Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
September Roses Jul 2018
A little box
Without a key
You hold an air
Of mystery
To sit and glare
Right up there
Flashing red in front of me

I am the one who fills it
And I fill it with myself
No one would guess what's in you
Sitting up atop my shelf

I have thought of your discovery
The pros
And all the cons
But looking at my history
All candidates are wrong

So I suppose you'll stay a secret
I'll keep you to myself
Painted red,
Flashing dread
Little box on my shelf
Please forget you saw this
Yall feel free to tell me why you guys all like this poem so much. Curious
Harley Oliver Feb 2015
a piece of art you are
in your worn out sleeves  
and heart shaped eyes
laid out in a bed of cherries
and a field of tulips to share with me
your ocean view windows
that streak the black sea
into a shift of sheer white pearls
that melt onto me
like chocolate fondue
warm and sweet
you are the taste, the mouthful
of words that sit on my tongue
get along with your truffle kisses
and your red wine lips
begging for the chateau
to soak in the void
and with a mind shining thought
you traced my back
with the stem of a flower
that went on and on
for the next half hour
blackbox Jun 2014
A tale of many cities confined within
Deep dark secrets stacked in.
Lies, the world presume as sins,
That’s how the story of ‘The Black Box’ begins.

Cramped amid the four gloomy walls,
‘The Black Box’ is what he calls.
Looking to unscramble pieces at the bottom,
He rolled up his sleeves to the problem.

Not knowing, this can put him in a ditch,
And ‘The Black Box’ can act like a *****.
He went on in the search for a prize,
Unaware of this forthcoming surprise.

He knew, many have tried to look inside,
To find a package of perfection in the hide
Disappointed to see the shattered glasses,
They closed the box to put it in a stack of more boxes.

Still, he preferred to move ahead,
In spite of knowing he will lose his head.
The minute he thought he was nearer to precision,
A way distant he was from the actual incision.

The time will come, when he will have his threshold,
Sooner or later, he will have to fold.
After all, no one can alter the history,
No matter what! ‘The Black Box’ will remain a mystery.
Living in this yellow box filled with aging trinkets
A lonely guy trying to get by just hasn't sealed the link yet
Bout a cup of milk left in the fridge and God forbid I drink it
A shaggy dog; that ***** hog, why can't they smell the stink yet?
The junk comes barreling through the door so fast that you can blink it
There's no more room for gloom and doom, but let's fit one more inkjet
They just got rid of dinnerware,  a silver and a pink set
So now to hoard an ancient sword, a blender and a mink set
Five garbage bags of someone's clothes, the sixth one's in the sink, wet
With lots of cans and pots and pans, we'll reach the jagged brink yet
They're trying to let go, said there ain't no space to think yet
They're workin hard to raise the bar, ain't  worked out all the kinks yet

Pressed for time and low on space
****** I need to get out of this place...
hoarders
Blair Baker Feb 2010
And now upon that pillow lay
all that remains of the tragic day.
Reduced to a box, his ashes stay

Wrapped up in a blanket
given at birth.
Will anyone know how much he was worth?

I want the world to know!
I remember--I remember well;
So my sweet brother, your life I'll tell.

To try to forget a loss so great,
they swept up reminders of the terrible day
and all the days that had gone before.
They just shut the door,
as if you'd never been.
Gone were the photos.
Where are the toys?
Can't we even remember the JOY?

I lay beside your box
before we take you to the sea.
For now... you are here with me.
Your scent deep inside this blanket sweet.
Will you stay, if I keep it neat?
Or like memories, will you fade away?

The years have passed and I am old but still I wonder where you are.
Then suddenly I see you walking by--the grown man you should have been-- tall and handsome,
blonde and bright,
just like my own two boys.
And I hold them close.
laura Oct 2018
i guess i still miss you
but talking’s for functioning people
when we stand stark
at the vertices of our dog days
we don’t say anything at all
in uncharted autumn
we still have a little sun left
trying to make sense
of the irregularities that compact
this relationship
into tiny little boxes we check
every once and awhile
ostentatiously
Joanna May 28
An invite to venture out to where I have never been before, could terrify and confuse and even blur an open door.

