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Delicate nets collect on sailing clouds of violet mist
While red leaves twist and spin in turn
Gleaming sparks of dawn cannot be dismissed
As the scattered night sky
Is adjourned

Sweet water gathers in a dream’s own reflection
On a whirling spider’s silvery thread
Morning has broken needing no authentication
See her truth glowing there
In an intricate web

Tiny stones are surrounding sharp blades of grass
Worshiping the presence, they behold
Looking up from the shadows of a looking glass
With their own stories
Still untold

A leaping bass, splashes proudly in a silent pond
Each drop of water expressing its distress
Thinking that the sun was waiting to respond
To his shimmering silence
Used to impress

A single drop of water, a red leaf twisting in the wind
A spider weaving her web to be blessed
Even the tiny stones worshiping their friends
Leap with the bass, distressing the pond
To impress
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
www.changefulstorm.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Changefulstorm
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
Everyone a Sailor

Sept. 2010

Everyone a sailor,
everyone a waiter,
everyone a planner,
everyone an executive chef,
charting courses for grownuphood,
planning meals, banquets.

foolishness, selecting the ingredients for
an award winning recipe of life ,
marking stars,
sextant in hand,
make meetings,
scheduling a conference call,
practice risk taking,
serving, while multitasking

serendipity is mine to
make and behold

marry this one,
add a little cumin,
travel seven seas and
have seven sons,
the eighth I'll discover and
name it after me,
Son of Mine Own Stolen Days

Lighting or storm,
illness and thunder,
ne'er will be disturbances,
on my voyages

But we forget,
we err,
the danger of being becalmed is the one we ignore,
the slowest leakage,
drowned by seepage,
the small risk that transforms us from
sailors to one who
waits,
alone on a lost isle,
with nothing of substance on which to survive,
we slow starve to death on a
diet of our own
mixed metaphors

There was a time,
when I did not value time,
discarded days like seeds
random scattered in garden,
more curious than hopeful
what might appear, and uncaring if
they were all winded away

Who spent days like cash,
thinking I had plenty and
more to make,
gave away in haste
what had no redeemable value,
thinking time was refuse and waste

Becalmed,
what need for chances,
daily escapades,
gave twenty years of mine
away to the undeserving, punished by God, cancer stricken
*****, who made me so miserable for so long,
in one grand gesture,
signed it away,
and asked the devil
for nothing in return

Did not drink,
Did not take pills,
Did not smoke,
But life disdained,
I try to **** myself
By eating TV dinners
six times daily

Do not laugh,
it nearly worked
and my obit
would have been the lead
side splitting ar-tickle in the
New York Times
Science Section!

But here I am
a survivor,
and I have formed
an association of one;
The Society of Explorers, Planners and Plotters
And Those Who Serve By Waiting

We meet once every day
for the rest of my life,
call the meeting to order,
Consult Robert's Rules,
Quorum of one present?
No new business?
Meeting adjourned!

Meeting Summary:
You may plan with good
intent
You may buy or you may
rent
You may be bereft or
content
You may plan or just
wait
**but if you let a day pass
without recording one
poetical truth
in your own manner,
of your own choosing,
then you have failed
yourself,
do not wait,
set sail!
This is one of them...
FYI. I stumbled
On a bunch of poems 2~3 years old.   Very different style.   Hohoho Merry Chanukah to me,   Most very long, will fire at will;  long so not suitable for the 10W crowd....sigh. Oh yeah, one more thing, I wrote them on my cell phone, usually in the bathtub, yes, I went thru a lot of  corporate phones...
Larry B Nov 2010
'Twas the night before Thanksgiving
And all through the forest
All the turkeys were gathered
From the richest to poorest

For a meeting was called
To plan their revenge
For all of their loved ones
Who were ever cooked or singed

Now this turkey rebellion
Was long overdue
How would they get even?
And what would they do?

I was there that night
When their meeting adjourned
Keep reading this poem
To see what I learned

This meeting went on
For what seemed like an hour
'Til a gobbler stepped forth
In their circle of power

Now all the turkeys agreed
To this gobbler's idea
They'd all eat some exlax
And give them diarrhea

No matter how they cooked it
Bake it or boil it
The humans would spend
All day on the toilet

So, remember this Thanksgiving
As you try to relax
Have plenty of TP
For those sudden attacks
Tunneling thoughts like rain
Craning through light clouds
Unsuspecting victims.

The fear
The tears
The temper tantrums;
                                           A kind of rebuttal

That won't let our feet find land
We adjourned to rehearse,
but our efforts were null and void

Only to appease with flames
that licked our shriveled bodies

D r
       i    p
                 p  i  n
                             g  
                                              Kerosene

Tainted like ink                  Spilled on
Reams of paper
ruined like Christmas
A house warmed by          Open flames

fallen candles                     Adorning
A naked kitchen                 My limp body,

Splayed beneath the oven      
                                               As
darkness indulges,             It
consumes
The smoke,                          Fills                
                                               Each crevice
                                               In your mind

Can you ever fight it
Burn your way back
To blissful ignorance.
A poem intertwined with a dream of you living with my memory, sordid as per usual..
Terry O'Leary Dec 2013
Flings and wings and rings rejected…
Cupid’s arrows fly deflected…
“It clearly is too late” she signed, “to love, adore or pay me mind”

Penciled lines drew cruel conclusions
mocking mirror’s cracked illusions…
Sometimes, in time, I hang awhile, reflected in her parting smile

Drifting wan, below unheeding
worried, wounded suns a’ bleeding…
Struck dumb by night, no way to say “Let’s sound the stars another way”

Shaking sands frame distant smokestacks,
shanty towns, forsaken oak shacks…
Pursuing dusk, collapsed and dyed, the docile dolphin deftly stride
beyond behind the ebbing tide, towards One-Way Ships of sunken pride


Gypsy dreamer in denial…
Sleep and slumber standing trial…
I never really ever slept inside the cryptic walls she kept

Martian moons provoke the oceans…
Strange enchantments stir the potions…
The mutant molten purple skies ignite subconscious fireflies

Voiceless echoes feigning laughter…
Crushing quiet screaming after…
Vague vagaries pretend to sleep, my conscience crumbles in a heap

Startled stars at dawn are slacking…
Still her tempest sail is tacking…
In fractured dreams sere silhouettes blow foghorns, trumpets, clarinets…
Discarded glowing cigarettes tinge One-Way Ships with pale regrets


Cold cathedral clocks upended…
Frozen second hands suspended…
Beneath the gauze of time I try to while away somewhere nearby

Ticking-tocking time’s a’ tolling…
Cruel eternity’s cajoling…
The future, tattered, calls bereft, with nothing but her shadows left

Brigantines skim gated grottos…
Distant divas voice vibratos…
Though eons pass, then intermix, I’m trapped ’tween time’s untallied ticks

Conquered candles flicker faintly…
Braided tresses quiver quaintly…
Demystified, untamed in time, her face is traced in puppet mime…
Amorphous tongues of jangled rhyme hail One-Way Ships that glide sublime


