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Ranita Mar 2013
9:00pm: We hugged and chatted. Your sister joking with us, your brothers being silly. I love your siblings.

9:30pm: We went hunting for gear. Your dad helped us find sleeping mats and told us where to find some tarps.

10:00pm: We climbed onto the fort and made our beds. I swept the bugs and pine needles away. I remember thinking, I hate pine needles. Why Florida trees, why?

10:30pm: We made tea and got ready for bed. I love chamomile tea. Lots of sugar. Washing off my makeup was easy with your sister's fancy face wipes.

10:45pm: We climbed into our sleeping bags. I was warm. I love the plaid pattern of the sleeping bag I always use.

11:00pm: We ate snacks, drank tea, and talked. Poptarts are so good late at night. Better than in the morning. And the hot tea felt so good against the chilling breezes.

11:30pm: I turned off the flashlights. I liked it better that way. I like hearing only voices, not seeing the person. My hearing what they say feels amplified that way.

11:30pm: I laid on my back and realized how pretty the trees are. The sky was orange, oddly lit up more than normal for that time of night. Few clouds drifted in the sky.

12:00am: I poured the story out to you.

12:05am: I began watching the moon cross the sky. It was very orange and it moved faster than I imagined it would.

12:30am: I got a text.

1:00am: I proposed an adventure. I wanted to do something. I wanted not to have to think for a while. I like late night happenings. And I like not being alone.

1:15am: We got off our lazy butts and went to the garage. I started riding the ripstick. I picked it up right away and didn't fall which was new for me.

1:30am: You taught me how to longboard. It was fun, though I kept forgetting which way I would put my feet.

1:45am: We started riding bikes. I love your mom's bike. It's so smooth and easy to ride..but it clicks sometimes in weird ways. I liked the clicking too.

1:50am: ***** it, I didn't want to reply.

2:00am: We rode through the neighborhood. I love the houses in Naples..

2:05am: I fell in love with the night sky. It was beginning to look more like the normal dark blue rather than orange. The stars started to peek through better.

2:10am: The cold air made my blood rush. I was wearing such warm clothes, but the wind went straight through. I loved going fast, racing you. Speed is beautiful on a bike.

2:15am: I never wanted the night to end. I wanted to ride late at night forever.

2:35am: The silence was so beautiful. We would be quiet for short bits. I liked the pictures my mind created during that time.

2:40am: I wished I had his time stopping watch. I always wish I did.

2:45am: We started the ride home. My breathing got pretty rough. Cold air always hurts my lungs. But it was so worth it.

3:00am: We put the bikes away and crawled back into bed. I loved the fort so much..

3:10am: You fell asleep.

3:15am: The moon was higher in the sky. It was clear and white and full.  I could see it perfectly. Peeking through the trees. I fell asleep slowly. Loved it all.
Sleepover at a friend's house. That night was lovely. The next day was beautiful as well.
Florida weather has its perks.
onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

aside:
helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,
hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
betraying
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

lips,
like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
stating
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of
onlylovepoetry

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
olp
Karina Roman Dec 2013
Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me.
With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day.
Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take.
I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag.
Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave.
Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath.
Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future.
At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex.
And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze.
I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner.
At 7:00 am  I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.  
7:30 am; I shower.
7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities.
7:50am; I  have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang.
8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold.
With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush.
9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me.  Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner.
4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs.
7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again.
8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break.
9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same.
10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity.
It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules.
It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow.
And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me .
I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine.
I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.
7:00pm -- You came over with a bottle of wine
You knocked over my 6 string before a drop touched your lips
Nervousness

I remember what you wore
Blue dress shirt, jeans, pointed shoes
You looked amazing

8:00pm-- We began to watch a movie
We recited the lines: " You must find a shrubbery!"
we drank more red

10:00pm-- We talked more
We discovered that we had loads more in common
You made me laugh

12:00am-- We watch another movie
We wind up talking through the entire film
I scoot closer to you on the couch

1:00am-- Time stands still
You brush hair away from my face
We kiss

My legs feel like jelly
My heart is pounding in my chest
My arms feel like noodles

We release
Your eyes are so blue
I flush

You smile and raise my chin
our lips touch again
I feel light

We begin to search one another
Your strong hands gliding on my curvy body
Finding sensations I believed were dead
Finally, you reach my left breast
I gasp softly in your ear

My tiny hands running through your golden hair
Down your neck to your chest
Exploring a treasure trail of excitement

We lock eyes
We smile at one another
We make love

4:00 am-- I fall asleep
Wrapped in your arms
You kiss my hair
Whispers of "Sweet Dreams" fill my ears

We drift in and out of sleep
Lazy sleep kisses in between long periods of doze
I dream that I am falling for you

11:00am-- Opera music
Coffee and breakfast
We hug

We spend the day lounging with one another
Laughing, tickling, kissing, loving

6:30pm -- "  I should go" You say to me
We hug and kiss goodbye

7:00pm-- My door shuts
you're walking down the road
I sit on the couch and sob
I've finally met the man of my dreams
and I don't want this feeling to ever stop
Skai Jan 2016
It's 8:00pm
and Carlos picks me up.
Full bottles of ***** litering his
floorboards.
Hartwell in the passenger seat,
I sit behind him.
Leila in the middle
and Will on the far left.
Will is already drunk

It's 9:00pm
and I walk into Dylan's house.
Loud music blaring from his speakers.
My bag on the ground,
the ***** and beer on the table.
I mix the drinks because Leila doesn't know how.

It's 10:00pm
and every one is here.
Will and I sit together.
He is so drunk, and I am named the babysitter.
I make small talk while sipping the horrible jungle juice Leila ****** up.
My jungle juice was better.
I hand Robbie a 10.
He buys more Mountain Dew to mix more.

It's 11:00pm
and I get a call from Joseph.
"Is it weird if I stop by?"
I utter no and ask Mr. Ed for the address.
I run inside to tell Leila.
She hands me a shot of fireball.
I threw it back like a pro.
Luke hands me the jungle juice.
I chug.

It's 11:15pm
and Joseph calls
"I'm outside."
I walk by Will to act normal.
"I want ******* hookers and blow."
He's ****** up.
He looks up behind me,
and I turn around.
Joseph towers over me,
and without thinking I throw my hands around him.
I'm choking back tears.

It's 11:30pm
and I drunkenly drag Joseph outside.
He knows I want to talk.
No words,
only tears.
I cry into his arms for what seems like forever.
He promises to never leave me again.

It's 11:50
and Dylan yells for every one to go outside.
The countdown begins.

It's 11:59
and we wait.
5..
4..
3..
2..
1..
"HAPPY NEW YEAR."
Carlos is the first to hug me.
Will passes out on a car.

It's 12:03am
and I try to wake Will up.
He finally comes to it.
He somewhat runs inside for more alcohol.
I hastily follow.