A night of exploring something, new could put a different light on what is true.

But then a night of risking a step toward love could end up in what I have only recently risen above.

Or this invite could just be, the key to changing everything for me.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
Lumi Nov 2018
Box
I said, "Handle with care."
Because you put me in a box.

I'm only "Fragile"
Because that's all you want.

All you want is my package,
Not what's on the inside.

To flip me upside down,
So you're brain can feel ride-sight-up.

While I'm the one who suffers,
In your God-forsaken box.
you can't think for yourself whilst stuck in someone else'e box.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
It broke through the black box
shining down the sky
the first light touched
the bottom of the night!

Yet the sun sets, flies away.
Didn’t it catch the black swan night?
Crazy as a box of frogs they say
working hard night and day
drinking fast talking fast
idiosyncrasies his way

Where intellect meets madness
you will see there he resides
with his technology abound
that never leaves his side

He's a poet musician and killer
all wrapped up in one
crazy as a box of frogs
is that son of a gun



By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Tufayl Myburgh Oct 2017
“Hey there my dear, I came to tell you I love you,
although I don’t think that’s a particularly good idea.

See, I don’t think you even know yet, because, I took every last sign of the love I felt for you and locked it in a box, I then gave it to a friend who took it far, far away.

I let him take it so that I wouldn’t be reminded that I loved you if my love for you wasn’t around and you wouldn’t find it either.

See, I know I would recognize love if I saw it, I swear I would, I know because I remember what you wore that day and I clearly recognized you.

I’m actually glad I let my love get taken away from me, so you’d never ever know I loved you,

See, I sent my love away in that box a very long time ago so I was doing fine up until now, I decided I’d write this letter so I could trick myself into thinking I’ve told you that I love you, maybe then my heart would be content.

Oh dear, I don’t have the box to put this letter in anymore, he took it away.

What do I do now? I know you’ll find this letter at some point.

Oh well, you’ve come this far so I might as well make the most of it,

Hey pretty lady,

See, I love you.”
An open letter to the girl I'll one day love, I hope our love is as childlike as puppy love from our younger days, we don't get that no more once we're older so, this ones for you.
K Lupus Aug 2017
Halfway between the other I came across awake
Jause, jause I say and when I say jause I say feast in this little soiree.
The transitioning of day is reaching its final debut.
Winter solstice passing its prime, a change about in time
A change about in time, a change about inside humans' crime...
The corruption we aught to diminish that still clings
The greed, lust, pride, sorrow and wrath
that not by the very skin of my teeth will ever be relinquished.
The scums that dwell in the deepest cells of my lungs as I breathe.
The bitterness that for every grin I make of my face
can no longer hide.
The demons residing in faltering light, imprisoning,
controlling,constraining, stifling the progress delving life.
These filths that inflict the muscles beneath me, and the bones beneath that, who can help me?
Imprisoned me...Kept me...  
Controlling and constraining my life...me
Tribute to my Teacher, L. and A. Moore
Anya Jul 2018
I am in a box
As I reach out
Touch the walls
This strange barrier that separates me
From the other
Anything external
Different
Other
A hand from the box adjacent to mine appears
Splayed against the wall
I reach out mine
The dark and light contrast
Like the Chinese symbol Ying and yang
Other clearly
Other
Even a child could tell the difference
But,
Who does it take to look past the differences?
Deb Jones Jan 4
We help the parents to hold their child one last time.

