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  Feb 2018 winter sakuras
lmnsinner
Of you, I am certain


can it snow if the skies are cloudless blue?

will I kiss tomorrow the person sitting bus opposite,
who now gifts me love at first sight?

can my children’s children love me more for who I am,
and not just for who I am?

knowing does true love have an uncertain beginning and a certain end?

would I recognize peace of mind if I ever so blessed, had it in my possess?

if the sun never returned, is happiness possible?

can a broken heart mend itself without new love?

Of all these, I am uncertain. Of you, I am certain!

will this scrip of letters be beloved or overlooked and forgotten?

will the day come sooner when self-rising,
my eyes will be pleased at no new scar ‘discovery.’
my ears hear no snap crackle or pop, and
my blood, pre-warmed, by a lover’s attentions,
to happy coffee cooling and a poem-done at my feet?

will my flaws be healed, scars laser erased, my muddled past,
fall obedient to a blue skies, a white full moon embrace, yours?

will today be the day, two feet identical, left and right banished,
ten new colors invented and rainbow added, and sad illegal?

will I awake somewhere over the rainbow one day,
dreams coming true, troubles melted, way up high?

*
Of all these, I am uncertain. Of you, I am certain!
***
  Feb 2018 winter sakuras
Eric the Red
Just know...
He’s had lives & loves before you
Remember that when the bricklayer or the mechanic
Asks for your hand
You’ll receive one flower
Instead of a dozen roses
Picked on his way home
Handwritten notes in your shoes
Instead of Hallmark greetings
Elaborate dinners cooked by him
Where he said he’d clean
Afterwards
But didn’t
Spur of the moment
Road trips
Instead of planned vacations
The opening of windows
For the springtime thunderstorms
Listening to the beat of his heart
While the rain drops
Drip
Drip
I
N
T
O
The drain
He’ll write you with jazz playing
Wine in his bottle
Records in his head
Absorbing you into his world
And if he dies before you
And you bury him
And you mourn over him
Lasting for years
Remember his flower
His notes written just for you
And if you see his ghost
Haunting you
Then the Poet
Has fallen forever for
...You...
  Feb 2018 winter sakuras
ryn
When words form
but the voice is muted,
strings of sentences -
like loose lengths of yarn,
just swimming...
swirling in the currents
of the wash.

They meet,
they connect,
they get tangled up
with each other.

What had before made sense
now swells larger,
more intricate,
more tiresome.

It all converges
into a ******
as the spin cycle ends.

What’ll emerge
is a convoluted mess.



I’m a mess.

And then,
I get hung out to dry.
  Feb 2018 winter sakuras
Anthony Grant
I'm not a poet.
But if I were, i'd probably be a nocturnal one and i'd write about how on most nights my tongue is a tombstone, my throat a grave filled with regret,
and my voice is each grunt and whine I give my timed reflection as I avoid every mirror because I can't stand looking at myself...i'd tell...
I'd tell people that my depression is an ocean. Within it's waves, high and low...slowly but surely blanketing over me...dragging any broken
and lost pieces of my happiness back into itself, resetting the sand that is my skin so tomorrow you can't see the holes that were there.
Yeah.
I'm not a poet.
But maybe if I were, i'd write a song about her. It would tell a story about how on days when the sun blinks and everything around me is grey; and the
world is stained with my fears...she. is. the honey-warm scent after a summer rain, an evening primose before the tempest, and the quiet cerulean air in an earthquake...
she's...every hue of a pacific sunset.
I'd sing about how she was the moments between each tide that kept me warm; how she was the sun that fed the daisies in my throat reminding me
that life is possible.
I'm no poet.
But if I were then this paper would be the towel I dried my heart with, the words would be all the unspoken dreams of my insomnia, and the pen was the
blade used to cut this heart so I could bleed my everything to you...I swear. If I were a poet, i'd whisper every vowel i've been given that completes me
into stardust. Sprinkled into the cosmos to someday create a world where the ocean never raged. A world where there were just enough clouds and no
earthquakes...then again...where's the poetry in that?
I've gotten so much great feedback/shares/reposts from this, I just wanted to say thank you all truly. This was a piece that I really dug deep for and i'm so glad I found a place to share it. <3
  Feb 2018 winter sakuras
Daniel Dawes
A transparent glow peeks through a crack in the old door,
I reach out to the mottled handle and pull it open,
Silver light chases the darkness across the room as it fills the space,
I look out as the heavenly body lights the cool, still landscape,
Then all is dimmed by the passing of a shimmering cloud,
I look up at an orchestra of stars, singing with light,
Breathing in the cool air,
Breathing out into the world of twilight,
An invisible wind dances with the trees as their leaves spin and speak,
Flashes of silvers and blues flowering from moment to moment with ease,
The river salutes with a quiver,
Blades of light dancing across the surface as it meanders across a sculpted land,
An owl calls into the blackness of an ancient wood which is home,
Water takes shape in the valley below like a snake formed from a magic once forgotten,
The mist drifts, roams and rambles down the valley in its own effortless serenity,
Dew dropped grass glistens as it greets the flowing breeze, with a bow only to stand to attention for their next meet,
I see nature move as one in the stillness, as I nature myself move through the eternal space,
Gliding through the moment,
A silhouetted lone bench sits on stones which shine as jewels in the night,
Silence is broken as I step only to fall back into which it came,
I sit,
I watch,
And fade away into the beautiful tranquil night.
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