It's 12:10am
and Carlos is pouring shots of ***** for the 3
of us.
We drink.
Carlos runs to the sink.
I get him water.
Every one comes back inside.

It's 12:15am
and Carlos hands me champagne
which he refused to give to anyone else.
I drink.

It's 12:30am
and Joseph has to leave.
I beg him not to.
He says he'll see me Saturday.

It's past 1:00am
and Will is in sick in the bathroom.
I take care of him.
Leila comes in
and makes herself puke because she drank too much.
Will cries because he doesn't like seeing his sister like that.
I hold him.

It's past 2:00am
and Carlos is the first one out.
We find spots to sleep.
I'm sandwiched between a snoring Carlos
and a different Joseph on the sofa.
Will is at the bottom.
Hartwell sleeps on the floor.

It's past 3:00am
and every one is alseep.
I lie awake thinking how good it is
to start 2016 this way.
Will is in here a lot, obviously, and yes I have a crush on my best friend's little brother. He's 15, and I'm 17. Probably not a good thing.
Thank you for Matching the Tinder Call Center. My name is Nick and I will be helping you with your order today. And your name is?

Hi, (Tinder Match). I'm so glad you called because you do qualify as one of the first 100 people I find attractive!
So Where are you from?

Oh Wow, I've never been there, you ever Been to Portland Maine?

No? Well look at that, I guess we've never been too each others places before.
Haha.
Looks like we have something in common.

What was it on my profile that got you interested in swiping right?
Oh I see, you liked the beard and
my addiction to Netflix.

How long have you been interested in that?
Wow that's a long time.
you really enjoyed the Office.

What else have you tried to build a good relationship?
Yeah, that must be frustrating.
They seem like a real bad guy.

What's the worst part about dealing with that?
I see, that must be really hard.

Tell me a little bit about why it's so important for you to do something about this now; it's a little different for everyone.

I see, you can't love anymore because he broke your heart.
You don't want anything serious right now.

Do you prefer coffee or tea?
you're right, Yerba Mate is fantastic with maple syrup.

What's your favorite meal of the day?
Yeah, breakfast is amazing.

What kind of music do you like?
Twenty One Pilots saved your life? that's Unbelievable.

what does your bedroom look like?
Covered in artwork and paper lanerns?

You know, (tinder match). I can't wait for you to start seeing me, and feeling Happy.

As my profile states,
I am a Geeky, Confident, Charismatic Optimist who likes to wake up next to people, Watch Netflix, and sing to himself almost always.
And that sounds great doesn't it?

Just imagine how wonderful it will feel when you're able to Sit down in Dobra tea. Pass back and fourth our Yerbe Matte Ahumado.
Then go belt out lyrics to Twenty One Pilots in my car on the way back to your place,
have amazing *** under your paper lanterns and wake up the next day to me making you breakfast.
And THAT'S really why you swiped right today, isn't it (Tinder match)?

Excellent! Let's get you started!

As you heard, I've put together a Special Date, with the free Tea. A serenade and car ride. And an extra free second date when you try this First One for just your body. Plus, since you're one of the people I find attractive, I'm gonna throw in a Third date. so you get three, for the price of one! And remember that dating me is risk-free because it's backed by my 30-day Text you back guarentee.
So what's the best number I can reach you at?

I understand your hesitation, (tinder match). When we first started talking you had said you'd been dealing with bad relationships for a long time right? Once you start seeing me you'll see an increase in happiness within the first two dates. And if you never have to worry about being sad again, you'd say it was worth trying wouldn't you?
Right! So what's your snapchat username?

Perfect, and your Cell phone number?
Alright, and a day you're free?
And what's a good time to meet?

Awesome, okay (Tinder Match). And I'm also told to inform you of our special super saver package today. You'll get to go out on a date with me, and my friend Sally for the same low price of just your body. Imagine what it'd be like experiencing the both of us at the same time! Scientists have proven that polyamorous relationships are more happy, more healthy, and result in less overall stress. Which is really what you're looking for isn't it?

Great so I'll just have her tag along alright?

Perfect.
Thank you very much and just to confirm, I'll see you on Wednesday at 12:00pm at Dobra Tea, alright?
Alright have a nice day (Tinder Match.)
Buh bye.
I started working at a call center and thought this was too perfect not to make.
Matthew Walker Jul 2013
This morning I told myself,
I will write a poem today,
But I ended up just hanging out,
With my friend named procrastinate.

8:30am
I was awakened,
Rolled over and saw my notes,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

10:00am
Lounging around,
It’s my lazy day,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:30am
Just finished showering,
Poetic thoughts ran through my mind,
While the water ran through my hair,
But now that I’m out,
I’m busy,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

12:30pm
My dad made me listen,
To a sermon with him,
I almost wanted to write a poem,
But I was preoccupied with Dr. Thompson,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

1:45pm
Money feels good in my hands,
But first I gotta do all this addition,
Time cards ****,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

3:00pm
I haven’t eaten anything today,
I’m starving,
Maybe because my refrigerator is empty,
I haven’t gone shopping in four weeks,
I should pay the grocery store a visit,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

5:45pm
Tacos sound good,
I have no clue how to make them,
But I guess I’ll give it a shot,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

6:45pm
Dang, that tasted awesome,
I should probably make something
Gross so I don’t let these cooking skills
Get to my head,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

7:00pm
It feels so good to sit down,
My new favorite show, Falling skies,
Is awaiting me on amazon prime,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:00pm
Four episodes in,
I’m officially addicted,
But I’ll let my brother use the TV now,
While I pass out on the couch,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:15pm
Crap…
I was gonna write a poem today,
What the heck am I supposed to write about?
Nothing serious is on my mind,
Depression, abuse, peace and war?
The only peace I’m thinking about is sleep,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:17pm
I guess I’ll let my eyes open,
It might be time to write a poem,
Not sure what to write about,
I could write about writing a poem or whatever,
Poetry,
Yeah, maybe now.

11:30pm
I’m done,
Here’s your fricken poem, Matthew,
Can I go to bed now?
4/7/2013
Amy Irby Jul 2012
island summer heat
big backyards
shared by three families
with rambunctious kids
sundresses, sandals, swim trunks
a big mango tree and
a merry-go-round with red chipped paint
geckos and mud baths
"boy's got cooties!"
  
mid-west plains' dry, summer heat
Mr. Sun is our lamp well past 9:00pm
Dow St., a giant hill covered
in uniform houses, filled with the uniformed sacrificial
spinning wheels, acre-wide hide and seek
nintendo and donkey kong, fireflies in jars
front yard mulberry trees
pippy longstocking "lets' go into this 'cave' of vines"
poison-ivy
  
southern peninsula, humid, summer heat
above ground pools and trampolines
a red brick house; the first home
the first CD collection, Filipino food
THE PARK,
the sandbox lid drowning in the bayou
sleeping in guest rooms, sleepovers a sign of status
pelicans, ducks, fishing,
sleeping in the boat; camping on the beach
Being a Navy brat, my childhood was spread out over the world. The first stanza was during our time in Guam, the second Nebraska and the third Florida.
Devon Clarke Jan 2014
Sunlight peeks In between silk curtains,
Sparking my whole being into motion.
Today starts.

