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Sam Kirk Jun 2014
I've only been camping a handful of times and this is the first we've been in about a year and its very nice and the outdoors is very comforting.  The stars in the sky shine so bright tonight, they remind me of my lovers smile. The bugs chirp and make so many noises it keeps me up, at late hours. The weather is hot and its humid so my hair sticks to my face and I sweat. I have to *** so bad but everyone is asleep and the bathrooms are unbearably disgusting. It took us almost an hour to set the tent up and we had hamburgers and hotdogs for dinner. The bonfire was warm. I can't wait to get out and go swimming in the lake later. Camping is alright.
This has no purpose really just felt like getting thoughts out..
Paul Cassano Nov 2014
(First Verse)
The bugs cower to me and they collide with one another
the birds eat them up, you start to walk up to the counter,
I thought to myself, "Wow, wow, I've finally found her...",
We discovered each other, and of this feeling I'm ******* sure,
it's otherworldly
Like we criss-crossed and tied, our lives hover, gnarled
Ran across with a stride, brush aside any fright, fear and/or strife
Say hello to her, "What can I get fer ya?" - "I concur,
this for sure, isn't life. This is her, that's for sure, she must be my ******* wife."

Quite the relation - I'm not sure
I know that I hasten to, answer her question of,
"Can I get an application?" - uh
"You've got my attention what's, the variable here, for this equation!"
"PAUL!  Patience, you really need to calm your passion.
Answer this poor girl her question,
then you can think of this connection."


"Yeah, hold on."

"Yeah hold on? That was weak as **** my man.
Expand a little more next time; try and play another hand."


(Chorus)
You will get another chance, so no worries,
do not fret,
she will not misunderstand,
you can say the right words, no regret
even when you think you can't.
Rap track depicting the story of when I first met my love, working at an ice cream joint my parents owned over the summer.
It's a work in progress.
Olivia Kent Nov 2013
Upstanding citizen of forest floor.
Tall and proud.
Lowest level.
Tall and strong.
Home to many.
An ancient realm.
Mighty den of bugs and grubs.
Detritus munching in the hole.

A deciduous conifer.
Gets undressed for winter.
Redresses early spring.
Parody of pine tree.
Wood as red as fire.
The itching sky she needs to scratch.
Always reaching upwards.
Until her time is done!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Boring Nature?
Never boring a delight
mj Sep 2015
So here is my pledge to you;

I will clean the coffee-stained cups after we stay up late watching old reruns of our favorite movies. I will fix the alignment of everything because OCD was never in our favor. I will lock the doors and windows at night and draw the curtains so our neighbors cannot see us inside. I will watch the rain with you from the left or right side of the bed (because I get the side closest to the window). I will stay up late with you when your mind is restless and your eyes are empty. You can tell me about your father and the way your mother makes the best turkey on Thanksgiving night. I will brush the knots out of your back and you can brush the knots out of my hair. I will hold you when your heart is heavy and you can’t move because nothing is okay anymore. I will stand on the sidelines cheering you on for every game I can go to. I will watch you climb the tallest mountains with the same energy as a five year old and I will silently wish I could be as strong as you are. I will **** the moths and you can **** the bugs and spiders. I will bandage up any cuts you create from being too full of energy when you accidentally hurt yourself. Maybe you can bandage my not-so accidental ones. I will wipe down the kitchen table after you teach me how to make something other than my usual burnt toast and boxed macaroni and cheese. I will watch you grow. I will water the flowers and I will make sure you eat all your meals and I will drag you to park concerts and cafés. I will show you what love is and I won’t stop until you know what falling in love is like. I think you’d like it. A lot of people do. I will make the bed and I will leave it messy just like how we left it. I will be the one under the mistletoe and I will be the one your mother adores. I will bury myself in the place right between your heart and your ribcage. I will be your mess of a lover. I will be home. And you will
Love me
Love me
Love me.