Bolts of lightning flash unkindly…
******, alone, I huddle blindly…
I drain another dram and bray “she’s far too far too far away”

Twisted waterwheels a’ thirsting…
Flaming flower buds a’ bursting…
Adrift, I stagger far below their unchained magic rainbow glow

White crowned wave crests break unbounded…
Shackled seashore sands lie pounded…
Unleashed, beyond the bridled world, her silver sails, cut loose, unfurled

Captive bluebirds nest in baskets…
Morning glories cover caskets…
Wee ballerinas swirl and spin while giant jokers smirk and grin
and, wasted, I withdraw within carved One-Way Ships in flasks of gin


Hungary hounds harangue the highlands,
howl at skies and desert islands…
Below, unfettered carbon crows conceal the parting path she chose

Lighthouse lamps and lanterns lolling…
Mute abandoned fleets are calling…
The shallow shadowed portholes vaunt dim traces of the past that haunt

Curved magnetic curtained faces
yearn contorted brief embraces…
Her fairy-tale like tattoo touch was serpentine but soft as such

Coffee cups and spoons corroding…
Mystic tea leaves, visions boding…
A cabaret calls, standing bare, beneath a splintered footloose stair,
vain vapors drape her vacant chair in One-Way Ships beyond repair


Splattered days are dripping dreary…
Shattered nights are wearing weary…
Without her footfall at my side I steal away within to hide

Fancies flame, persist to flaunt her…
Wanton whispers hiss I want her…
Hyenas, haggard, held at bay, still gnaw on bones of yesterday

Graveled graveyards grey and ghastly…
Apparitions pacing past me…
The answers to my whys and sighs have veiled her limpid pale blue eyes

Lurid figments storm the valleys
****** the helms of spectral galleys…
The coughing phantoms at the wheel, they make it all seem so unreal…
Rebounding cracks of thunder’s peal, shake One-Way Ships while seagulls squeal


Yesterday’s unsung, unspoken…
Bygone paths fold, draped and broken…
The weary winds of winter cling to voiceless nightingales and sting

Desert blossoms growing colder…
Drifting sand dunes pause, enfold her…
An arctic kiss and blush revealed forbidden pipe dreams flung afield

Weeping willows’ wilting snow drops
drip on tips of tiny toe tops…
Their opal fires bleed and fade while suns explode in icy jade

Jagged hours hangin’ heavy…
Footsteps pace the barren levee…
While pros and cons and kings debate, acclaim and blame and fame equate
the ruin’s remnants left to fate with One-Way Ships that fail to wait


Blazing blades of love surrender…
Memories and thoughts transcend her…
The Persian gazer’s crystal shows I’ve truly lost my ruby rose

Buried deep in evening’s embers
dust forgets what flesh remembers…
The bitter taste of farewell’s haste has laid the ****** skies to waste

Ruffled ravaged ravens ranting…
Churlish ancient churchmen chanting
resounding what she told me true “There’s nothing more that you can do”

Trial adjourned by judge and jury…
Freed, she flees, absolved of worry…
Remaining runes and relics burn to feed the ashes of the urn…
Six seers, wiser, soon discern the One-Way Ships of no return
It Jul 2013
I found her savaged
Embodied luxuriously over
what evoked to be a torn up of sequence of awesome tapestries, adjourned past a thin web of carefully traced emblems.
To this day, I find not a thought so beautiful and out of many
those which may come about
and those which could’ve never come.

I find myself without a motive,
without a sacred scent of pride nor
stigma of freedom,
yet I am only enslaved to my very demons.
Were they not as grotesque,
were not in the hopeless, drunken sake
to revoke their perseverance
they wouldn’t be anywhere near as precious.

In fact, they are perhaps the most precious elements I can behold.
Though they have not always ruled over guidance,
they have never left my course
and my curse, is to fancy them dear.

For lord, how could one ever wish to cease dreaming?
I can only let go upon the rabid clearance of my faithful pen,
even the latter, couldn’t ever suffice the magnificence of the given.

For it’s not ignorance, nor enlightenment;
It is whatever I wish it to be,
and none which I’ll come close to explain.
It is the mere and absolute pleasure
one finds in darkness.
That which comes over me,
that which sways my tidings and gathers
my rhythms and rushes my rhymes,
that which tides my emotions to the velvet
envelopes entitled in marks,
to the sunken, undecipherable verses,
to the crimson, wilted rashes of a silvermoon
slenderlight.
Oh, for such foul words are now used to demean one’s art
“thou art my lady, my gleam of heaven in sorrowful sight”
What terrible night,
what a terrific subject
what tremulous manner to execute a
tremendous gal.

I could never stop dreaming,
not while the dances
on melted vine;
not even whilst it dwells my words
into senseless specters,
not while the mind yet thrives,
nor will I ever fear such a splendid rhyme.

I found myself upon a creature whose tender slight
had abandoned the very virtue
and could only see myself glowing vile,
tangling amongst amazement and disappointment
why should I deny one the pleasure
my very fate has forbidden to attire?

What makes me,
of all people,
the soul to advantage of given pride?
Cowardly, the stench of curiosity bewildered
by an apologetic reign of might.

Whatever may have become of me,
where I to act upon my gifted intervention;
I often wonder.
I often regret it upon the moments when the mind
speaks the soul’s verdict, and one consoles
over the truth, acclaiming to change by the night’s passing.
Yet lament, sorrow and forlorn
only help me remember her last stance ever so beautifully;
and in the quelled noise of a risen,
renders the violent solemnity of a kiss.
For a lady always rests upon the velvet of her silhouette.
Matt Mar 2020
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cult gathering adjourned
Smiles and Cheers as the Pony-Child confirmed
She really does favour you to the Brim
Her Speech speaks Volumes as Harmony adjourned
In keeping your Lamp from casting too Dim
For in this World's Class one is not so sure,
Which Category this Gospel is kept
Whether which Page is Sweet or which is Pure,
Or which those Dreaded Ants would mark Inept
Praises! Hone that Dull Knife to turn so Sharp
Then this Simpleton's Sail will land un-cut
A Good Brew; A Better Play of the Harp
Will tune your Te Deums anything but.
A little Humour, Friend, goes a Long Way
And this same Pony-Child begs you to stay.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
preservationman Mar 2014
The meeting is at 10:00 AM
So let’s begin
High above on the 38th Floor
In the Conference room, a view of new World Trade Center right across for everyone to explore
The Business Manager gave his welcomed speech
It’s was to everyone he was trying to reach
The Board shows the arrows of sales elevation in 90% results flow
However during the months of May and June show a decline of 70%
Due to the economy being extremely slow
Yet Oppenheimer helped everyone feel assured
After that, there was hands of applause
The Business Manager stated, “Oppenheimer has a solid portfolio foundation handshake
So we are known in the financial world and assets in what’s at stake
Oppenheimer Trader’s are well trained
We hit the bull’s eye being the aim
Let’s keep Oppenheimer on top
Keep focused and don’t stop
Now with that said
I will take questions from the floor
As you ask the questions, I will think then I will analyze and my outcome in concept planning surprise
Later the meeting was adjourned
Now go out and continue to produce in using what you learned
You are Oppenheimer’s success story and our talent is our glory.
FINANCIAL FLOW WITH KNOWLEDGE IN BEING ON THE GO
Stephen E Yocum Dec 2014
The day crept by; we all held
our breaths.
Tip Toeing on egg shells,  
doing our collective best.
Attempting only forced
politeness and meaningless
small chat.

