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Matt Shaw May 2017
Sometimes my heart is coiled steel
Pulled tight over wood.

I slip into the mode
On the backyard patio
Feeding blood to my guitar, carefully.

I'm making love in the springtime.
It's so good
Making love on your time.

Good Gabriel has blessed us with music
Hear, the devil says it's useless
But every ictus of the heart of love
Rebuts and rebukes him.

I cannot cordially invite
Everyone to my party
Here at my end of the world
My own private apocalypse, but music
Music can do that.

My heart is just an instrument
That's why my guitar fits right inside
That's why my fingers need to fly,
Slide and pick
These fruits from heaven.

Fruits so good and so holy,
My flesh wilts in the presence of them
But here, my young heart knocks and knocks and knocks
It leaves little etudes in the backyard's sunshine.
Bea Jul 23
Wishes and calls from friends
Not my brother
Of course he can't call
He's learned from his mother

He was taught wrong
Though could've done better
Could've wrote his own songs
Can't write me a letter

My friends write me letters
They think that I matter
Even got me a sweater
Hoping I will get better

The ones that show up
They're the ones that still care
We all raise our cups
Wave them high in the air

It's getting real late
And it's time to leave now
It must've been fate
Not exactly sure how

Glitter may fall
And people may fight
Memories of it all
Escape to the night

Balloons in the backyard
Like memories we shared

We filled them all up
Now they're dancing through air

Colors were popped
And pieces were scattered
Bad thoughts seemed to stop
I believed that I mattered

Balloons in the backyard
Like memories we shared

My heart is filled up
I am walking on air

Colors were blended
And so was my head
Eventually it ended
We must go to bed

Balloons in the backyard
Like memories we shared

Suddenly look up , and you're still there

Brain is now syrup, I don't mean to stare

You look so lovely, you float with the air

I feel so lucky , I'm glad I was there

Balloons in the backyard
Memories we shared

Hearts all filled up
Eyes that may stare

Colors can wander
All through the night

Still found no lover

We travel in flight

July 11
Me and my best friend popped balloons in the backyard on my birthday . Thank you for always listening and caring , much love - the girl who's kinda in love with you
in my backyard
beautiful!
with alluring flowers
wild flowers, purple haze
green, with a shade of russet

Nature at it's very best,
the visual perception,
of my garden
brings,
to the mind and soul
a great aesthetic rapture!

This is my pagoda
I come here to meditate,
in the spectre
of beautiful  aura
and to be at peace with nature,

Amidst my temple
a spliff I shall spark
with a profound  purpose,
to bless my mind
and to bless my soul
with sagacity,
from the universe!
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Memories crying, screaming to be heard.
Try as I might to bury these amidst busy days,
still they rise from the backyard of my mind haunting my dreams,
making youth a nightmarish memory.

Empty rooms cry out in agonizing silence.
White ghosts float on lifeless bodies with the same question; why?
Anxious moments still taunt just beyond of safety.
The sickness that gave birth to this still clouds the mind.  

So long ago, a lifetime to make peace, still lucid moments of torment
making March an anniversary dirge.
It makes no sense to cry for those gone, for mortals spent in tragedy,
yet every year I try to understand once again, why?
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
King Panda May 2016
rain
mud and grass
common prayer
good weather
good people
art
and umbrella bags
because who wants to
get wet?
unless it’s with you
I could
I would
jump into the lake
for that rock
sew
cleanse
initials made in sharpie
and unclamp
we run
around the park
the afternoon surrounds us
the woman in the bikini
passes
and we laugh
iced tea
decaf coffee
cake without teeth
and that airstream camper
you always wanted
I could live in your
backyard
I could live somewhere
not here
in silver
prostrated
with my back to the
moon
like dead
like a mummy
like a mirror
and life would make sense
life would be beautiful
like this run
with perfect amounts of sweat
and conversation that runs
waves in the sand
and tells the squirrels
goodnight, tractor
see you tomorrow

and the land that billows
is dug up
and chewed
like a goodnight poem
this run with you
takes rest
on my soul
and I crack my ribs
to take the spring’s
twilight
aroma
Adrian S Nov 22
i was young on that warm summer night.