-I wouldn't mind making memories with you.
8.22.15.
Sticky summer evening,
Warm, young, beautiful.
Flitting throughout the night,
Bountiful bundles of fireflies.
Flickering in the breezes,
A soft golden mist.
New summer's evening,
Graced by the lightning bugs.
The Eire canal in Pittsford is home to many lightning bugs.
Stella Stardust Aug 2016
Off to see your Father
To the city on a train
Left me at your cozy cabin
At the end of Iroquois lane

At the time it was long distance
And I'd been here once before
You had told me you'd be quick
Turned around and closed the door

Now alone in your apartment
I had not much there to do
Thought perhaps I'd go out shopping
And I'd bake a pie for you

Walking to the corner store,
I had smiled to myself
Thinking how surprised you'd be
To find the pie upon the shelf

With the sun going down
I got running quickly back
Less cozy was this place at night
Your cabin, now a shack

I peeled the apples, mixed and mixed
And hummed myself a tune
Placed the pie in the oven
Thinking you would be here soon

And to the clock, tick-tock tick-tock
I found myself more bored
Opened your freezer, for some ice-cream
And then found candy you'd stored

I gazed like a child
At this in front of me
For those may not know,
I am weak for Candy

I grabbed a handful of sour-patch children
frozen solid they lay in my palm
I went to the sofa and turned on a movie
Your absence no more an alarm

As I chewed on and savored the sweet little morsals
Watching Pixar's A bugs life
All a sudden the colors grew louder
Pixar's pixels were sharp like a knife

I giggled and giggled,
not phased by the shift
of my boredom
into such sweet bliss

I got up to go out and sit on the porch
An urge to smoke and call your phone
I noticed the shadows of willow trees looming
And suddenly felt not alone

After getting your voicemail,
I paced back and forth
I went in the bathroom
and I laid on the floor

The lights were pulsing
And I started to fear
That the timing was late
And you still were not here

I peeked out the doorway
In search of your car
But nothing and silence
Engulfed by the dark

The TV grew louder
I ran to turn it down
And suddenly noticed
Color trails all around

My knees suddenly buckeled
I knew what I'd done
It was drug infused candy
And I ate every one

My heart started beating
to the floor I was bound
Put my hands out to figure out
Which drug I had downed

I called 10 more times
but your phone had died
I turned on the shower
And sat down inside

Of what I ingested
It was one of two things
Either Acid or Molly
Acid - I see color rings

Then more fear kicked in
And I though of the worst
Had you been abducted
Did they get to you first?

A drug induced rampage
I grabbed up my phone
Called 2 of your friends
Crying you were not home

Then I called my sister
Told her you'd disappeared
You got murdered on the streets
Of New York I had feared

Then you came home
And saw me a mess
Well this was most certainly
A test

I couldn't speak I just cried
You held me, as I lied
I said I was concerned for your safety
You said: I was gone but an hour.
wichitarick Jul 2016
Kool-Aid and hotdogs as our standard fair ,no shoes same shirt close cropped hair.

No more sitting in order or lunch on a bell, switch dropping pencils to using crayons for a spell.

Crossing guard gone, now an old couple on the porch, they don't yell mostly just stare.

Soon flies as busy as the girls & boys,not idle but  running wild, spring  rain ,inside Hell.

Greening grass yellow dandelions, bothered by bugs brushing it all off without little care.

Awaiting the nearest pool or a wash in a river ,lake or pond, Lifeguards sitting on a citadel.

Burning red replacing winters white peeling skin but still a grin not understanding despair.

Patriotic dues merely a muse , really want the fire crackers & smoke to wish America well.

Fishing & wishing ,frogs at night catch our sight ,lanterns create patterns with the stories we share.

Birthdays & Sundays keeping us clean Long enough to recall when we return to alphabetical personnel.