While avoiding the family elephant in
the room, our father's painful history
of attacking his kid's many faults and
failings, with his long history of aggressive
verbal abuse.

The tree was lighted, the room gaily
decorated with all the colorful Christmas
props of our childhood. Mom cooked her
best guess of each of our, once adolescent
favorite foods. My two sisters, my older
and younger brother and me too.

While Dad bit his tongue and tried to stay
hushed, as Mom had pleaded for days for
him to do.

Half way through dinner and a few Hot
Buttered Rums, the small talk turned serious,
and just like that, we were all truly back
home again.

Grown adults quickly reduced to sniveling
petty children sitting at their curl and
domineering Father's dinner table.

Old wounds opened and bleed upon Mom's
best-treasured table cloth. Food grew cold
for lack of interest, eyes flared and oaths of
profanity mingled with cheery Holiday Music
on the stereo.  Belligerence ensued and the old
man raged as one by one he verbally listed his
disappointments, at each of our many collective
faults. A string of loud insults and accusation
were exchanged and flung liberally about in
both directions. 

Judy's new husband took a swing at Jason for
reasons unknown, and the women protesting
their loutish behavior, separated them.

Earl and his small clan fled out the door and
drove straight back to Emeryville with not one
word of goodbye having been uttered, leaving
his kids Presents, behind unopened.

In tears, Sandy ran back up to her old room as she
had always done to escape, only to discover, that
it had been turned into a "Home Office/Sewing Den."
All her things gone to the Goodwill or garbage bin.

Dad went to the cupboard and got his bottle of
Scotch and the rest of us all quickly adjourned.

Mom started to cry and never quit.

The Dog Days of Christmas had recommenced,
and all the Kings horses and all the Kings men
could never put our broken Castle together again.

I donned my helmet, swung a leg over my Hog
and headed for the mountains, leaving Christmas
and all of them in my rear-view mirror.  

"Peace on Earth and Good Will Towards Men",
does not work for everybody friend. Hopefully,
maybe next year, we'll try it all again.
Not everyone has the good fortune to rejoice in
the happiness of home and hearth. We are all
different, come from varied backgrounds and
family situations. A conversation with a friend
was the seed of this write. Some are not as
lucky as others. And I think we can all relate.
Perhaps the flip side of what we imagine and
want it to be. . . Family stuff is complicated.
Repost from 2013 but sadly always relevant
this time of year, for too many of us.
Phoebe Woods Feb 2023
I had some bad news to deliver,
So I took her to my spot
The bench under the tree,
With all its gnarled knots

The bench right by the creek,
Right where the turtles like to play
A sacred spot of rest,
And shade on sunny days

I sat her down beside me,
And prepared her for the worst
Something so horrible,
It had taken eight weeks to rehearse

I really wish he'd told her,
Like he said he would
Should have known an aggressor's word
Is rarely ever good

I told her all there was to tell,
I answered every question
And then I found myself alone,
Silence in all directions

She walked so far away,
That I couldn't hear her voice
My story then repeated,
To the person of her choice

I waited on the bench,
And then waited some more
I made a small bouquet,
From flowers on the shore

I tied it up with grass,
And set it to the side
Such a mindless act of beauty,
I'm shocked I didn't cry

Not a sound escaped my lips,
Even after she returned
From the feeling in the air I knew,
The meeting was adjourned

Less than one day later,
She sat me down backstage
Though her conclusions were ill-founded,
Her words stung all the same

Eight weeks of work and "it's not your fault"
She did her best to make undone
Not only did I encourage him,
But I broke the essence of our bond

My dishonesty, my silence,
Can never be forgiven
My every flaw as a friend,
Unasked for, yet still given

Her final words were pure spite
If I'd only told her that same night

But how could I have told her,
What I didn't understand?
In an effort to escape the room,
I may have kissed her man

Four months to process,
Four hours locked away
But I never knew peace,
until I made that bouquet.
aar505n Dec 2014
Stalked the streets of the fair city.
Walked among strangers, talking of change.
Gritty pavement beneath my feet.

Watched around me
at my supposed kith and kin
Saw them with sin
and observed them
as they curved around the streets.

At a shop window,
A little boy stares at the chocolate
In a state of elated joy
But in a limbo, unsure how to profit.

A woman strolls pass a fruit stall.
She sees oranges and clenches her fists
Drenched in the awful memory
Of a fruity misery

An activist tries to preaches
But no one is listening to her speech
An analyst who worries about everything
Scared of being nothing

Sitting at the steps of the church
A boy hides from the dull march of people
Feels a surge inside but words caught at Adam’s apple
So he lets the ink bleed onto a page instead

Outside a run down theatre the actor stood.
His detractors made their presence felt
making him uncertain in his ways,
pushing his very essence into the dark of ether.

Coffee shop was full
but the man stood out
Coffee dripping from his mouth
The blinding glint form his watch,
a lofty story to tell no doubt.

Two souls turned a corner and became one
neither were mourners of their old lives
Two heads on one dead body
Intricacy of the mind and soul
a flase sense of intimacy

And the ghosts joined us on streets
They did not boast of their deaths
At most, they were simple engrossed
with everything from pillar to post

Dragon was there too, wanting a battle
talons rip through rag and bones.
His fire arched upwards
and then down and scorched stones

Chaos raised its heineous face
and embraced the madness
strong winds ravaged the city
blasted every building down

Among the damge I saw them.
Them and more.
A robin flying by,
Mel with her dark eyes,
the river dried up and
four moons impossibly raised.

And everything rained down and destroyed me.


I awoke
but choose to keep my eyes closed.
Wanting to drift in the darkness,
a temporary bliss.
But then the memory surfaced
and I opened my eyes.

I stood on a bridge,
the city to either side of me
and the river running underneath.
No fires, no ghosts.

All seemed restored, I sighed a sigh of releif.
A smidge of hope flowed into me.
From where I stood,
I began to understand it all.

Out, out in the distance
I scarcely saw a man standing on the river
like it was land and not water
My eyes squinted to make him out
but all I could see was an outstreched hand.

He had been observing me
and now he was calling me.
and I would leave this pretty, gritty city
and all its comittees for him.

I would.

But I still had unresolved business.
Story to be told and demons to be slayed
Then I would be a free man.
But untill then I won't be a runaway.
Cause I'll stay as long as it takes.