  11:00am -
  I roll out of bed
  And wake up to a sweet goodmorning
  From you.
  I keep this huge smile
  While my morning shower washes away
  The sins of yesterday's memories.
  While I make bacon and eggs,
  You make your way to my door.
  Your knock is like the alarm clock
  For the butterflies in my stomach
  Scrambling all over.

    3:00pm -
    Our moans fade into a sweet ambience;
    Your bare skin on mine feels like
    I'm lounging in the clouds above our heads.
    We basque in the amazing energy
    Our seeds of love bloomed into.
    Please stay. Pretty please?

      7:00pm -
      Our nap comes to an end.
      We hope our goodbye kisses
      Are merely just holding us over til tomorrow.
      You might be going back to your house, but
      You and I both know
      Your home is where my heart is.


        1:00am -
        I've been in bed for three hours,
        Restlessly tumbling from side to side in bed
        Trying to get to sleep.
        With you in my life,
        No dream compares
        To another breath I share with you.
        **I love you. So much.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Almost round 4:00pm two Asian lover dovers with giggly
laughter took the South Bound subway to South Philly.
Their outward display was so neat and pleasing like a painter with my pen I had to write this...


Watching two Asian school youths;
    frequently there;
every smile every nuance of expressions,
    their soul-mate world
tells about their quiet and giggly adoration

Transformed from their
    hard steel bench
is now a park bench
    Encompassing strident voices fade;
Their happy world is victorious

She sits upon his lap
    And whispers; they faintly laugh
Their entwined thoughts
    cannot be pulled asunder

As I write, I observe;
    I laugh to myself,
the remembrance
    of my soul-mate and myself
many years ago...
Taylor St Onge Aug 2015
I was driving to work tonight and I almost swerved off the road because I was staring at Orion's Belt as it hung near the horizon of the sky.

Please study the following photo and connect the dots on Orion, his belt, and his arrow:
(A detailed answer will be on the back for comparison)

I do not pretend to understand astrology nor astronomy.  

Orion’s arrow always points north.  You can use it as a compass if you are traveling somewhere where there are not many signs of light.  In October, if you crane your neck and squint your eyes and maybe pray to God, Orion will shoot arrow after arrow off into the sky and you will be able to make your first wish upon a shooting star.  (If you are in a desert, and that is why you are navigating by constellations, pray for help.)

His belt is made up of three sisters and I wonder if they talk to him in the night and keep him company?

(Is it possible to be up in the Heavens, overlooking the world, while still feeling lonely and insignificant?)

Constellations move minutely every year.  In this way, they are similar to humans.  Always roaming.  Always looking for change.

When Orion boasted that he could **** any living animal on the planet, Gaia, the Earth Goddess, objected and sent a scorpion after him.  After his death, Zeus flung his body into the stars; fractured to pieces, glowing softly in the night sky, Orion continues to hunt his prey into the dark, cold depths of the Milky Way.

Maybe, if you prayed to the Greek Gods, you could find yourself breathing in the stars, too.
wrote this for my poetry: intermediate course.  prompt: factual poem.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
the neighbors would hate me
tween 11 and 6:00pm

when I sing we must of true detective stories
of unrequited love, death,
the stony stink of
the poverty of starvation
of body and soul,

the stuff that makes
the paper librettos
come alive,
but my lease reads:

The Renter is required to refrain from singing between the hours of 11:00pm and 6:00am.
Writing poetry is not only permissible, but encouraged.
For Livi
Charlie Prince Jul 2012
You are the smell of dawn in the evening.

You are the taste of champagne in flat beer.

You are the storm after the calm,
that calls a sailor to his doom, and his resurrection.

You are the pupil of my mind's eye.

You are the reflection of eternity in the backside of a spoon,
held only long enough to know on a level beneath foresight,
between bites of spaghetti and pesto.

I alone can call you from the trenches
to embed your nature in the navel of the world.
Your pulse is the very river Nile herself.
And as you pour your own prediction of flooding into my lips,
I know the life you give.

The moon can call an owl to its perch.
Just as the sun can burn a wolf to its bones.
But what loss is that?
They both meet destiny at a coffee shop,
sipping on the preconceptions of their parents, transposed into prose,
whose simple words will uphold the will of the world.
Nat Lipstadt May 2020
It’s ‪7:00pm‬, You Feeling My NY City?


a nighttime crescendo, daily grows stronger for longer,
a major miracle for a city where blasé arrivée so fast in
a New York City Minute, uncool, you’re done, see ya,
starring in your-***-banging-solo-reality-show

but this loving polyglot *** clanging, more akin to being in...A Chorus Line?
no stopping a diurnal ritual, soon to be the longest running musical,
a clap & dance prayer ‪@ 7:00PM‬ sharp, a very civilized NY hour,
quarantine is French for sleeping-in, we vive les temps viral!

‪this evening service, no choral motet, no anthem rock,‬ nope,
just a single note, a cheer, a celebratory count, taking stock,
we noise makers beat back death once again, we’re alive,
kickin’ up heels to a dance guv-anointed as NY tough

that bell ringing noise is us saying, see here, we are all heroes,
stir crazy got nothing on us, it’s a bust, no showing rust, aging,
in a city that never sleeps, we may have changed but temporarily,
an unnatural reflective silence prevailing, still take a moment to say:

our city’s style, no way Jose, this noise is a surround sound blessing,
it’s a street sign, “stick around,” here is our home, not going down,
we are troops, seasoned by history, how to survive, sheltering live,
underneath our huge racket, we quiet whisper, raucously shout


staycationing here, my homies

May7th

5:35AM
jvb Feb 2014
it's 8:00am and i'm on my way to school,
the bus is crowded, full of people so cruel.

at 11:00am i've had my first subject,
how do people make friends, it's so hard to connect.

i made it to 3:00pm to take the bus home,
finally a place where I can be alone.

at 7:00pm we have dinner, its so quiet,
all shallow conversation, like we are strangers who just met.

by 10:00pm i'm lucky to be here,
drowned in my own tears i'm consumed by fear.

2:00am and I can't feel anymore,
someone tear my heart, leave me torn.
someone help me
(Published in Miami Herald on May 26, 2014 Brigitte Jacobs Arnold
Obituary Guest Book View Sign ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI. Services will be held at 7:00 pm and a viewing from 12:00 pm to 8:00pm at Maspons Funeral Home located at 3500 SW 8th Street, Miami Florida 33135 Wednesday May 28th.)