New clothes & now shoes no longer we muse ,Dad always taking us for the last summer cruise. :) R.C.
A taste of summer:) I wonder if the two neighbor boys trying to destroy each other with fire works know what they made me think :) thanks Rick
Gillian Drake Mar 2015
Let's dress up,
and have a tea party.
Just you and I
know the ins and outs of the toy house.
I can collect bugs for our mud pies and
you can get the water for our tea cups.
The boa sets you free,
and that tutu is constricting.
Babe your make up is
so on point.
We can fill our layered treat tray with delectable goodies.
Just you and I
know the ins and outs of this toy house.
So let's dress up,
and have a tea party.
I'm imagining this is being spoken to someone that is not a little girl... like maybe a man or something XD Share this with your crush hahaha
spooky doopy Jan 2015
Up and up and open up
My doors are shut I wouldn't budge
so swallow locks but doorknob holes
to eat through bugs that can't disgruntle
and crashing mantle formed in gravel

Pushes digs bushes roots in deeper to
The thunderbrush tickles sordid sighs
Rubs sickles on distorted thighs
Leaves humble dries
I strives
Seth Honda Apr 2018
The fastest way to get to heaven, is to bring it with you. These are the words that flood my mind as I glance over at the little piece of heaven sitting in my passenger seat, brown hair flapping in the wind, her hands in the sky, a bright glimmer of happiness in her chocolate brown eyes. We fly down the coast and I watch my worries fly out of the open convertible top, our stresses disappear with the wind, our happiness getting caught in our teeth. I can hear our happiness bubbling and screaming with each of our laughs. So we laughed, the deep kind of laugh, the laugh that starts in your toes and travels all the way up through your stomach to your throat up to your nose and it makes your head shake. It is the kind of laugh that I live for, your laugh. Heaven is not a place, or a time. It is wherever you are, and whatever minute I spend with you. Heaven is a place that I go every time I look into your eyes, every time I hear your laugh, see your smile, smell your perfume in the air. You are my little piece of heaven. Winding down the coast of whatever state we are in, in whatever car we rented, during whatever season it was, none of that mattered, because winding down the coast with you is perfection. It is noticing the tiny flecks of gold in the corner of my eye as your hair catches the sun. It is feeling the wind whipping through our clothes and hearing your giggling whip through my eardrums leaving me giddy. As we drive, I feel something fall atop my nose, then below my eye, then on my fingertip, little droplets of rain. I look up at the nearly cloudless sky and wonder. Wonder how a beautiful day could yield such conflicting weather. I look down a little and wonder how a beautiful girl could yield such conflicting emotions. The rain falls harder, rain drops whipping against our faces like bugs on a windshield, I pull our car over. I step out into the pouring rain and smile. I smile the kind of smile that starts in your throat, the kind that rises from your throat and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The kind of smile that is contagious. On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it. And I know as the droplets of rain trickle off of my head, I have one of those pieces in my passenger seat. I dance around to your door, droplets of rain bouncing off of my head and swing you out. Your hands close on mine and I know my piece of heaven is holding me. Holding me as rain engulfs us, drenching us from head to toe. Dripping wet, we fly down the coast of whatever state we’re in and wind whips through our drenched shirts and shorts. Yet, I am warm for I have a little bit of sunshine in my passenger seat. A little bit of pure joy, thawed out happiness, raw love, in my passenger seat. Now I sit next to you, in some car, some place, somewhere, sometime, but those things do not matter because it’s not just someone, its you. The fastest way to get to heaven, is to bring it with you. And I definitely have.
April 29, 2018 || 12:59 AM
Tanay Sep 2018
As the moon shines
And the stars decorate the sky,
A lonely owl hymns
While the bats fly.
Lightning bugs scatter around
Like will-o'-the-wisps at night,
Without any sound
Oh, what a delight!
The neighbour's hound is on guard
She will not allow anyone to pass,
No one is allowed in her yard
At this hour, only a fool will walk on her grass.
Her howl pierces the air
Bringing an end to the silence,
She announces she won't share
She will not tolerate any form of violence.
Across the street, few floors above
Two players are taking their turns,
In the famous game of push and shove
While a tiny candle burns.













Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
As usual, I will not explain this poem. I think it is evident by now that I won't explain any of my poems to you. I want you to perceive it the way you want to. Happy reading!
wehttam Jun 2014
Every summer is a girl.
The loud walk on the concrete melancholy.
Street sweepers, sweat and eyes meet the lap top.
Panhandlers lay into persona
And I greet a smile with a dead president.

Virginia, she knows me.

And that’s what happens when we write and I listen to music.
The summer girl shows up.
Palmetto bugs screech, fire flies love my eyes
Then the sun preaches brown skin.

Virginia, she knows me.

Blue ***** fall in a basket waiting for the old bay’s season.
Family crowds around the television waiting for the next movie
I’ve written and we eat on news papers.
Washington never drained the Dismal Swamp.

Virginia, she knows me.

Then Kate the summer girl walks by.
Kicking wet sand staring past the dream.
I build landscapes to not catch I’s.
Simply amazed at what is said with out words of dread.

Virginia, she knows me.

There is so much here
We cant believe how much.
Toes wiggle on mutton feet in the sand
And she tells me about Hanovarians.

Virginia, she knows me.

Pressing my face on the day
Finding her hair taken by the wind.
I lay into a wave and the heat leaves.
She cant breath her breath taken away.

Virginia, she knows me.

My day laughs when she says I’ve got go back to
Richmond.  
Mom finds the umbrella and we go for a walk.
Then she asks without thinking if she lived for this day.

Virginia, she knows me.

Tourists trample sand and find chocolate icecream
To cool.  Locals forty second street and I in the middle
For freedom. She has a way with men and a walk.
She loves me and knows this not.

Virginia, she loves me.  

Bulbs break into stalks flowers bloom
For summer time and my summer girl.
Kate is her name and Virginia, she knows me.
This man will miss the summer and his girl.

She loves me Virginia.
indigo chandler Apr 2013
laying in my bed it's 4:27 
in the morning
my window is propped open washing me with waves of heat and sound
the birds chirping, don't they know the time?
i feel itchy all over i think i'm covered in bugs
how ridiculous it is yet in the morning my skin is raw and scabbed
battle wounds
i begin to drift off at last, allowing myself to slip into sweet nothingness
nothingness indeed
i'm floating between realities; the reality in which i'm itchy with bloodshot eyes and the reality with you
just as i finally reach my sanctuary my paradise my peace, 
just as your hand is practically tangibly intertwined with mine,
the birds are no longer chirping
screaming
they are screaming and rip me from you
mental whiplash
and though i curse them for sending you away
i know i must thank them for saving me the exquisitely delicate pain of the unrequited passion i would be welcomed by
come dawn
Charles Sturies Feb 2017
Road Runner is my all-time favorite- I like the song by Junior Walker too.

He, Road Runner, that is , reminds me of mentally ******* friends of mine who always strut around in a huff.

"It"'s a scream.

Bugs Bunny and Mel Blanc (Mel, one of Jack Benny's sidekicks) voice for him - Bugs was frothy with my kind of sarcasm.

Mickey Mouse I thought of as a kind of a put-on for guys that look like that a little who were always cutting up.

I used to get that song Hey Mickie by Toni Basil read piped in loud in my mind, it seemed when it played on the jukebox at that sports bar I used to hang out at.

Yosemite Sam is like some of the severely mentally ill guys on my geriatric psych ward who are really abrupt, loud, and whose bark is bigger than their bite.

McGruff - I wrote a piece about him - he's not of course from a cartoon - but from my yesteryear, who was under the weather, hence the crime wave.

Just like Smokey the Bear, he was a lovable character.
I like King of the Hill and Family Guy at night for yukks.