Sometimes it’s the only time they get to hold her while she lives

Trying to help them survive is to sacrifice human touch

When her heartbeat stops
The parents are in shock

Even knowing it’s going to happen
Doesn’t help them much

We usher them gently out

The baby lies an ashen gray
The nails of her fingers turning dark

We turn off the machine
That kept her alive

We remove the tube
That held her last breath

We gently remove the tape
That held the feeding tube in her nose

We unwrap the blanket
And take off the electrodes

We take off the sensor on her toes
No need to see her oxygen is now zero

We wash her gently with warm water
Using cold water would be cruel

We get the “Memory Box”
And prepare the plaster

We take impressions of her
Hands and feet

We put a tiny diaper on her
A little bigger than my thumb

You would think that didn’t matter
But it does.

We add a little bracelet
Of her name made with beads

We take a laminated card
Where poetry is written

We dress her in clothes the Parents have brought.

Such tiny, tiny frocks
Beautiful pastel colors

We add a little hat
The volunteers have knitted

We take her pictures
A few of them

We put everything in the box
A diaper as a reminder
Of how small she was
The plaster of her hands and feet
The bracelet
The poetry
The photos
The name card
With her birth weight and height
That hung on the incubator before tonight

We swaddle her in a blanket
Now she just looks asleep

So peaceful and serene

We call the parents back in
To see her, hold her, mourn her

To continue to mourn her

The grandparents and the rest of the family too

We give them as much time as they want.
You can only imagine they don’t want to let go

We give them the memory box
To be opened some day

Not now.
Maybe not for months or years

But someday they will open the box
And they will know we took care of their little girl

They will see all we collected
All we did
We mourned with them too.

There is nothing so quiet as the preparation of a child that will be held for the last time by parents that are unanchored and rudderless.
I apologize if this was as a trigger for anyone that has lost a baby to a premature birth or some other full term genetic issues. I wanted people to know how we suffer the deaths too. And suffer the families anguish.
Destiny C Dec 2016
Trapped inside a box.
Everywhere I look,
I see confined emptiness.
My limbs are yearning for a moment's stretch.
Trapped inside a box.
My arms are rendered useless,
as they lay squeezed against my sides.
My neck is straining in it's cramped position.
Trapped inside a box.
I cannot breathe,
my heart pounds against my chest hoping for freedom,
How can one be trapped inside of a small box, when their body is in the midst of a wide open plain?
Anxiety.
It is a box.
A box that cripples rationality ,
trapping you.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
You found me
stuck staring
at rearview mirror reflections
of wintry, dusk intersections
of everything leaving me
all at once.
A forced exhale
of asphyxia caged
in collapsing lungs;
my mouth,
a fountain spring,
that coughed out
pools of blood.

I wish I saw myself
the way you saw me;
not a red traffic light
wounding speeding cars
on winding streets,
but an antique heirloom
priceless enough
you'd only wish
you could keep
in a heart-shaped box
you saw in dreams.

But, I'd cut my tongue,
paint my lips cherry shades
to blend with cells that'd stain
handkerchiefs you'd offer.
Make you believe
this isn't going to foster
because you are indecision,
unfinished watercolor landscapes
of summer forest fire skies,
a sun-kissed Pacific wanderer.
And I am true crime
untouched evidence of break-ins,
remains of faulty locks and lights.
I am mosaics misaligned;
static, seabed cracks
from forgotten fault lines.
Gaping fissures of sand,
and salt that won't let me stitch
frayed skin-deep fibres
barely holding me in.

Oceans would have to empty themselves
into whirring cyclones and high tides
for our selfish sense of touch to collide.
Ice caps would have to sink
deep enough to even bruise my skin.
And I wouldn't want to watch
more Shakespeare end
before it begins.

See, I am the one
with sharp edges,
but why
did you have to be the one
to clip my wings?


There is only an abyss
without a trampoline,
a safety net,
a bed of waterlilies,
I could fall in.
And I am so tired
of paradoxes
and ironies;
of always being wanted
by someone who doesn't even
want to be kept,
of always being mended
and then left
with more dislocations,
and fractures,
one after another
each taking longer to fix.

Now, in shapeless parcels,
without return addresses
sent out into the void
these words will echo
of love
I never intended to borrow,
and shadows
of false hope
you never thought yourself
capable of
giving away.
Next page