Don’t ask me why but
I went online this afternoon.
Read the Miami-Herald obituaries.
And not just the Biggies:
Maya Angelou at 86 and
A one hundred year old Herb Jeffries.
Of course we knew Maya,
Her caged bird singing
Softly in our souls,
But may not be aware of Herb Jeffries.
A former singer in the Ellington band,
Herb was known as the Bronze Buckaroo,
In a series of all-black 1930s Westerns--
His nickname evoking
His racial identity,
Quite muddled, flexible.

Although both sad passages to be sure,
It was neither Maya nor Herb
Triggering my tender tears.
But the obituary of:
ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI,
Known as Oma, Mutti and Mama.
Well, not exactly the Brigitte obit,
My tears for her long-lived mother,
Brigitte’s mother, durable & abiding,
Still breathing at 97:
Hildegard Wolle.
Reading Brigitte’s bio—
German born, Berlin student,
Singer-fashionista &
Proud, naturalized
American citizen—
I can’t stop thinking about Hildegard.
As if the woman didn’t already
Have more than her share of trouble
On this planet nearly a century,
Having already lost her
Grandson Roland, and now,
Her daughter.
Something wacky is going on here.
Some long-distance life lesson
Being applied here.
Poor Hildegard: ungifted with Alzheimer’s,
Suffers crystal distant memories,
Some really bad karma
Stored up in past lives.
Last week, Cortney moved into a four story apartment
with seven twenty-something year old roomates, all boys.
The men share the first three floors.
while Cortney has the enire top floor to herself.
I spent the night there saturday night.
And around 10:00pm
a twenty-three year old boy
Blonde, baby faced, named Kevin Smith
stumbled drunk into Cortneys penthouse room.
Kevin smith removed his pants, and crawled into bed with us.
Kevin Smith nuzzled into my face, pulled me close, and rested his hand,
firmly on my ***.
Kevin Smiths breath smelled of ***, coffee, (and a man who regularly brushes his teeth.
Good Job Kevin Smith.)
At first, Cortney and I assumed Kevin Smith was each other.
after further, mostly-unconcious, inventory of our limbs,
we gathered this was neither the case, nor a hallucination.
Cortney flopped dryly for her cellphone and shined it's light at Kevin Smith.
"What the ****" Shouted Cortney.
No response from Kevin Smith.
"What the ****!!"
We got out of bed and put clothes on,
laughed at how ridiculous it was
that a drunk stranger just grabbed my ***,
while an unconcious Kevin Smith laid in Cortneys bed.
Kevin Smith sat up
"This is really telling. I uh..."
Cortney cut him off
"Get out."
As she turned on the light.
"Can you guys call my phone?" Asked Kevin Smith,
"No." Said Cortney
Get out of my room."
physically pushing Kevin Smith out of her room.
Cortney held up Kevin Smiths drunk zanax filled body on the stairs.
preventing Kevin Smith from otherwise falling down said stairs and dying.
Kevin Smith showed his appreciation by saying,
"High fives all around"
I watched Cortney strattle drunk Kevin Smith awkwardly, yet also motherly
down the stairs.
I leaned over the railing and high fived Kevin Smith.
"I just want you to know," mumbled Kevin Smith
you guys are my friends.
You don't need to.. I got this".
"No, you really don't" said Cortney,
"if you fall down or throw up on me
you owe me $20"
Cortney delivered Kevin Smith to his bed.
Kevin Smith mumbled something, and Cortney returned upstairs.
"What the ****?" Laughed Cortney.
"What the ****." I replied.
A true story...
What just happened.
Poetoftheway Aug 2017
"the ever shifting light of ourselves"
(a poem such as this)

For Jamadhi V.

<•>
8/28/17

at 11:09am,
the phrase arrests itself, then assertive,
ungently demanding fulfillment,
implanted, it cares not my whereabouts,
it is a child~phrase, inexact, mysterious,
wanting its breast milk feeding immediate
no matter where my presence visible

but to me, it stinks of familiarity,
for my shifts, my redrawn shapes,
exhausting, giving me cause to grieve,
write poems such as this,
which I regret both
before~after conception~completion,
written in a fevered misery of fervor,
hoping,
no one ever likes it and its witnessing

as light ever shifts,
it consumes, extinguishes, reignites,
poorly lit, revealing dregs and dustbins

better then to sit in the darkness
the one you call,
getting it over with...

6:00pm
<•>

~~~~~~~~

*the swelling and the spume


for Lucy:

who gave me the title, three poems, a compliment, and the X Factor {inspiration}
~~~
the spume, the sea foam concentrate,
a greener white
by the the salt and the souls of the
million dead organisms,
that are are the compost of its formation,
it, watches the poet, who watches the spume,
come ashore for its final act of
immolation by evaporation

which is why the random act of
an unseen ministering force,
fills my ears with humbling glory of
Samuel Barber's Agnus Dei,^
my fresh reminder that this swelling chest
in this temporary abode of mine,
by the sea, passage is prepaid for my
expiration by evaporation too,
all lambs march to the sea,
returning to spume
~
Lyrics to Agnus Dei:
^ Alleluia Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns
Alleluia Alleluia
For our Load God Almighty reigns
Alleluia
Holy Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy
Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
Amen

~~~~~~

"may all my lost lovers haunt me"

for Vinnie Brown

even your kindergarten crushes?

what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings rhymes with duality

Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications and the
valises of drama,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street

was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for busted grownup hearts
that had normal  EKG's

and that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with an ingrown danger
of never forgetting

did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?

I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address

and still do

and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?

Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems

this my new found poet
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
another man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it

~~~~~~*

reading love poetry and listening to
Joni M.,
at 3:09AM
never wise,
but always full of hindsight
Sally A Bayan Dec 2013
(For Timothy)

Twas a short poem I was reading...
I had started writing my comments, when...
A very strange feeling rushed through me.
With very strange thoughts:

"This... has exactly happened before...
This poem, I have read before...
Written these very same thoughts before!"

Over and over, I blinked...I had to make sure...
But, all at once, one brief moment...
I found myself seated beside a grand piano,
By a wide ostentatious stairway,
In a bright, candle-lit mansion...
But, stranger still, while I was writing,
My eyes strayed to my right,
To a mirror by the wall...
I saw a handsome young man,
With slightly long curly hair,
Wearing a long-sleeved, white ruffled shirt
And a pair of dark pants,
Holding paper and quill,
Looking back at me...

I was staring at myself!

I was holding a paper
Where I had written my thoughts
About a poem titled
"WILT...."