he was fifteen and blazing with independence.

we sat on the patio chair just close enough for me to tremble.

he showed me the stars through the telescope.

little did he know he was the brightest one to me.

i was an asteroid waiting for the moment I could launch into his world just long enough to shift his disposition.
King Panda Sep 2015
the only flowers I
recognize are
tulips
denver-bred
blooming
fire
red
yellow
orange
photochemistry
defined by
valentine
bouquet
quite
atypical
yet
beautiful

wax-coating
iridescent
rain
mirror
ferti­lized
stamen
kiss me
bad
you
are the
only
species
that can
survive in my
backyard

I think I
love
you
L B Aug 2018
He was large as frogs go
Fist-sized happy rotund dweller
of backyard pond
Garter snake large, too large
with his ominous yellow stripes
and jaws to take
a larger than average mouthful
Choked by abdomen's girth
Legs drooling from his glut
Before the victim's even hit his gut's
digestive juices

Kid with hockey stick makes him puck
for his sin
Frog makes  desperate
slim swim for rocks
Where he lies in recovery
from shock and
teeth marks on his belly
Underdog gets defense from phone call-- Eve
150 miles away
intercedes
Frog gets mercy of a transport
to another backwoods pond--
to find his life
forgetting trauma
Suns himself and swims
Eats the bugs
and ***** the froglettes
of another day
My daughter desperate on the phone-- she and her stepson have just been witness to this scene.  Now what!  Now what!  Call mommy! Quick!
I give the household, "hunter man" the job and duty of relocation.  He objects, "But it's the way of nature!"
"Not on my watch, good man!
Not on my watch!"
The underdog gets the hand.
chichee Jan 7
Seventeen and burning down
I am a machine gun mouth,
A stomach without a heart,
Red dahlias growing with the weeds in your backyard,
I am a stick of dynamite
waiting for an excuse.
...
You are bored enough to hand me a match.

(I was always your favourite kind of shitshow)
I wrote this in a mood. not my best work, but it's good to come out of break.
avalon Apr 2018
i am worn books and french vocabulary, ice cold chai and steaming earl grey. i am stone stares and eyes watering, uncertainty in silence and sharp decisive conversation. i am shaking hands and reciting poetry during anxiety attacks and i am indie rock showers and top-of-your-lungs pop radio in the car. i am empathy without sympathy, crying in the bathroom stall and i am childhood cartoons and your favorite stuffed animal and the beach in the summer. i am desperate to be alone and desperate to scream and desperate to find someone who knows what i mean and still likes me. i am comfort zone constellations, Orion's belt on every nighttime stroll, i am the hollow tree in the backyard of the house we don't own and i am my handwriting and the words in my poems. i am everything you have made me out to be and i hate that; hate that you see all my flaws so clearly but that isn't all of me and i know that now.

i am the trinkets my grandmother left me and her eyes when she looked at me and the way she cried when she read my poetry. i am a thousand ways i have loved those dear to me and the children who fall asleep on me and the way my cat runs to me and i don't need your or anyone's approval but God's and my own. thanks anyway.
CA Guilfoyle Aug 2017
I think it quite strange living here walled by this house
when I was wilder than now I lived in nature
stalking birds and pollen laden things
always my toes in sands or hot footed in summer.
I was in love with the sky, no matter the weather
in storms I hid beneath branching cedars
sleeping on mossy pillows, in the woods of my backyard.
I never gave much thought to houses then, I only went there
to sleep or eat and waited to leave again
waited for an inkling of sun to warm the cold grass
spent days climbing trees, red plums and cherries
I imagined that's how life would always be,
living outdoors under the sun or clouds
wet with rain, always picking flowers.
Sing for me, oh wind chime!

Winds are blowing from north to south,
Skies are darkening from up above,
Rains are showering over a white robe, and
the globe is dancing with a mild glow.

So sing for me, oh wind chime!

Blue jays are pecking at an oak tree,
Spinning around squirrels who are as carefree,
Unaware of a herd of deer roaming free,
their intelligence only bettered by their calling soiree.

