by the doorstep,
I hope you don't catch a cold.
I'm not sure why.
 Apr 2018 blaise
Dave Gledhill
The pen, they say, is mightier,
but is it keener than a knife?
This brittle blade of insolence,
unleashed to lash at life.

'Yeah, innit, Bruv, he got right up in my face,
cos my phone was out in lesson time
and he called me a disgrace.
Like, so, whatever, mate,
I told him where to go,
trying to tell me English,
while I'm textin' my new ***.'

The pen is not mightier,
it is tarnished and obtuse,
a vision of a different age,
wrought blind from its misuse.

Its sapling song of innocence,
split south across the grain
and cast across the classroom,
yanked up and lobbed again.

'Do you get me, Blood?
He was pointing at a seat,
expectin' ME to sit there,
as if it were a treat.
I told him where to stick it
and called him out a clown,
I **** this one-way death pit
as I'm walkin' round and round.'

The pen should still be mighty
and not a strangled stream,
that's crawling up an incline,
like an M. C. Escher dream.

Its muddy banks lie dormant,
both acorn and an oak.

'Cut that ****, you KEENO,
let's ******* for a smoke.'
 Apr 2018 blaise
kellie scranton
Even when the ink started to run
You helped me find the meaning in the verse
Your cologne smelled like September
And I knew even if we both got lost out there
The sun would still rise and set
I took a lesson from the darkness
I never scorch my tongue on hot coffee anymore
I read the words I used to ignore
 Apr 2018 blaise
LexiSully
Perched quietly in the shadows of the night,
Observing completely, using all her might,
Untouched the landscape sat; she breathed a sigh,
She leapt and began to fly

She soared through the trees, dark and murky,
Weaving in and out, the ride a little jerky,
Until she reached the clearing, blooming and sprouting,
Where she landed and began scouting

She spotted a baby, small and alone,
Hungry and confused, wanting to be shown,
Flying over to the area in which it sat,
She pulled some wisdom from her hat

Unmoving and silent, she sat as an example,
Showing her apprentice just a little sample,
Teaching patience and perseverance was first on the list,
She didn’t quit until it got the gist

Next thing she knew, her student was growing,
In no time, it was the one doing all the showing,
She took a step back, gazing proudly at her work,
While the child continued doing all the groundwork

Rays peaked out across the horizon in all hues,
Most of which consisted of reds and blues,
She looked at the child, beckoning it to fly on home,
Although she longed to stay and roam

As the sun rose, slow and bright,
She decided to turn and take off in flight,
Twisting and turning through trees and brush,
She flew on quickly, as if in a rush

She spotted it then, modest and small,
The place she longed to go most of all,
Adventures are fun and she liked to roam,
But there’s definitely no place quite like home.
 Apr 2018 blaise
Umi
Maestra
 Apr 2018 blaise
Umi
The gentle tone of her teaching,
In wonderous melodies, orchestral knowledge from a sweet teacher,
Education set by the awareness of harmonizing, delicate instruments,
Wisdom and foresight, cast by no other judgement but of a conductor,
Whomst hand leads to the ups and downs of the intensity, recognised
Ensembling in the beauty of a sinfonietta, sounds flows uninterrupted
Let the singing pendulum to your mistress's pleasure fall to the bottom, attached to the chipped illusionists mask of anticipation!
To this dance the mascarade does not crack in the shadow of sound,
A wise scholar would not sacrifice one topic relevant to learn to the passing time, to her students unfortune that is, cast in pure grief,
A wise conductor does the same with musical notes, the story flows,
With the moon high in the sky, time stands in her way, questioning her to dance with the devil amongst a distorted, whicked dark,
But resillient to the end, tough and with no distraction taking her focus the director of this event finishes the creation of art, an orchestra
A craftwoman of tempo and elegance always stands out after all, bringing the musical score to life.

~ Umi
 Apr 2018 blaise
carminayasmin
before you contemplate that sharpened knife,
that is not ****** to other skin
- and sensually slit me open
from the neck.
my last tears that dilute with red will
vainly stain your pail shirt.

let me diffuse through your cold skin
so the knife that hovers above me
won't erase my trace.

staring at this mirror
I feel you approach at my shadow
trailing the knife.

my time cut short.
to save my guts from splitting,
I purge out all your substance that I had consumed.
with it, out came the bottled voice you raided me for
every night when you were dry with thirst.

eyes whisper to mine
that this wasn't your intent.
but I disagreed when red ran down my spine
2 April,00:14
 Apr 2018 blaise
Cjf
August 5th 2016
 Apr 2018 blaise
Cjf
you told me of stars shooting across the skies in bright burst

but you never told me about the kind of stars that plummet into the earths atmosphere

you never described the gravitational pull towards something that goes beyond description

maybe it isn't that simple maybe a catastrophe is meant to happen in order for something beautiful to exist

but ******* you're a ******* asteroid in my sky of shooting stars

you lit up this colorful earth with technicolors of your own making

I always knew coloring in the lines wasn't for you

maybe this is a poem about how you snuck your way into my body or better yet drilled a hole into my heart where you plummeted into at full speed and force

maybe it isn't a poem about love
maybe its a poem about how much I hate the person in my skin

and I never told you out of place I felt in my own skin and the words you say make me wanna tear myself out of mine and into yours

and you make me wanna commit sins and write them across the hell written skies

you make me wanna forget my name and only scream yours into the night

you're an astroid that got pulled into my sirens call of angst and desperation

you answered my call and idk what to do when I'm done with you

but **** if it doesn't hurt not talking to you
it doesn't hurt like a ***** knowing that I see the best of you and still take it for granted
it doesn't **** me inside and twist everything in horrifying ways knowing I want more from you
I want to lie you the **** down
I want to kiss you and never come up for air
I want to make sure you never forget my mark stained indigo and red on your neck
I want to scratch my name into your back with passion in the lines of every letter

*I want you

and that's the difference between us babe
I don't need you to breathe
to feel
I only want you
but ****
**** if this is more than I aimed for
**** if breaking your heart doesn't tear mine out with yours

I need you too.
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