( November 5, 2013/ 2:00PM)

Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Unbelievable, but true...Some months ago, I was reading Timothy's poem titled WILT....I was typing my comments, and then
I suddenly found myself there....in that strange setting.***
Allen James Aug 2018
POW
The rapid fire of a printer,
Can rip a soul to shreds,
At 9:00AM some think it’s ten,
While others just forget,
One by one we hold our ground,
With nowhere to retreat,
Our fingers march in unison,
To the sound of the same beat,

Poor young Bobby's in the corner,
Still trembling in his boots,
This is no place for tender hearts,
For that is what we shoot,
12:00PM - Swallow regret,
With ramen in a bowl,
A busy stomach helps to keep,
The mind off starving souls,

Fly back now birdie, it's 12:30,
There's been a breach of internet,
We all break rank and start to yell,
"Run for your cigarettes!"
Let's pull ourselves together now!
There's glory to be had,
They say our names will live forever,
When sales aren’t too bad,

4:00PM - It’s time again,
To reassess our plan,
All team leaders to the front,
In chains of old command,
Let’s push a little further now,
Eyes on the prize of screens,
We'll break our backs, our necks, and wrists,
But we will never break routine!

6:00PM - We did it men!
Victory is here,
Now how about we celebrate?
With laughs and ice cold beer,
But wait a second, look out there!
The enemy’s not through,
I know they’re all too young to die,
But killing children is what we do,

Another round. What say you, men?
Let’s not forget our cause,
We've found so many bodies here,
Yet all the minds are lost,

Now brace yourselves for madness,
Thoughts of discharge from your desk,
For delusion earns no payment here,
And hopes are kept in check,
And should you ever dare to wander,
Then you too shall go berserk,
With visions of a POW,
A Prisoner Of Work.
taylor bush Feb 2016
the mountains just sit there, helplessly beautiful.
bumpy and jagged,
the clouds cape over them.
and they don't realize
that every rock is in its place,
creating the perfect landscape.
and when the sun rises
over their curves
they don't see the beauty
in their layers and their history.
they allow nature to take them over,
without giving it further thought.
they let life explore its wonderland,
as the depths of the shadows get deeper,
and their peaks higher.
not even realizing the envy,
that they embrace.
although sometimes,
they do crumble and break,
under all that pressure,
but that doesn't even faze their onlookers,
because even their downfall
is a sight to see.
dailythoughts Feb 2021
this hour of the day feels heavy
barnoahMike Nov 2010
_I'LL NEVER FORGET  "THAT-NIGHT" It was 8;00PM, a Thunder and Lightening  storm had just begun  and what seemed like thousands of BB sized HAIL WERE  PELTING  the roof,  making it Hard to Hear the  Ringing Phone ! !     I Barked OUT a  "HELLO",,,the tearful,   hesitant voice on the OTHER END....CRIED OUT... " Come over  quickly"  She pleaded and  continued with  "IT'S LIKE DEMONS Have CONTROL OF HER ! ! !   ,and SHE KEEPS CRYING OUT ..  AUNT BEA,,, Aunt Bea... Over and over"_  .      This was going to require a SPECIAL-EXORCISM  I Stated... "I'm ON MY WAY" !             Upon my Arrival , I was greeted  by a trembling,sobbing  LaCretia,,claiming,  "HURRY  to the Library Room.,Rochelle is waiting ! !"         The repeating AUNT BEAS   were spoken as if Gargling...   "WHAT are her Symptoms "  I Queried ?    IN A VERY-SLOW  Determined Voice, LaCretia   detailed the following,,,,     "She has the BLUES,  She has the BLAHS,  She has BLEMISHES,   She has BOWEL Constriction,   She has been BLASPHEMING,  She has BUTTOCKS Wrinkles,   She has  BREAST quivers and has been having BELCHING FITS "! ! !     I THREW MYSELF ON THE FLOOR IN PRAYER...Asking for the strength to DEAL-WITH  these DEMONS...** A N D _Here's what CAME-OUT of  ROCHELLE,,,, (#1)=BREEZEWAY-LIPS= when encountering these rascals ,it's highly suggested  that  WE BE UNDER  Proper Cover..    (#2)= BISTRO-BREATH-LEADER= Demons that emit SPECIAL AROMATICS  into the air ,that keep screaming  ,,"IT'S TIME TO EAT"....(#3)=BEHEMOTH -TESTER=  Demon assigned to see how BIG OF A MONSTER  he can turn you in to ....( #4)=BRAZEN-FELLOWS=  Demon who attempts to Get "YOU" TO   **** INTO EVERYBODYS BUSINESS,  and ruin their whole day & night...! ! !      I   THEN SHOUTED OUT  TO *ROCHELLE *    " ARE there any more " B " DEMONS IN there ??"     Rochelle, collapsed to the floor,, I promptly RUBBED-IN  the BROWN SHOE POLISH  into the soles and heels of feet,, FOREVER-BLOCKING *" B " DEMONS ,  the ONLY-ENTRANCE to our BODIES ..__  Rochelle ,with a new found strength, lifted herself from the floor,  Gingerly grasped my hand,  Pulled me "VERY-CLOSE" .    KISSED   me with a FERVOR , THAT I   CAN "TASTE"     TO THIS very-day...     I bid LaCretia and Rochelle "GOOD-NIGHT",,   AND FOUND MYSELF "WHISTLING" and  "THINKING"  as I walked to my Vehicle.... "The Demons are increasing their activity ! !    I MUST  "BE-PREPARED" for the *NEXT-CALL*PERHAPS  FROM  *  Y O U * ??_
copyright 2010      by barnoahMike           Mike Ham
Kit Jul 2015
The sound of the overhead fan
immerses the vast room with calmness.
The breeze it gives off
coats my arms with goosebumps, harmless.
(study sessions at the library)

Laying in bed at night, shirtless, sweaty
I can feel the moisture pooling up at the bottom of my spine.
The windows open, cooling the perspiration from my back,
the neighbors AC gives off a low whine.
(late night sleepovers)

Mosquito bites cover my legs,
on a humid fourth of July night.
Gunshots, no, fireworks,
light up the night like dynamite.
(our scary/happy night)

Lonely nights, wait no sorry, happy nights,
with no one, everyone.
Long walks at 5:00PM no 3:00AM,
wait no 5:00PM with anyone.
(you're not here, what do I do?)

I can hear people walking at night,
but I'm not with them.
I can hear my pulse in my ears,
it's 5:32AM
(I don't know if you're alive)

I remember eating popsicles with you,
we got the red stains around our lips.
My hand around your wrist,
your pulse at my fingertips.
(will I feel it again?)

Last day of summer,
I decide to visit you at the hospital.
You're holding his hand,
while eating our rocket popsicle.
("your" rocket popsicle)

My Favorite (Hated) Summer
I tried to communicate a story through this poem.
Was it understood?
cf Dec 2015
I wish I fell in love with drugs,
instead of you.
Mark Toney Jan 2020
Teresa!?!

               ~Tanner!
               Terribly
               Tardy?

Ticktock ;)

              ~Time?

T-minus
10
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
2
-
12:00am!

