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topaz oreilly Nov 2012
Threatened curiosity rhymes better than I
A panic attack infused with sinusitis
Willesden digs clang its tentacles
into blobbed concrete.
Cringing as I walked by
Anita scrawled her unsavoury - mercy.
She could not endure a Son of a Publican
on a weekend jolt,
a hand washed duvet potested,
pitch and putt compressed
too many red lines crossed.
Simon Piesse Oct 2021
To Ed  


What child were they
When piercing squeal
Grabbed the foreman by the *****?

What child were they
When putty tears
Smeared and blobbed
On the sheeting?

Running from
The construction pit
The thrill of sand and truck
Implodes.
Metal **** makes decent scar
That keeps the girls’
tongues a-wagging.

‘Always heed the ‘Keep Out’ signs,’
The stony man booms at the boy;
‘I told you not to wander where
Granite pavement yields to digger.’

Years ago, that child, was I and
Diggers now are doors and roofs;
Then here, one day, my own boy falls,
And blood comes oozing from elbow.

Running from
The construction pit
The thrill of sand and truck
Implodes.
But, how should I, with damaged tools,
Be the  
Grafter Dad
He’s seeking?
This recalls an incident from my childhood when I was playing clandestinely on a building site and went running and crying in search of consolation...
Dan Hess Mar 2021
As I walked into the bar there were already tears in my eyes. So much stress. Was I meandering or chasing my tail? I wasn't finding answers, that's for sure. I glanced around, struck with a subtle sense of irony. A few sorry souls sat speckled throughout the dimly lit confines of this stuffy, run down establishment. You'd think they'd have the means to keep a place like this in ship shape, here, considering the nature of spirit. Anything you could imagine, freely given, when the soul should rise... Maybe it was just a load of ****. I took a seat in a corner at the far side of the room. I didn't know how I'd arrived here, but I had no intention of leaving. I was too exhausted. Life had had a tendency to beat me down. I felt battered and bruised. I felt as if I'd been flattened by a steam roller. I always used to say I was tired to my soul; I hadn't realized I was speaking literally. It wasn't long before I was approached by a waiter. All dressed in white, save for a black tie. An amorphous effusion of light and shadow erupting from the place where one's neck should be. A piercing whisper, vibrating through my skull.

"Can I get you a drink?" it.. said.

I was a bit dumbfounded. It hadn't occurred to me until now that this place may actually serve alcohol. Did I even have a body? Regardless, I don't drink.

"I don't drink."

The haze blobbed and bobbed, and ebbed in mirrored tension, as if shaking its head from side to side.

"I think you'll want to try this one." It echoed, sing-songing slow motion distortions directly into the depths of my consciousness.

It was becoming hard to focus. The lines here were, or, are gray. Things bleed between. Every soft, dim light consumed the room. Every noise resounded throughout time. This ideal of a bar, this place where people drink their woes away, stowed away in the afterlife? What must people be trying to forget?

"I don't want to forget." I said. "I learned so much in life. Still, I know nothing. Still I don't understand, but I want to hold onto those lessons. I've left everything else behind."

"I think you'll want to try this one," it reiterated. "Daniel."

It hit me, then. This thing knew all there was to know about me. Not only could it speak into my mind, it could see. This was no ordinary drink, and after all, what did I have to lose?

"**** it," I took the glass from the tray. "I guess I could use a drink."

It looked like nothing more than a shot glass full of water, but as it went down my throat, an unearthly warmth and peace spread through my chest cavity and into my heart. It was the ultimate feeling of pure joy, as if I'd consumed a liquified sun. With my first breath, it made its way into my brain. Stark white, endless plains of emptiness and light. Everything dissolved before my eyes. Cascading was illusion: is illusion. I hovered in the pulse of the everflow.

"How was the drink?"

I needn't even respond. I was awake.

"Ahhh!" I released relief, and let the spirit seep.

I merged with this, the Infinite.  The song of Heaven, I could hear it.  Vibrations of eternity  surrounding me,  and written throughout everything,  the lyrics.   All different pitch  of perfect wave,  resounding to fragment  the quintessence  of this presence  to which I now belonged.   Yet, this energy condenses.  Readministered,  from essence to presence.  A blip within the static of magic.  Eye could not exist,  in reminiscent wishes,  avasting existence.   The depth within the deep  of endless ocean called to me:  to stimulate emotion  in the impartation of separation  from Infinity.   The pull of gravity consumed me.  Here, again, within the fill  of fragrant, illusory "being,"   I live to speak of bleeding  into everything and nothing.
a strange peace...
a strange piece....
A briny deep of ink blobbed in a single drop
trembling at the tip of my head,
sliding to my toes, poised above
the golden trees of old parchment.
Deeper than the stroke of rouge
opera, with touch of light
and sable in the eyes, with
a love just as passionate
as when my heart found
my muse, and first penned it ....

How simple it would have been
like a rose that has risen our
love, like a bloom, more within
our flower, that you kissed,
days live within, for many suns to see,
moons reply, where Angels fly
and ride chariots of gold.
To love the hand that guide
my heart within loving seas
that rest under my loves breath
that is set deep in my eyes .....

Debbie Brooks 2014
Devon Brock Nov 2019
So smooth and piquant then. Remember?
Our love a puree of roots and bitters,
quick peppered, swift boiled
blobbed up and sulphurous.
Melting the ladle, melting the ***,
smoking the burner, firing
the whole **** kitchen down.

Yes, it still stings my lips,
***** on my uvula, something
never fully swallowed
but scorched on a hard palate,
peeling skin on the blistered roof
of a recollection.

It was tough then, I know,
making soup last for days,
for weeks, for years.
We were young then
and fond of quick eats,
grabbed before a cab
and shoveled whole,
gulped like a snake
teasing eggs -
unhinged and transient.

But savor these broths unclouded, love,
clear to the windmills, blue and Dutch
at the bottom of the bowl.
Draw the spoon, gentle and away,
lift and breathe softly, eyes closed,
and take what remains, what lingers
velvet on the buds and nourishing.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
Dr. Ink wrote me a
prescription with a
blackened nib.

He injected the
parchment with,
what was, the cure.

It blobbed and took
the shape of a familiar
Irish brand.

Off I went to the wrong
dispensary, the lady
filled my ordinance.

It worked, the pain
vanished, but now, my name
is Ryan, and I'm an alcoholic.
Dan Hess Jul 2019
Thence again was I
hovering,
waver-not and wafer-thin,
again within the fill of it.

I blobbed and echoed,
morphed and me,
without the inner tree
of life's own blossoming,

and such itself that I
was but a whisper.

An immortal dissonance
begot its own retainment
to the discipline of ages
it had wandered 'gainst.

Its dissonance was form
and revenance irreverent.
A sudden questioning
sparkt the death of innocence.

— The End —