And with that I adjourned
this session and did returned.
Taking my chances with the city.
a rather loneger poem than i normaly do, but i have this one one my mind for some time now.
Title is a reference to the quote
“What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.”
― Charles Baudelaire
Hope you enjoy and feel free to comment!
JA Doetsch Jan 2015
He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...

as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky

His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost

He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.

I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell

When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath

It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.

He existed in the loosest sense of the word

He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting

Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.

You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.

Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl

He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.

An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child

The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging

The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings.  Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather

He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive

He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced

On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why

The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd.  Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.

When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.

When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile

Only for a moment.

I found it odd

That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending
ya see i oarty all over neptune yeah, with methane yeah methane yeah methane yeip

i party all over methane yeah with all the fans of the new england patriots

ya see, everyone in the USA, SAID TO ME, party with me, you do tapestry

and then slim dusty sent

i have tipped methane all over brian i tipped methane all over brian

you see i tipped methane all over brian

and got him blind he could hardly stand

my dad picked brian allan up, and said, i will tip this methane all over ya

but you should be fine with that brian, cause it improves the quality of ya life

and bon scott and micheal jackson said to brian said to brian

you know your bad, your bad, your really really bad

your **** is mine, and if ya can’t get me right

i am way cooler than my body’s celliuite

you see brian is fat, but he is cool, as well

and then i say, party on, i drink my coke, and i say to dad

listen mate i gave you jimmy barnes as your new grandfather, what is wrong with that

dad said, i wanted to be a boy, and then robin wiklliams said **** up nanu nanu

then my nanna said, don’t call my earth body nan boy, he hates it

and i want to sing a song for you

amazing grace, how sweet the sound, leave your family alone brian

you were once my darling, but now your not,

your are blind if you can’t see that

and then started singing fly burgers saying your still not a kid brian

which made brian HAPPY, no matter how nanna sang it

at the footy the flies are cooking on the stove

brian the bbq man is falling in the can

you see we get a well cooked blowie, and put it on a plate

get the fly and say to brian, hows it going mare

in a restaurant a fly comes in and bites  hole out of brian

brian was taken in too much by the alien flies

he drank a whole lot of neptune turpentine

and then you get two buttered buns and lettuce and tomato

with my kid, john robert rimel, yeah i took him out for gelato
then nanna sang

in the summer friends drop round to enjoy the atmosphere

some drank wine, got too ******, some drank coke, for athena;s help

and others just drank beer

the bbq man noticed a fly on his back

this is what he is waiting for tah here is our mate JACK

In a hospital, it’s very busy since fly burgers were on the menu

people trying to inject the flies right out of your system

nanna said, your stupid brian, you can’t die from eating flies

i put the teasing in the young dudes, brian, to make you fucken grow up

this is what i do on earth, since i was john robbery rimel nan said

then nanna threw methane all over brian

and said, i am taking thev darling crap right out of you

brian said fine, you are not my nanny nan

you are john robert rimel now, a cover singer

and then paul berenyi said, you wanna be an artist

and said mmmmmmm, and shoved 234 kegs of methane all over brian, to rid this silly yeah matev yeah kid

and  then paul berenyi chuckled 345 methane smoothies all over dad

and brian shoved 234 methane more kegs on dad, to make dad understand

that his new life, betty campbell isn’t immortal

ya see the hardest years the darkest years the desperate and decided years

these were not forgotten years

the roaring years the falling years, these should not be forgotten years

then my brother came to sing with my nan on jupiter and me and dad went to watch it




Rock, folk rock sponsored links

A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So

[Chorus]
Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey in Rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Now do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him
Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues
I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singin'

[Chorus]

Now, for ten years we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rolling stone
But, that's not how it used to be
When the jester sang for the king and queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me
Oh and while the king was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned
And while Lenin read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
We were singin'

[Chorus]

Helter skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast
It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance
Oh, but we never got the chance
Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singin'

[Chorus]

Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again
So come on Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devil's only friend
And as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singin'

[Chorus]

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away
I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play
And in the streets the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken
And the three men I admire most-
the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost-
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died
And they were singing

[Chorus: x2]




and my brother took me over to the new place in neptune

where he introduced me to all his drunken mates, and

i drank too many methane smoothies, and i sang

i would love to chuck methane on brian

yeah we are having fun teasing him

methane improves the quality of each others lives

as we chuck methane all over, tome **** or jim

you see this is the way to PARTY

leave brian with egg all over his face

actually the egg is flaming methane

and my brother said, yeah, you look so high on life up here

and brian said, fine with me, brother boy

brian said, the only gentle i am, is, i don’t believe in violence

and violence doesn’t like me

every time i see a fight, i say LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE

then carla watt am said to me

my next earth body is hannah montana, ya see

i got rid of my nice voice, ms chase said i had

i said,. all kids do that, carla

that is why i believe in reincarnation

and i wanna meet miley cyrus, but i have to be famous first

and then paul berenyi said, at poetry slams you are doing well

you don’t have to worry about not talking

but don’t do what you used to do, buddy

always look like ya ready to talk

tonight we are trying to get this jittering for the families out of ya

then i went to my brother and said

i am high on methane

my brother said ok, let’s muck around hey, brian

and party right through the solar system

and then dad said, i don’t think your mates care

that is why, i stopped treating you like a young dude

but they fight, and your no bully brian

slim dusty ivy gimbert and peter sargent  said

i am a baked potato baked potato, baked potato

a baked potato, yeah

you see i am a baked potato a baked potato

a baked potato, ivy, went up to brian and said

that she is a kid now, so is peter and slim

all part of bratayley

so EVERYBODY STARTED TO REALLY PARTY, DUDES
wordvango Jun 2017
A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues

I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Now, for ten years we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rolling stone
But, that's not how it used to be

When the jester sang for the king and queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me

Oh and while the king was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned

And while Lennon read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
We were singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Helter skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast

It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance
Oh, but we never got the chance

'Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again

So come on Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devil's only friend

Oh and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell

And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play

And in the streets the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died
And they were singing

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

They were singing
Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die

Written by Don Mclean • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group, Songtrust Ave
a  poem in tune
Shaded Lamp Apr 2015
She drew back the velvet curtain
Flashed her wicked smile
Wild jet black locks cascading
The judge adjourned my trial

She's a reluctant ****** addict
When she's not on crack
I'm her eager means to an end
Achieved on her back

Condensation on the mirror ceiling
I'm not unique ****
"Times up' you ***** big **** *******"
Flattery helps me come

Both her and I thirst sedation
from this clinical love
Lights turned to blinding bright
An angel from above?

I often forget I'm in love with her
Reality makes me wince
I turn to see her ("now, *******!") face
over her copy of "The Prince".
Robert C Howard Jan 2022
It happened in a flash.
winding down a Rocky Mountain road,
a trio of travelers,
basking in snow-draped vistas
pulled off for a photo or two.