­               ~2020!!!

2020!!!
Tequila
Toast!

               ~Tequilla
               Toast—
               To
               2020!!!

To
2020!!!

               ~Terviseks!

Terviseks!

               ~Tasty :)

Tequilla
Tesoro

               ~Tesoro?

Translated
"Treasure"

               ~Tasty
               Treasure ;)

Top-notch!

               ~Tip-top!

(tender
touch...)

               ~Terrific
               Timing :)

Terrific
Time...

               ~Totally

Thoughts?

              ~Tired

Terrible
Timing :(

               ~Terribly
               Tuckered.

Together
Tonight?


              ~Together
          ­     Tomorrow?

Together
Today!
12:00pm :)

               ~That's
               True!
               Today,
               12:00pm :)

Terrific!

               ~Till
               Then—
               Tootles!


© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
1/18/2020 - Poetry form: Alliteration - Each poem in my Alliterative Alphabet Series describes conversations between two or more people while only using words that start with the first letter of the title of the poem. I’m publishing the poems as I write them on Wattpad.com, not necessarily in alphabetical order. My goal is to write at least 26 poems to cover each letter of the alphabet. I hope you find the concept interesting, maybe even clever. Most of all I hope you enjoy them :) - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2020
"What else are you doing today?" asked Jewel.  "I'm going shopping.  I need a new outfit" answered Olive as she paid Jewel for doing her hair.  "We'll get together Olive.  Just let me move things around on my schedule " said Jewel.  "Yeah sure Jewel" said Olive.  Getting back in her car Olive drove to the clothing store New Fashions.  Strutting through the store Olive began looking for an outfit.  I think I'll start with the shoes first.  The shoes can make or break an outfit.  Olive thought to herself.  Standing in the shoe section of the store Olive saw a black pair of knee high boots that would make any outfit look good.  "I can't believe no one has purchased these" said Olive as she grabbed the boots.  "Now I need to find a shirt" said Olive.  Walking through the store Olive spotted a red v-neck shirt that would match her black knee high boots just right.  "All I need now is a skirt and I'll have the perfect outfit" said Olive.  After a few minutes of searching Olive came across a black skirt.  "Now this is a killer skirt.  I'll have everyone looking at me all day with this outfit" said Olive.  After purchasing the outfit Olive drove home.  Olive spent the rest of her weekend relaxing.  By the time Monday arrived Olive was refreshed and ready for work.  I hope Akurra come into the bank today thought Olive as she got ready for work.  Getting in her car Olive checked the time.  "I won't have to drive like a race car driver today" said Olive.  When Olive arrived at work she didn't have to run through the bank's glass doors she walked.  Right away her co-workers mouths fell opened.  One by one Olive's co-workers complimented her on her new look.  "Wow Olive you look great" said Terry.  "You look amazing" said Willie.  Olive thanked her co-workers for their compliments.  "You all made me feel very beautiful.  Thank you for your kind words.  Now it's time to get to work" said Olive.  As Olive walked to her office she prayed for Akurra to come to the bank today.  Every time the bank's doors opened Olive would would walk out of her office to see if it was Akurra.  Please god let this man come to the bank thought Olive.  Near closing time Akurra finally showed up.  "Mr. Akurra Wings how may I help you today?" asked Olive.  "Wow my whole name first and last.  I would like to purchase a security box and make a deposit" said Akurra.  "We country people like to say your whole name.  Please follow me to my office Mr. Akurra Wings" said Olive.  "You have to fill out some papers for the security box and how much would you like to deposit?" said Olive as the two sat in her office.  "I would like to deposit three thousand dollars" said Akurra.  "Akurra I'm going to ask you a question.  This is a question that's hard for me to ask" said Olive.  "Ms. Olive you can ask me what ever you want" said Akurra.  Slow to speak Olive says "When I first saw you I wanted to ask you this but I said no it would be wrong to do so.  Now I just changed my mind.  What I want to ask you is can I take you out?"  Sitting straight up in his chair Akurra says "I'm speechless.  We can go out but under one condition."  With a surprised look on her face Olive says "Oh do tell."  "If you let me me take you out and pay for everything" said Akurra.  "You have the heart of a real gentleman" said Olive.  "So is that a yes?" asked Akurra.  "Of course" said Olive.  "We can meet in the bank's parking lot this Saturday at 6:00pm" said Akurra.  After filling out the paper work for the security box and making a deposit Akurra left the bank with an ego the size of the city itself.  As Akurra got into his 1960 Impala his cellphone rings.  "Hello Amber what's going on?" asked Akurra as he cranked up his Impala.  "I'm here with Jade.  She's ready to do business.  The Black Crime Syndicate and the Jade Dragons are both waiting on you Akurra" said Jade as she stood across from Jade.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Gangster love story.
SøułSurvivør Mar 2014
Summer 1986 Sunday 5:30AM

Misty morning in Malibu.
Seagulls stitch the sea to a subtle
silver sky. They sputter stridently.
Each elegant gull hovers effortlessly.
Entreating each other. Echos bounce
off the sound of the surf into eternity. The screeching of many a
soliloquy akin to silence.

I sit on the pier. The water before
me washes onto the staccato legs
of tiny waterbirds who wander
in and out of the surf. Little
windblown ***** of ecru and grey
wool. I worship in the womb of
the great goddess ~ nature. I wasn't to know the Creator was watching patiently...

6:30AM
I make my unhurried way up the
pier to my car. A cheap but
comfortable convertable. Nobody
walks in LA. I punch in a tape.
Don Henley. Boys of Summer.

I take PCH up to the incline that
takes you from the beach. Pushing
the pedal slightly as I slide by the
colossal bleached cliffs of
Palacades Park. There the homeless
sleep under the benches dedicated
by friends and family in
rememberance of loved ones.
Small plaques attatched for
posterity.

My hands are on the steering wheel
at 7 and 12 o'clock.I look at the cast
I wear on my right wrist. A token
of rememberance from an angry romance. He and I parted
respectively, if not at all
respectfully. I drive.

7:00AM
Venice beach. Not yet boysterous.
But never boring. The young people
(and old) still bundled together in bed. Saturday night hangovers will
be had by most of the denizens of
Venice beach boardwalk. A grainy
eyed few wander around abstractidly. Shopowners enter
their buildings, their storefronts
almost as small as booths. Graphitti
and giant works of art grace walls
everywhere ~ Jim Morrison and
Venus in workout leggings much
in evidence.

I smoke my cigarette and drink my
hot coffee carefully in the open cafe'.
I consider the eyefest of the crowd
that will congregate here to enjoy
the clement weather.
The cacophony and the clamor.
Touristas and Los Angelinos alike
drawn In by calculating vendors
and coyote souled street performers.
I look forward to seeing the
non conformity usually. But not
today. For now I sit in the quiet cafe'.