On Sat morn back in the day I guess when I had enough time I used to get a bit of a kick out of Fat Albert cartoons and the Jackson Five stuff on lonely, for me, Saturday morning to perk me up for the rest of the day.

Back in the old days, they reminded me of figures I knew like them in real life.

Sylvester the Cat, Felix the Cat, Hekyll and Jekyll, Daffty Duck, and Might Mouse tickled my little boy sense of humor.

In comic Books, I was impressed with the sense of humor of Little LuLu.

In the newspaper, Hagar the Barbarian and Beetle Bailey tickled my funny bone a little.

That's all, Folks.
Lucanna Feb 2013
If I ever see you again
I'll spat insults and hope they
Spray on your aviators
like the bugs that squashed against
my windshield the last time
I drove away from you

If fate destroys me
and I am in the same pub one night
as your wormy self
I'll tell you how you're the most
arrogant, vapid, shallow, womanizing,
******* male mascot
I've ever had the disgust to know

I'll slap you hard across the face
Oh and not like Scarlett O'Hara,
you demon darling
No crushing kiss will follow
and I'll mean vengence
vile will seep through my mouth
instead of the sweet saliva
I let you taste
long ago

If I ever hear your voice
or see your mocking manequin
among my tele again
With disgraceful force
I will lift that 50 lb set
and propel that ******* screen
across the state
The way your black static apology
shattered the brightness
that used to reside
within
me

If I hear of you
one more dispicable time
I'll grow bombs maticulously
within my empty core
and time them so perfectly
that all of your dysfunctional doormat
confidants
will explode the second they come near me
and their manipulative cells
will burst
and be burried among the soil
of ***** words
you whispered in my ears

****, if I ever see you again
I'll shatter every martini glass around me
and down a fifth of fireball
and breath venomous fire
and burn you, you beastly boy
And I'll pretend beauty amongst you
and walk away, a tall glass of water
That could diffuse
that angry licking fire
that is swallowing you up

When I see you again
I won't acknowledge your existence
and I'll be dressed to the nines
and I won't do a ******* thing about it
Because you aren't worth a sentence within this stanza

But I know I am.
I would give anything to have the last say, but I wouldn't...not myself.
Miss Honey Jul 2016
In a dream we went to the mountains
It took two hours to get there
and I spent most of it searching for a tree
that looked like home

The sunset was a soft flame
over mountain pastures
and those yellow flowers you love

We sat in the springs
soaking inward, but mostly out
while the cold kissed my shoulders
while I had a dizzy head
and you slowly removed all your clothing
throughout the night

and by the end of it
I was certain we were dreaming
Of slate sand and hot springs
the clear night and it’s star-dappled pines
Tiny bats and bugs on bare skin
but mostly me and my hazy eyes
still searching for home
little bear Sep 2013
i sat silently
and watched the bugs crawl by.
they weren't butterflies,
or caterpillars,
or ladybugs.

i watched the flies
and the crickets
and the ants.
moving in a secret art no one bothered to take note of.

they were the friends i met in the hallway.
they were shy,
but if you looked at them long enough,
you could see the beauty no one else saw.

if you find beauty in the bugs everyone does not find beautiful,
you can find it in others.

people are like bugs,
similar, but different,
each holding their own design.

everyone  has beauty,
you just have to find it.
even if it means sitting in the hallways alone,
watching the bugs no one cares to look at.
Shin Dec 2013
I have an army but I just want you
My popularity is so **** shallow
Yet love is false like the poems I drew.
*******, just let me sit off and wallow.

But hey man, it's all numb when filled with drugs.
So let's just look up and become the stars.
Oh hey guess what I also don't like bugs.
That's whatever, I  want you in my car.