So sing for me, oh wind chime!

Even as the prairie of a backyard is so beautiful,
when winds are so peaceful,
flowing the dandelions along plentiful,
depositing themselves on young ones a handful.

So sing for me, oh wind chime!
Vicki Kralapp Mar 2018
We live in times of greatest fear,  
and hear the echo of the past,
in words of those we can’t ignore,
and lessons of historic years.

Wars and their rumors speak to us,
of violence and the end of days,
as voices whisper in the lines,
of those we join in nightly news.

We stop our ears to those who plead,
for us to listen to their truths,
and point our finger for mistakes,
at those who have the most to lose.

We hide our eyes from blatant facts,
because they don’t affect our lives,
and so become a puzzle piece,
of people's war against itself.

The voices held in mortal screams,
of those beyond our backyard fence,
with children paying for our greed,
the future of our lives foretold.

But now with nowhere we can hide,
from evils living in our world,
our future lies upon the truths,
that are so carefully concealed.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Frankie Gestone Apr 2012
We are young, but much older
We are loved, though only by a few of us
We remain restless
We watch out of our windows envious at success stories
Those who have written chapters of promise and wealth
We are the world's forgotten children-who once played in the backyard of our land and kingdom and who swam in oceans of eternal youth
Strangers rob us blind-and we know it
We try to convince ourselves that we are strong, but we shiver clothesless
We know what is wrong, but we do it anyway
School failed us
Society has ***** and stolen our identities
And we watch our neighbors die without saying goodbye
Our friends have long left us
The church we grew up in
is now just a cold, abandoned house; the ghosts never leave
They lived in another lifetime, but we all stay here for safety
  So carry me in your arms and hold me tight
Let us take what is yours- you are little mice and we prey on you like hawks
We want what was ours
We love the excitement at the expense of others
We become our own victims and kidnap our freewill.
We learn, though, and see our shadows in the dark
The silhouettes fool others into believing we are bigger than what we are
We leave them painted on the walls so we are always remembered
The goal is to stain something so deep onto the world that we immortalize ourselves, thus we are not vanished along with our bodies
Emily Jennie May 2017
A river flows through the backyard
Panic attacks under whiskey breath
Legs numb and gasping for air
Drowning in the driver's seat.
Christian Ek Jul 2014
The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.

I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.

We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.
Michael Jan 2017
My boyhood pocketknife
Sits in the bottom of my bedside table
My skin is healing
But I still feel a little cut
I thank God every time I leave
Say goodbye to flat land
the long stretches of road
I forget the peonies
but they still bloom in me
My old backyard is littered
with noise and ***** snow
Cold trickles into the lungs
Slowly, like it's afraid to let go
Each exhale is proof we're alive
A cloud of condensation
curling away from mouths
Small, sleeping dragons
in an even smaller city
where all the jewels are gone
Outside Words Sep 2018
tiny elves in my backyard on my stoop -
“PLEASE SIR, MAY WE HAVE SOME SOUP?”

running out from between blades of grass,
they shouted in unison with a burly crass:

“YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, IT'S A TUESDAY NIGHT,”
“AND TUESDAYS ARE SPECIAL IN ELVEN LIFE!”

“sorry sir, soup is not for elves; mommy said!”

“DON'T LISTEN TO THAT OLD BAT,
IT'S LATE AND SHE'S IN BED…

...WE COME TO YOU IN NEED OF NOURISHMENT!”

“but, I’m just a kid and mommy discourages it!”

i said in my biggest voice, for the 900th time
as they threw up their arms, like I’d committed a crime!

running around in a mass,
they ran back, with such sass,
through the leaves in a big hurry -
on a hunt for soup they scurried...
© Outside Words
Five years old and they
   could not hear me in the backyard --
   I called out, the gate was locked and
  the screen door, mesh frayed at the handle,
  was locked too -- I could see it --
  and they still couldn't hear me and I
     was afraid and the mesh
     was frayed and my little finger
         just barely fit through and then
             aunt Lucy came and made sure
                 that I was punished.

(The reward for my fear was
the most frightening and humiliating
experience of my childhood)

                   I hid.