Their tires locked into a snow bank
and after a few futile wheel spins,
the undeniable truth sank in;
they were stuck!

In moments, the slamming of car doors
echoed across the valley,
an ad hoc community of a dozen Neighbors
formed, converged and began to dig.

After a half hour of elbow grease
amid vapor clouded exhalations
and cries of,
      “straighten the wheel,”
      “slow on the gas” and
      “let’s push together now”
the car eased onto the center of the road.

No one called "meeting adjourned"
but as quickly as it formed,
our ad hoc community
dissolved into the greater band
of good folks working together
for our mutual benefit.

E pluribus unum!
After struggling during the pandemic for a new poetry I think I have found it. This poem will be the first and title of a new poetry book designed to foster unity and healing in whatever small way I can help this happen.
Oh, this is why I hate love!
How I used to moon over it;
shape it and craft it and run after it
in my brambles,
how I used to indulge it in my *****
protect it from any uncivil desecration
cherish it for its wilfulness
relish it for its greed;
how I tainted my heart with its fake scent!
It just dawneth on me!
Oh how I fervently remembereth the scene; the very afternoon scene, before me:
I was heaving my dull steps against the sheepish grounds;
so peaceful in their breezy slumbers;
unlike the busy grass afield!
their dainty colours blackened by the whirring clouds from afar.
Hung cozily amongst the sky, whose childishness wasth adjourned by
the sleeping rain!
Oh but it was none yet coldeth but temperate;
when his moorish figure, blent into the naturalness of the afternoonth;
retreated into the lingering scene,
swiftly and lightly as the chirruping birdth aloft,
as if no anguish was within reach,
as wildly glistening as the mirth of the old den!
How my soul warmed towards the sight of him,
and on he went to relate his selfish story.
How I celebrated it - its giddy, gullible outset!
How I endorse its unknowing innocence!
How I adorned it with my passion!
His reclamation proceeded,
I was but astounded to hark to the rest;
into it he amorously poured the account of a bizarre creature;
namely a stranger;
invariably a woman!
How insolent!
He named her his love;
he waveth his moronic praise at hers;
at her charm, andth not mineth!
I was spurned, my heart was churned;
despite my stranded efforts to keep my pair of
relenting eyes
unblinking;
I steadied my legs, I was more than ready to
bounce and go
sway myself away from this gloomy tragedy
as before me the story undesired unfolded:
my love was repressed, my heart was
bludgeoned, heartily bludgeoned,
and I was silenced; could no longer feelth the tinges of blood
in my latent veins.
He hath slaughtered my peace!
My inner visions, hopes, and dreams!
I hath lost all of which!
I hath lost my shrieks; I could not voice my despair;
yet I could not utter my grief!
I was cursed and condemned;
my soul was appallingly dishonored;
my entirety is for lifelong anger,
desolation, ignominy and utmost desperation!
My crossness against the Creator arose,
like a wave of torment,
a surge of unbecomingth animosity,
as to no matter how I suppressed it unthinkingly,
all ended in vain:
My stern heart shan't ever melt to love again.
Oh my love, my love,
my princeth, my deviousth prince,
the only one I was so ardently fond of
how could thou deepen my misery?
How could thou ****** my sweetest virginal affection
in the midst of my isolation?
Like the sultry willows
whose memories unshaken, unbitten in the most
melodious, but pallid from the heath
in this musty, salubrious air
my blooming flowers hath died
I am brokeneth, I am torn!
I am writhing in my vainness,
my foolish longing, unmissed and unsung by the dandy branches aboveth
Dancing in my own blueness, weariness that is both livid
and unforgiving
scared by the heartless world
in the course of this barren winter.
Winter with no whiteness;
winter unholy and fulleth of diminutive, evil suffrage.
How ungodly!
I am raked into pieces;
and this is what remains.
This is my misery; oh how I could not riseth above the misery itself!
This is my solemn admonition,
this is my fate!
I have no right to love,
to embrace and to be embraced,
and from this day on I wanth but to dismiss my love;
onto my heart was bestowed not serene affection but intelligence;
and intellect is far better regarded than love!
How sully, narrow, and vicious love is!
How unimportant it is in the eyes of glory,
and the sea of fictitious admiration.
I quit the monstrousness of yon outer devastation;
I take hold of my pen,
and swim deeper into my whining words, again.
murari sinha Sep 2010
as soon as the banishment in a forest comes to an end
all the rain-drops come to the ball-room with unfolded
umbrellas over their heads

the slumber of the adjourned dialogues
also breaks

all the blossoms of the cucurbitaceous plant
that are supposed to open their petals
have gone to the majlis of the aquatic-plants
riding on a wrong-minibus

then a photograph of the dinner- party
is to be found out and brought for the saliva-gland

there is no voice of the palms of the open-window
of his own

even then
each and every the air-hostess eagers to listen
to the song of boat-rowing from him

here the duck of the mid-noon
is engaged in pleasure
with the flower-vase of class x

their drinking-bowl is flying
along the flame of the rail-line

though it does not bear any grief
to the  large lake
that is wetted with perspiration  

there is no delta of misspelling as well

it has only the smoking of thousand cusec  
all the day and night
ArominizedM Sep 2015
It’s silly for me to trade
My worth for something made
Up just for a keepsake…

A keepsake paper trade route I adjourned
To pacify a need I had begun to forlorn.
Fashioned by the angst of my discretion.

Lo and behold! Here I stand my heart I made open
Know this, I never put up nor faltered a thought
Then again true colors sprung up revealed a dismay.

What I had longed for, I quivered…
Apparent of what I foreclosed…
For I will not resolve to disclose any matter.

Should I have to, I am welcome.
I am a lion, that’s what I am.
Yes, I may have faltered but never will I am.

I can only take the blame for the actions I had begun
And the hurt, I take it, from which had sprung.
But never will I lift a finger, once I know I am betrayed.

For I know the worth of a friend,
I was blinded by my self-dismay.
Settle your thoughts, my dear, for such resolution;

For I have placed God to be my absolution.
Distance plays disregard to known other virtue.
See me as I am and you’ll see me I’m true.
George Krokos Nov 2010
I
Today my heart is beating a sorrowful tune
and I don’t really know if it will end soon.
Since your departure all seems to be amiss
a pale reflection of that once heavenly bliss.
I have been left stranded on an alien shore
to fend for myself groping near your door.
The aftertaste of delight which our union once exuded
lingers on now in memory and feels like I was deluded.
Something doesn’t seem to be quite the same
even though I remember and repeat your name.
Your presence was what made the difference then
such a tangible feeling: will you not come again?
  I can only endeavour to lure you back once more
  so please don’t any of my genuine efforts ignore.