And like fly a time machine so I can
not meet you and be free to **** myself.
I wanted to cuz I wasn't a man,
Just useless like now but with much less wealth

So uh look in your own mirror and I won't.
Dad says that real men think crying is lame,
But hey I can't think of what rhymes with won't
Maybe if I say please you'll feel the same.
Ryan Gonzalez Jan 2015
Sun rays fill me
like a gas can
fueling my body
before the fumes catch fire

Seething scarlet spreads
venomous centipedes
tearing at my flesh
planting eggs in my back

At night the worms hatch
burrowing through tissue
like a rusty saw through bone
Spiders scratch
their legs like cheese graters
removing my skin

Finally the bugs leave
like the end of mass
leaving an ineffective husk
that can only be used

as a scarecrow
What little flesh I was
is now yours

it melted
into a muddled heap
on the floor
when you unwrapped me
in your arms
and threw me
bones and all
things I will hold
dear as a lost heart
forever

I pick the pieces up
when you've left
but they fit together
differently now
my ribs a cage
tightly strung together
my legs knock knock
a bit wobbly
my heart alone
pushes the emptiness
around and around

needing you
to pull me up
undo me
and hold me
all in the together

I don't feel so naked
any more
beneath my clothes
with only bare bones
to keep to myself
a beta heart beset with bugs
too erratic and hungry
to release
and the tingles I get
running down my spine
from the superglue
when we hug
squeeze squeeze
and I feel in my bones
your own
Kenna McCully Apr 2013
I found a bug on the sidewalk today
And I picked it up to bring to you
Because I know how much you like bugs
But as it crawled in the darkness of my intertwined fingers
I realized how much it wanted to fly
And I didn’t want to be the one to stifle that
So I opened my hands and it flew into the sky
And I realized that life isn’t meant to be lived in a cage
Because that is one messed up life
Living behind bars
Only seeing the daylight
But never feeling the burn

I remember when scraping you knees brought tears to your eyes
But now I want to scrape every bone in my body
And rise with the skyscrapers
To touch the clouds and shoot for the moon
And even though I’ve missed the bullseye,
This red cape has caught the bulls eye
And I’m no superman,
I’m just a girl looking for a average man.
My gun is cocked and loaded
But the game of russian roulette always has somebody losing
And all I can do is hope it’s not me
But hope seems to only be brought by Obama these days
And I don’t know if I want his hope
When it’s only brought for the praise
And its bought through a haze

And those kids with their bugs and scraped knees
They aren’t learning music or history or art
Because the truth is they aren’t learning anything at all
And 10 years from now, they’re going to be sitting in the mall with a baby on their hip
And an unreachable dream on the tip of their tongues
And it gets swallowed down by every glare of all the other mothers walking there.

But the truth of it is
It’s hardly their fault because
Their education was taken from them
The money their school lacked
Was shipped overseas
And given to soldiers
And I appreciate my freedoms as much as everyone else
But not when they come at the cost life
Not when innocent people are dying
Not when I know that your friend or my brother or her sister could die
I don’t want that kind of freedom
Because that’s being bought at much too high a price.

For freedom can be found elsewhere
Freedom and hope never come from governments
Or rulers, because they have us down on our knees
And the cold metal of their guns is felt on the back of our necks
And they force us to pledge allegiance
To something we don't believe in

So with my right hand over my bleeding heart.
I’m saying ***** it, because I don’t want it
I turned 18 and signed up to vote
But I never check a box in my life,
Except those ones to get into college
And when I checked those, the pen felt so heavy
Because I knew they were boxes that many didn’t get to check

So here’s to the kids that have never had someone to pick them up when they fall
Here’s to the teen parents whose own parents led them astray
Here’s to the soldiers fighting in an unending war
Here’s to the kids in the ghetto who are looked down upon because of the color of their skin
You know, the ones that never had a chance to begin
Here’s to the kids that are chasing their dreams and breaking the stereotypes

Forget what they said
You are strong and you are capable
So follow your dreams
And don’t look back
Run towards your goals
And never lose track
You can be whoever you want to be