Venice beach. Vulpine. Vacuous.
A strangely vunerable venue. The
***** and the beautiful. The talented and the ******.

A street performance pianist trundles his acoustic piano on
casters out onto the boardwalk.
I ask him if I may play. He looks
at my cast doubtfully.
"I can still play..." I tell him.
He ascents and listens thoughtfully
as I play my compositions. He really
likes them. I ****** the ebony and
the ivory with insistant fingers.
The smile on his face is irrepressable. I smile back and we
flirt in self conceous, fitful fashion.
Time to leave.

9:00AM
Radio is on in my car now. A cut
from the musical Chess. One night
in Bangkok makes the hard man
humble...
I like the driving beat.
I'm going up I-10, a single blood cell
in the main artery that brings life
to the flesh of this mamouth town.
Traffic is tenuous. A boon here in
this conjested city.

I drive to Fairfax and Sunset, where
I lived with in a tiny one-bedroom
apartment with my mom. An
ambitious actress. I an ambivalent
artist.

Sunset. The Roxy and Whiskey-a-
Go-Go. Cartoon characters Rocky
and Bullwinkle casually cavort on
the top of a building. Billboards
as tall as the Hollywood sign. The
street of broken hearts for many
an actress -slash-model. They
wander about on street corners
looking haughty and haunted.
Waiting for who knows who to
honk. Their dreams have flown
away like the exhailation of smoke
from the mechanical lungs of the
Marlboro Man. Schwab's drugstore
and diner. The place where some
famous starlet was discovered.
Delivered into the arms of the
Hollywood machine. I opt to go
to the Sunset Grill.

11:00AM
I'm walking down Hollywood Blvd.
Perusing shops and persuing
pedestrian pleasures. Everyone
talks of the star-studded sidewalks.
To me they look tarnished and
filthy. Stars from a sultry smog
laden sky come to earth. The names
of some of the folks honored on
them I don't recognise.

I'm here to view movies today.
I'm definitely not going to
Grauman's Chinese Theater.
Been there. Done that. Gave the
very expensive T shirt to
Goodwill. I look around at the
proud and the plebian. The pedantic
and the pathetic. No prostitutes
out yet that I could see. Probably
toppled into bed to sleep
(for once). Deposed kings
and queens of the monarchy of the
night. The homeless hobble along
with their hair matted and askew.
Shopping carts with stuttering
wheels de reguer.

A couple of tourists with Izod shirts,
plaid shorts to the knee and deck
shoes sans socks gaze in a shop
window. It's borded by tarnished
and faded silver garlands... tinsel
Christmas tree.
"Want to buy a mood ring today?"
One of them querys his buddy,
laughingly.

I find my small theater and enter
the air conditioned lobby. I purchase
a soda and pass on the popcorn.
As I enter the theater's modestly
plush, dimly lit cocoon sanctuary
I notice very few patrons are here
for the matinee. GOOD. I finally
watch the premiere product of
Los Angeles. Movie after movie
slides across the screen. The callus
morally corrosive corporations
conspire with the creative to produce
the culmination of many art forms
in one. Cinema.

LA. Languid. Luxurious. Legendary.
Rollicking, raunchy rodeo.
Seaside city. Sophisticated. Spurious.

SPECTACULAR.

8:00PM
I wend my way up Mulholland Dr.
Another tape is playing in the deck.
One of my favorites. David + David.
Welcome to the Boomtown.

I pull over at a deserted vista. From
this viewpoint I can see the city
spread out like a blanketfof brilliance. The gridiron of LA.
Glitzy and glamorous. Generating
little gods and goddesses. A gigantic
gamble for the disingenuous and
gouache. Tinsel town. Titillating.
Tempestuous. Only the very brave
bring their dreams here... or fools
rush in where angels fear to tread.
All but the fallen angels. They thrive.

Oh! If this place could be bottled it
would be such sweet poison. I
look up at the auburn sky and back
down at the breathtaking panorama
The metropolis that is LA with awe
and angst. I carefully stub out my
cigarette and flip it irreverantly
toward the lagoon of lights.

I get in my car to drive home.
Home?
Could this imposing, inspiring,
impossible place be called home?

Well. Home is where the heart is.
And I live in the heart of a dream.
This is the city of dreams...

CITY OF ANGELS.

Soul Survivor
Catherine E Jarvis
(C) 2005
You can rest your eyes now...

I only have enough funds to
produce one spoken word
set to music... should I
do this one?
mark john junor Jan 2014
december 10th 1982
1am
sleepless in the the neurotic wastelands
she has fifty two cards
each has a face none of them are mine
but the jack of hearts is there and with her childbearing hips
they could pump out a couple of rug rats
start their own little civilization
here on the backwaters
she gives me a ride to the edge of the glades
and drops me off at a truckstop in the rain

december 10th 1982 4:22am
the salt of the earth diner on route 1
with the waitress chewing gum at the counter
staring off into the distant light of highrise miami
a sheen of sweat glistens on her deep tan
but its not as sticky or deep as her mind
thats wandering out in the Catskill mountains
looking for Johnny Appleseed

december 15th 1988 10:00am
doves take flight in the
soft white afterglow of day
with a stir of wings
and her tender lips let slip
of her longing for innermost peace
her eyes seeing nothing but
the golden glow of some distant day
some half remembered day
the time i wait for
summers sweet song
has been far too long
this is a winter world

december 15th  1993 1:00pm
leaning over the balcony rail
she shouts her smiles down
to the regular faces on the rows road
petticoats of fine linen
and her hair up
shes a sea of smiles
as they all shuffle in to see the show
Broken Bernie and his girl Christa
who snowbunnys down to the neon Florida sun
round this time of year

december 13th  1996 6:00pm
desperado's gather in the setting sun
hunger in their eyes
between the rock and hard place
and with a hard eyed thought they
move into the town
she pours him a cup of coffee
and lays a hand softly upon his shoulder
urging him to stay and leave such things
to lesser men
but he knows he must rise to the call
to do less would be treason to his nature
to do less would betray everything he has stood for

today, now*
the words waiting on lips as i stumble out of sleep
make little sense at least to the waking mind
but the world makes little sense when fully awake
so this dream fragment hardy seems out of place
wearing a stove pipe hat chewing on a whales tail
and chatting with Abe Lincoln
my guess would be he wanted his hat back
Cherisse May Jun 2018
Strange
How the outside world
Makes such a blaring, disturbing noise
Yet only the silence settles between us.

Strange
How I'm right beside you
Sitting straight,
Yet I don't seem to even be here.