II
I look for you everywhere that I happen to go
but where you’re to be found I’d like to know.
Some say you’re in the heart and to look within
while others assert that you’re in the next of kin.
Life is really a situation of relationships with you
and knowledge of the ways of love gets us through.
If we come across difficulties and obstacles by love they’re resolved
which engenders compassion and understanding as it gets involved.
There are many people in the world who look in all the wrong places
searching for the same thing here in the available surrounding spaces.
Hoping that what they’ll find is what their heart most desires
and to fulfil this craving their mind with their heart conspires.
  Our inner being or soul though is the silent witness observing it all
  and expresses itself as our higher conscience when we heed its call.

III
To suffer in the agony of a lover’s separation we learn
that being away from the Beloved makes the heart burn.
It is even worse when the Beloved has gone away not saying why
and the lover has been left alone in the throes of love high and dry.
The heart cannot bear the pain of love in separation
and the mind seeks to achieve a suitable reconciliation.
When the power of love rules the heart mind hastens to obey
and doesn’t need any other reason to cause unwanted delay.
If all the lover’s efforts to a reunion only end in despair
then it may be better to let the matter rest awhile there.
True love cannot be really denied except at a great personal cost
and in desperation we seldom realise the value of what’s been lost.
  There is a saying that: ‘love will always find a way’
  and that a heart full of love over the mind holds sway.

IV
As I was never given a reason why you suddenly left
I can only assume that there isn’t one and love is bereft.
The heart has its own reasons which the mind can’t fathom
so the mind depends on the heart for matters in its *****.
Where the Beloved goes there the lovers also have to follow
because love is the magnet that draws them all nigh to go.
When the fragrance of love is in the air and lovers imbibe its scent
the intoxicating effect is a strong potion which on the heart is bent.
Man’s feeble mind relies more on the heart when the matter of love is concerned
but if the mind dominates and rationalises through the intellect love is adjourned.
If the mind of the lover is centred in the heart where the play of love is unfolding
it will experience anguish and misery when the Beloved anything is withholding.
  All true lovers will always seek the company and well-being of their beloved
  and are never satisfied with remaining at a distance if love is being uncovered.

V
Whose fault is it may I enquire if anyone falls irresistably in love
and the processes of love in separation overwhelm as from above?
What can one really do but follow wherever their heart leads
and undergo the agony in seeing that love is not displeased.
In seeking the pleasure of the Beloved one’s life becomes fulfilled
which otherwise would remain barren like a desolate land untilled.
When the Beloved sows the seeds of love in the fertile soil of one’s heart
all that was in there when that time comes must be sublimated or depart.
The arrows of love seek to pierce their target which is the heart of the lover
and the Beloved is the one drawing the bow with intent to **** we discover.
To die for love is much better than to live without we’ve heard often before
and those who lose their life in the cause of the Beloved will live forevermore.
  When the heart is purified and pure love is awakened by the Beloved’s grace
  any who are the recipients thereof realise that love in separation has its place.
Private Collection - Five sonnets written 1996 and modified slightly in 2010
Apollonian Nov 2012
Because the weatherman had forecast rain,
we all thought it'd be a pain
Thoughts of efforts going in vain
ran in our collective, clouded brain

Cough, gurgle, moan, splutter
my bike made such sounds in deep water
'neath my breath, I did mutter
God, please change me into an otter

Left and right, I twisted and turned
Acidic waters in my stomach churned
I wished that my office were adjourned
To take my raincoat was my lesson learned

Just when I thought that things won't get right
I got a chance to give a ride to Snow White
Day follows night; life has its seasons
Sometimes it rains for the right reasons
Ceryn Feb 2013
I took the goblet
I shut the door
Towards reality
Innocence adjourned
Poured the spirit
Of shame and wonder
Beneath the silk
Of black and gold
Sparks then glimmer
Secrets unfold
Witty chatter
Stupid folks
Left the kingdom
Of fake kings
Of fake queens
And true foes
Here’s the lioness
Tamed by such oil
Growls in roses
Screams in thorns
But joy awakened
The lioness’ soul
When all of a sudden
She does herself along
In playful rhythm
She dances the song
Of tedious melody
Of a’s and o’s
Who’d love to see
A crown of gold
When heaven’s a place
Nowhere near
The cape or shawl
Plunge into
Feel the highness
True royalty
Peak of happiness.
Luke Innes Oct 2013
We’re always taught in English lessons
That in language, less is more
So why say ‘lady of the night’
When you can just say ‘*****’?

Why on earth say ‘*******’
When you can just say ‘****’?
And why on earth say ‘faecal matter’
When you can just say ‘****’?

Why say ‘gluteus maximus’
When you can just say ‘****’?
Saying ‘*****’ instead of ‘****’
Is a total ******* farce

Saying ‘****** *******’
Instead of saying ‘****’
Is a bit like saying ‘waterborne bird’
Instead of saying ‘duck’

Why would you say ‘I didn’t enjoy it’
Instead of ‘it was crap’?
And why say ‘could you please be quiet for a moment?’
Instead of ‘shut your ******* trap’?

That last one’s a bad example
It appears forceful and rude
I suppose the point I was trying to make
Is that swearing ain’t always crude

If you think a lack of necessity
Is a reason not to swear
Then prepare to ****** all unnecessary things
From out your tender care

Chuck away your scatter cushions
And candles you’ll never burn
If you don’t throw away your cookie jar
This debate will be adjourned

For a lack of true necessity
Doesn’t make something offensive
Cursing has too many critics
That’s why I’ve come to defend it

And if you disagree with me
Prepare to bare the brunt
You may think I’m ‘******’
But I think you’re a ****!
Sick be your Service to her Majesty's earned
As Subject connects to the Predicate
For these Numbered Fathers wring Clocks adjourned
Her firm and footed Heart accumulate
Never has my cloud of such Clouds combined
How her months spent Moons for your Just Return
Which, by Day, tie Knots to her palms by Night
By strafing those Bullets will deflect a Burn
At this Point, the Line where I bid salute
None but the Stars-of-Jack best achieve
That you - Potent Sample - pay resolute
Which the Iron Man will always believe.
Thursday calls. The Crescent good-bids your Glove
To fill your Mission; Yet maintain her Love.
#toniacouch
Jet Dec 2020
I

At night, I search for the wrench
I lift it off my nightstand
I lie down on the workbench
the cool weight held in my hand

what I must loosen first is my knee
lull myself to a state of repose
leg is a swollen trunk of a tree
placidity the pain soon outgrows

ache that is green
ache that is ivy,
ache that is wrapping
around me
entirely.

being disarming,
the way that a friend will--
in no way harming,
I pry up one tendril,

My ache and I have just locked eyes
I turn my bolt counter-clockwise

just one half turn.
making way t’ward release,
pain is adjourned
to finally find peace


II

And in the factory,
It seems I was wound too tightly
Deemed satisfactory
Now, I relieve pressure nightly

The bolt pushes in such a way
it leaves the metal bent
Relief is not given away
but instead it is lent

pain that is sharp
pain that goes squish,
pain that is swimming
around me
like fish.