"Get out here!" my father yelled
and his voice made me flinch and
trembling I unhid.

       my uncle and aunt watched
as my father spanked me
harder and angrier than ever before,

       my uncle and aunt watched
the shock of every blow
reverberating
through my tiny body
                                    until

       my uncle and aunt watched
everything let go
and I ****** myself on the floor
in front of them

weeping and violated

I do not remember what was said after

they left the room and
I was alone with my shame
while the sun fell the walls
faded blue the ride home
was silent --

-- all over some torn mesh
      and doors they should not have locked.
I hope it was worth it.
Greenie Apr 2017
Last time I checked, there were arms attached to shoulders and teeth studded gums (yesterday). The sky was if one were to look ^up^, and, when passing food trucks in the alley, the nose would  envelop ***** scents with its own series of flares and snorts. Yesterday

I came across your bones in the backyard~ they'd been crusted over by small, cloud-shaped lichens. I fed them with holy water and met no response. The sky may have been purple but it probably wasn't ( I didn't look). With one deep sigh, I lobbed a femur to the neighbor's dog.
KiraLili Aug 2015
Hot summer nights
Older neighbourhood in a high prairie town
They start to come out on the steps
Concrete stairs 6 to 10 risers high
No AC in these places
Cooler outside for mothers and babes
Young men gather on the corners for smokes
All TVs are cranked inside with the same game on
Talk turns to the blue moon to come
Time passes slower on these evenings
The week is over and the older homes look as tired as the people tonight
Stoop sitting is the backyard in these places
This is what makes a nieghbourhood different from the burbs
Mike Virgl Jul 2018
In my backyard lay a sound
     a humming buzzing
          flying low and high
I searched for it in the yard  
     my ear tuned in              
          to that light, cute, noise
I said out loud "bee your flight, is mystifying"
     and the buzz got louder
          "I just wish to see what you like"
The Buzz flew between my eyes
     "bee, my god, your stripes match with shadows and lighting"
          the bee flew around my head in joy
Once
     twice
          and many more times.
"So let me say hello bee."

And I said it many more times
     the bee loved
          how I would check in
A low hum would always greet me
     every time I went
          to my backdoor
In the rain I would go outside
     to make sure the bee
          was kept dry
"Come here bee let me grab a leaf"
     "come fly under it"
          the bee would buzz
And so in the rain, I kept that bee dry.

And soon much time passed
     and I wanted to
          get that Bee a cage
I laugh at it now
     It’s just silly
          "a Bee cage"
I called my Bee
     with a soothing voice
          "my Bee I have something for you"
The Buzz I loved came near
     low and high it flew
          my Bee did come
And so I tried to coax My Bee into my cage

My Bee would not come
     no matter how many times
          the command was given
"My Bee why won't you come near?"
     "just let me love you forever"
          the Buzz just buzzed in front of me
My Bee seemed to want to fly away
     but couldn't leave for a bit
          because of my grieving face
"My Bee I love you"
     my heart said
          as my tears leaked onto the floor
My Bee started me straight in the face

"Let me say goodbye Bee, let this be goodbye."
Autumn Oct 2014
I stuck chickens in my baggy tie dye shirt
nuzzled on the couch, coffee in hand.
I enjoyed a deep conversation with a willow tree
and asked how it felt about the other species.
I slid cookies in the back pocket of my tattered jeans
before biking through the morning air.
I smiled at old Ted in the nursing home
with a wink, he smiled back.
I dribbled the basketball with the strong scent
of campfire coming from my backyard.
I danced in the shower
the warm droplets falling on my skin.
I smoked in the sparkling cove
with strangers that became my friends.
I flew off the high rocks
and submerged into cold crystal waters.
I looked into those faded blue eyes,
and chuckled cause' we do that.
I balanced on the fallen limb
and hopped up onto the beautiful stump.
I giggled with my sisters
cause' we made some really mean jokes.
I ate spaghetti with my friends,
and laughed so hard we choked.
I tumbled over tree roots
got back up and kept on trailin'.
I thanked God for this life
and he said you're welcome.
some things I like in random orders
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