Strange.
How simple the world can be,
How simple we could be,
But you don't even exist.
I can't even write poems. For ****'s sake.
Pearson Bolt Aug 2013
it’s 3:00am
again

i think
to myself
that seeing
my clock read

3:00am
as often as
i see it read
3:00pm

might suggest
that i really
ought to get
more sleep

it’s hard
though

when protesters
are shot in Egypt
when journalists
are detained with false pretense
when activists
seek shelter in embassies
when hackers
rot in prison cells
when whistleblowers
are put on trial

with all this
chaos and
injustice
i don’t understand
how anyone
in their right mind
could sleep in
peace
Brittany Mar 2015
His hand is wrapped around the steering wheel and he only lets go of mine when he has to turn a corner never leaving my palm empty for more than a moment and that's how I want it to be forever
I wake up and he has most of the blankets but he can have whatever he wants as long as he's beside me, even the duvet
I didn't brush my hair yet, and he talks about our life together, looks at me like I've never looked so beautiful, paints me with his lips and gives me another one hundred reasons to smile
Gives me another two hundred reasons to believe in a higher power because people don't just get this lucky
Being loved by him is like living in a world, just us two, running between white sheets swirling on a clothes line, windy and soft
Until we collapse for sleep but dream of each other even if we're in the same bed
Pulls me back to him in the morning if I've rolled to the other side, like even a few inches is too far away
I only have to whisper and he's there, never had to shout for his affection
He looks over at me in the passenger seat, oblivious I'm writing this, smiles at me and I feel the future falling into place

{B.N}
He was driving us to a birthday party and I'm so in love
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
Young Writers Showcase
Fri 7 Oct 2016 1:30pm - 2:30pm

Bukowski: Notes From The Underground
Fri 7 Oct 2016 10:00pm - 11:00pm

#cheltlitfest Lit Crawl... around town
Sat 8 Oct 2016 5:00pm - 12:00am
FREE - no ticket required
Tina Kay Grant Mar 2014
I'm Looking For Those Dreamers,
Those Pariah.
Those Who Are Standing On Their Porches Gazing Up At The Everlasting Universe Praying To The God Within Their Souls For Rebellion.
I'm looking For The Children Of The Bad Revolution.
The Forever Angels, The Painters Of The Town
Those Who Have No People, I'll Be Your People, You Will Be Mine.
I'm Looking For The Geniuses OF The Soul, The Paradise Seekers.
I Know I'm not The Only One, i'm Looking For Those Who Are Trapped In Fear, Trapped In Sadness, Trapped in Life.
Come To Me
Rise From The Grave.
I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU
I'm looking For Those Who Are Begging For Resurrection.
I NEED YOU I NEED YOU.
Iris Rebry Jun 2014
I shudder,
My face is drenched in tears and snot
And I quiver
Keep it together keep it together.
I cry to God to come upon my soul.
Save me
Keep it together. Keep it together.
My eyes fill with tears
Puffy eyes,
Save me
Keep it together, keep it together.
I wipe my nose .
I need a tissue
Puffy eyes
Save me
Keep it together, keep it together.
And I feel myself being held like a small child again.
Hold me
I need a tissue
Puffy eyes
Save me
Keep it together, keep it together.
And I cry
Hard
Alexander Powell Dec 2014
2:00am Saturday Morning and his restlessness reclined on his mind
The room was immensely silent but held a forceful amount of chaos
His large feet plummeted to the cold floor; he roamed out of his beguiling room
*
His body was almost bare and every movement echoed through him
The empty foil tins from a takeaway he had eaten at 8:00pm casted a noticeable stare across the kitchen like a coin to a magpie
The fridge was only a couple strides away now; he prematurely stretched his arm ready to grasp the frigid handle
The fridges seal parted and a saintly yellow light radiated in front of him
He stared nonplussed into the fridge for about 3.5 seconds
Celery
Sitting there in the centre of the fridge appearing as tasteless as it would taste
Unappetising.
The light diminished as the door closed.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2014
A Roman Catholic concept rooted in a Jewish tradition where, if you cannot attend Sunday mass, you can go to the Saturday mass, the evening prior...

http://t.answers.com/answers/#!/entry/anticipated-mass-definition-in-the-roman-catholic-church,4ffcc10b­7af68a84dcfcad8b

not a religious man,
another "ain't behaving Jew,"
been long time passing,
since I went to a synagogue
of my own free will

(that,
free will,
a subject,
I won't discuss,
a free will choice,
unlike this poem
which writes itself,
me, just the telephone company
common carrier transmitting)


the holy days and
the holidays
come cycling through,
recycled sung sing tunes from
genes that once trained,
once disturbed and reawakened,
pass it on down
willingly or unwanted,
the calendar and
human marker thereupon,
in your face, undeniable,
you are, or start,
being what
they want you to be

been to midnight mass
on a Christmas past,
with a friend who happened
to be a Jesuit priest,
yeah, I'm an electric eclectic
ecclesiastical poetic natty vibe,
with many a
neutral nomenclature,
happens to live with an atheist,
so, tonight, we watch together
at her suggestion,
Fiddler On The Roof

boy oh boy
there I am,
Tevye the Poet,
writing poems on the roof
up on the wide screen,
talking to god
every where I go,
whatever I am doing,
even cursing the
Cossack ***** of the traffic hell on the
Long Island Expressway,
*******, you see

{but you grow weary
waiting for a writ called
Anticipated Mass,
and not a sermon
of a nonreligious miscreant,
who just happened to be
created, born on
the Jewish Festival of Booths,
in an R.C. hospital
on Fifth Avenue,
right next to his coreligionists edifice,
Mt. Sinai
(go figger, all part of the plan,
says my fellow new yorker, Allah}


if you are busy Sunday,
NFL football perhaps,
or a summer FIFA World Cup match,
Wimbledon working,
while on your deck surfing,
(Go Federer)
or a working stiff,
serving man for tips,
waitressing, taxi driving,
in order
not to starve,
for a living
must be made on
the day of rest,
so you go to
Anticipated Mass,
the eve of the day before
the prom dance

now that is something I like,
a flexibility that
inflexible dictums and regs
don't often offer,
like birth control being ok,
every other day

but anticipating my prayers,
just a bit too
OCD compulsive organized,
no matter
9:00am or midnight,
or even 6:00pm
the night before,
I can't anticipate
when the need to
go verse
with The Lord above,
arises

so I like to inform you,
when anticipating
the wine and the wafer,
the sabbath candle lighting,
the prayer rug time,
don't have to wait,
for a mass, a mullah's call,
or a minyan,
do a Tevye!

speak to him
with this Rx prescription,
"as needed"

let your own mass
be lightened, lighted, leviathaned,
relieved, celebrated,
the freedom from
anticipation and feel free
to listen to what god has to say,
cause he loves those
individual requests,
custom crafted,
even noises simple
grunted with good intent,
for those who posses not
the gift of
god gab

an informal sort,
a busy deity,
who appreciates brevity,
which is why
he gives my
long poems short shrift,
but sometimes attends
to my low whispered
observations for the needy,
for the masses,
whose body,
in his image,
I human share
and so often,
pray for...

— The End —