The pain in my head
a pain bright white
Will surely spread
If not done right

My head and I sob, throb, and cry together
And then I finally sever the tether

spin one full revolution,
Though I know it's unwise,
Lets in nightmare pollution
Maybe last night’s reprise



III

At night, I will always search for the reasons
Why is it that bad things happen to good people
I lie down and lament each of the seasons
If it’s about church, I’m skewered on the steeple

Now plaguing me is my dear heart
O! Please don't think me frigid
It’s how to be, if you are smart
Walls that throbbed become rigid

want that is lace
want that is divine,
want that dissipates
completely
in time

Wincing at every twinge
Heart so hollow it awards me pain
Lace is fraying at the fringe
Meteor in my orbital plane

said it flutters and feels flighty
prescribed one spin righty tighty

Then, compact are the loves I hold,
Locked in my heart airtight
No space empty or left cold
I wish you all goodnight
Wolf Irwin Sep 2014
Sometimes we succeed and sometimes we learn,
Every ounce of wisdom is something that we earn,
The pages of life they constantly turn,
So self judgment should soon be adjourned,
The doorway is open we need just endure,
Make sure to **** out all the negative allure,
A beautiful future is something we ensure,
Life is subjective by how we infer,
Anger, fear and resentment cloud our sight,
Things might go wrong but that's only a might,
Why think so low when you could take flight?,
Why love any less when it's a new height? ,
Switching perception can feel kind of strange,
Its practiced in aim not from your range,
It's less of losing and more of exchange,
For a better inner world to be self contained,
There we are for so long we've concealed it,
Door number 3 has finally revealed it,
A letter to our hearts and now we must seal it,
Don't think about feeling life and just feel it.
chimaera Feb 2015
wintry sun,
brief,
byplay yard
shadowed in cold

and yet

powdering
golden tones,
drafting
a fire, a mirage.

heyday adjourned.

ethereal hibernaculum
of the light,
tilting floret in
full-blown decay.
16.2.2015
jpl Mar 2013
The bell struck thirteen
and all the mourners cried,
The cats shrunk to the corner
and the dogs howled through the night.
“The poets have run out,”
the young town crier screams,
“they’ve run out of their rhyme,
and they’re bursting at the seams!”
And in the midst of the coffin dropping
and the young children scattering,
The crying girl looks in her mirror,
And drops it to the floor, smashing, clattering.

The bell struck fourteen
and all the town mourned,
The town’s workers ran out
and the meeting was adjourned.
“The Sun, it is falling,”
yells the pretty young girl,
“Get out of your houses now!”
And the mystery begins to unfurl.
In amongst the premature fallen,
A bare boy’s skin blisters,
And all around him she’s not there,
The only crying ones are his sisters.

The bell struck fifteen,
And the town was left deserted,
Save a young girl lying, and her brother
whose gaze was averted.
“All that live must die,”
A sound from a speaker on a van,
“Passing through nature to eternity.”
Live while you must and die whilst you can.
The stars have fallen from the sky,
And they’re crashing to the ground,
Lust the only left emotion,
Lying, waiting to be found.
Don Bouchard Nov 2012
The garden meeting adjourned and moved...
Management abruptly cleared the premises,
Canceled return visits,
Speculations inconveniently disrupted,
Wonder-rousings interrupted...
We found ourselves somehow
Standing on the Great Outside.

No wistful entreatments heard He,
The Grand Proprietor,
In spite of our new knowledges,
Our now-wise forays philosophical,
Our sophisticated posturing;
He seemed without empathy
In His Garden's sudden closure,
In our ejection and dismissal.

Stumblers of unexpected freedom,
Following a shadowed river
Narrowing down into a Valley,
Darkening down into a pinprick end,
We gaze behind, ahead, behind,
To see, high sword gleaming,
The standing doorman, glowering.

Eden, receding from our view,
Serpent joins us as we walk,
"Where were we when we left our talk?"
His lowered voice renews.
We notice now, the air is chill
As an endless sun slips down
Behind a darkening hill.
Rhianecdote Mar 2015
Sat on a train
and I gaze along
face after face
of strangers
that all share
this same moment
in time and space
and yet they're
all so vacant,
staring into space
and time bears
no relevance,
cause its the same thing
day in day out,
all of us sat there,
headphones intact
listening to our
own soundtracks
as we make our way
through tunnels
unaware of the tracks sound
as we're shuttled around
and I'm dumbfounded
by how wisdom
is found in the loss of interaction,
sat across a
man in a suit 
clocking up percentages
and in a fraction,
I've took stock
and mocked up
a story for him
through his action ,
this one man
of many in this
age of distraction
Until  this traction 
created by volt-age
comes to a halt
as this train stops
at the station,
my station in sight,
this stationary moment
of insight interrupted
as doors open,
my form plateaus
as I step onto
the platform,
leaving this
train of thought
for another one,
adjourned as
I Journey on.
Maahv Z May 2015
i don't do poetry
because i want to look intellectual
well-read
intelligent, thoughtful
or impress
people by my words
or take anyone's attention
i do poetry
because i am often alone
left alone
all and out
on my own
to submerse within my own
i crave for existences
no one appears
all stay distant
like a thoughtful absence
i have no harm
confessing in need
words are too deaf to make any sound
other too busy listening to
other songs
of other people
they must be harmonious
cheerful and dedicated
mines too glum
too sad
as i refused to give up
nor to be brainstormed
i go on my own
so i live like this
yet poetry comes to me
like a bereaved friend
it's with me when i sleep
it's there when i laugh
even though
i try to avoid of it's comings and goings
poetry's intensity sits in my heart
like a fog in early morning
but i am not sure
what to do with it
how to keep it
will this stay like an adjourned bond
poetry exists through me
like a thread in fabric
cutting every little piece within me
and i hear
'what a thoughtful presence'
RJ Days Nov 2016
must recognize our Form
in the mirror,
see our Face, and make our reflection
as we kiss it, though it regularly sickens
Us.

I

We are still Us, though
that probably means little if it ever did;

We have been amended beyond recognition
from centuries of lobbing
off limbs, appendages, stitching clauses
like bandages then forgetting about them
if we ever shower,
disfiguring the pale torso of our Body
politic, naked and middling before posterity
grotesque genitalia dangling
hopelessly, and useless
between marble columns
unable to unite in congress assembled
erasing pluribus unum;

We're our Legs, buckling under obscene weight
now cloture’s invoked, the question ordered
on history with yays and nays,
discourse long reduced to the nuances
of blusterfuck;

We're our Buttocks, passing gas
bills, denying a snowball’s chance of
melting in frozen hell or on house floor,
and our Brain, lobotomized
better half yearning “Yes, we Can…
…ada” beckoning the coasts, blue dots
on blue dot ever browning;

We're our Fists, clenching gavels
while advising Mother Earth to **** up
because even without her consent,
reality’s adjourned;

II

We're our Skin—yes, our Skin—, thin-
ly veiling contempt insufficiently concealed
by layers of spray tan and unmarred
by blood sweat tears of our foremothers
and our Brow, not sweating more perfect
when it's so easy to turn and follow storybook greatness,
when our Fingers, callused from tweeting
Little Bits of *****,
which though once again retitled
and re-released, remains a classic,
completely unrevised;

We're our Ears, nostalgic for the crack of doom
and we're our Tiny Hands, unable to help themselves
from popping a Tic-Tac and grabbing
onto those titillating, dusty buttons
on the hydrogen jukebox;

We're our Eyes, heavy
as a defeated queen
with makeup running, blessing us
all for this operant foray into madness,
ever observing how our Arms, which
(torches now extinguished)
flail in confusion amid incalculable darkness
still hoist our pitchforks low and
our Tongue still grievously petitions
for more deplorable words amid
hallucinations of victimhood;

We're our *****, *******
on progress, except
which—failing to rise to the occasion—
nonetheless manages
to flop over and strike once more: a dis-
chord in common defense of
fragile white male privilege
always showing, never growing,
general welfare and tranquility flushed down
the toiletbowl of history
hoping those old turds never
resurface, still ignoring the stench of injustice
and the chipping of gilded porcelain;

We’re our Lips–which neither Broadway hits nor
newspaper clips nor high minded pleas alarmed,
and with Dr. Franklin’s warning notwithstanding–
We are our Lips on treacherous steps which will be
all executive power herein vesting;

III

We're our Palms, grasping rope amid air
saturated in deathly vespers, which tugs
down-up toward unearned heavens;

We’re our *****, pretending to be
our Mouths which chide & otherize, while
our Shins expose their cuts to ****,
bullet-holes welcoming the swift infections
in what dank sewage now pours from open
Overton windows, broken along with
any pretense of civility; ultimately,
the only thing we could shatter;

We’re our Holes, shamefully enjoying
the prodding and poking caresses
of anarchy, be-
moaning un-
Equal Protection law & order bestows,
depriving life, liberty, property
when our Hearts, weary of
the long hard due process, supremely
malign centuries’ holdings;

We’re our Immunity, sovereign it be
fighting all insults foreign and domestic
and our Voices rising in lamentation
for what we’ve lost and what we’ve barely kept;

We’re even our Hair, unkempt, distracting us
from enduring corruption of our Blood;

We’re our *****, too. No, never mind.
We never had any. But She did,
and class despite the strength
of glass;

IV

We’re all that still, and our Souls'
politic too, fractured much asking
what Un-
ited States we’re in;
September 17, 1787 – November 8, 2016. Not a bad run, I guess.
Pauline Celerio Jan 2014
Once upon a time in a land faraway
Was a little bird who wished to fly.
Decked on the branch of the sturdiest tree,
He wished to someday soar so high.
He watched the blazing September sun,
and felt the chilly mountain breeze--
But the beauty he wished to the mountain god
Was to finally have his own pair of wings.
The seasons changed and leaves have fallen,
But the little bird has never forgotten.
Someday he'd join his father soar,
in the beauty of the lovely September morn.
The seasons changed and the leaves have grown,
Yet the little bird still wished to fly;
And little has the little bird known,
that the mountain god has already tried.
The god has given the wings he wanted,
and gave it to his father dearest.
But the mighty father with the greatest feather,
has hidden the wings the little bird wanted.
The seasons changed and the flowers mourned,
And the little bird still wished to fly,
and when the mighty sun has finally adjourned,
the little bird was left to cry.
But one strange December night,
the little bird saw his father come,
and up in flames his father light,
the wings that was supposedly his.
The little bird did not understand,
and his father said he did it for love
and the little bird has nothing left
But a memory of the wings long gone.
The little bird did not understand,
for he knew he was born for the sky,
and never again would he feel the land,
And never again would he hope to fly.
The father thought his son was fine,
and showered him with everything:
But then his son, with his piercing eyes,
told his father to remind:

"What's a sun without its fire,
to bring its light to everything?
I'm meant to soar, I'm meant to fly,
But what's a bird without his wings?"
Reece Mar 2014
The low slung summer sun, hung asunder
under the thunder we plunder and blunder
Is it any wonder we paint with these numbers

The portrait of a scene, plastered in the retina
broken hearted because that day was terrible
The first bright day, after months of misery
every storm lost in collective recent history
Five O'clock rung violent in warehouse silence
the casual commute home seemed so timeless
Turn through Hyson Green past a Halal shop
through the lonely back roads to Radford's top
Stopped by the garages when the wind had turned
to see a classic hometown scene almost adjourned

What happened never should have happened that way
As the memories linger they feel like a tragic screenplay

Man say to man, give me everything you have
man say man, how could you possibly say that
Sky say to clouds, let the sun shiver
crook say to poet, I need your **** liver

Poet say to God, lord when will I be free?
god say to poet, please stop bothering me
Beast say to boy, I'll count to three
boy say to beast, that I'd like to see
So man pulled a knife and waved it in the air
and man looked away, in absolute despair
Knife said to man, hey poke me in there
and man penetrated man with incredible flair

Muscle say to flesh, this doesn't feel right
eyes say to brain, this is a terrible sight
Knife say to body, do you feel that huh?
nervous system shocked replied, nu-uh
Skin say to vessels, you need to stop bleeding
Vessels say to brain I think we need healing
Brain say to body, we're going down heavy
Death say to life, we've broken that levee
Man said to knife, you've had enough fun
knife said to man, we've only just begun

I looked away petrified and pulling at my head
for when I looked back at the scene,
it was me lying dead.
Regina Golan Feb 2018
If luck knocks on your louvered door you will have a chance to fight your enemy. You will stand up like a crackerjack prize and pay no mind to the man that broke your backbone.

Into the windowless courtroom you will trek. People lined up on hand carved benches, staring with unaroused expressions, waiting warily for their names to be called.

You feel your breath halfheartedly fill your emaciated lungs with foul and cumbersome air as you survey the miserable scene and avoid locking eyes with the man that was disguised as your one true love.

You wear a band of rubber which you snap on your wrist at the first sign of weakness so you stay focused on the gavel’s exclamation.

He tells your long-lost spouse from another life with another wife that this is not Watergate and “I don’t recall” will not suffice in his civil courtroom.

His honor dishonors his woven white robe when he yells in your direction with agape red mouth and judgmental judicial tone. When the courage strikes your hand-stitched smile will widen with words and you will command an audience of perjurers who will point forceful fingers at their prior partners that used to be ******* lovers and now sit dead pan wantonly waiting to bleat themselves dry.

Slam the gavel while the corn cracks in the microwave bag until all the edges have been popped out and fairness has been forced through the funnel like liquid butter with a diet coke to wash it down.

You walk away, down the dark labyrinth of hallowed halls snapping your gum and tip-tapping your heels as you flee from the referee who does not understand your half eaten heart with the wiggly worm within its wind-up walls. He will pronounce your fate with a backhanded expletive and a muffled “adjourned.”

— The End —