Don’t forget those times when you said you wanted to be a doctor
Or a lawyer
Or an astronaut
Don’t be swept up into the world of I cant’s and I don’t know hows
But leave that world behind,
Flying high into the sky
Be the heroes, the super-mans, the ones that bring true hope
You’re the freedom
You’re the hope
You’re the star of a black sky and a sold-out show
You’re the one that everyone wants know


And when you feel caged in,
Remember to open your hands
Let go
And find your freedom
Ryn Jul 2015
Do you remember what it felt like?
that first time you felt something.
what was it like?
before grass was just the potential for stains
and a hiding place for bugs
that bite and itch
long after the day is over.
do you remember?
the way the air felt rushing through your window
the first time you noticed the seasons
and chose your favorite.
I can’t recall the angst of choosing an outfit
or the nuisance of tangled hair and chewing gum.
all i remember is the afters-
after i fell I had scabs for two weeks
after he left,
I wasn’t sure where I fit in.
After I switched schools,
After I learned how to do my makeup
After the sessions just…
stopped.
after they told me I had flat feet
after I wasn’t good enough to dance
wasn’t fast enough to dive
wasn’t keen enough to pitch.
after my lines weren’t crisp enough
my circles weren’t round enough
my words weren’t big enough.
wasn’t cheery enough
loud enough
sweet enough
wasn't
pretty
enough.
I don’t remember how it felt when I looked at him the first time
or how it felt learning his name
his hobbies
and his favorite sports team.
I hardly remember what it was that made me so happy
I just remember
holding his hand too much
and the sweat that always seeped between our adolescent awkwardness.
I remember what it felt like when he took too much though
when he was suffering and
so was I
but helping him was all I knew as a distraction.
I remember the strange faces and the late nights
and the police wondering what a
fourteen year old girl
is doing across the bridge at 2am.
I remember the drop from my window to the frosty ground
i remember the bite when my ankles hit
I remember the pang when I slipped.
What about sorrow?
do you remember what your heartfelt like
when it was still light?
when all those childish metaphors fit just right
and there was no need for anything other than trite rhymes.
what was it like when we trusted everyone?
when plastic bags
were just for snacks
and it was never a question where your drink came from.
When did my beanie baby turn into a switch blade?
I’m carrying around mace
like a safety blanket.
when was our innocence taken?
when did we get so hostile?
so sore?
so depressed?
How long is the list of things we just
“live with”?
Because it started with your ankles and then it was your shins
now your entire lower body is
caving in
that’s not even mentioning
what’s beginning in your head.
you used to think everything worked out-
at least eventually.
But everything is getting worse
your parents
your brother
your country…
it’s a divorce from practicality
that has spawned this disturbing reality.
I would change my mentality
but it’s been created to keep me safe.
at least that’s what they say
and I repeat to myself.
because now I remember,
i remember the things that keep me away
from the bus stop
from the gas station
from 202
from downtown.
I remember what happened
up the hill
on 35
out past the churches and the sea of dried corn.
I remember the sound
of the cicaidas
and your breath
and the sirens
I remember you telling me I was a hot mess
and I told you 
i needed to rest
when I was really depressed and you
never really questioned my sanity
the way you should have.
I wonder when I’ll decide
that I’m not getting by and I'm
fooling myself with the lie I've
sold to ease the burden on my weary soul.
I don’t have a home and
yes,
I’m alone.
But I live with it
I live with myself
I live with the scabs and the scars and the bites and the scratches
with the blurred vision and tired tendons
I live with it because
what else
is there to do?
I can’t get through to you
and neither of us
want me to.
copyright:CeM 10-2-14
CJ Sutherland May 2018
It started over night
Attached the innocent
That’s not right

The army to many to count
I stand alone
A calculated defense I mount
I will NEVER accept defeat
My four innocent babies
Lay listless at my feet

Exhausted My Open wounds need treatment
At the end of the day
But that’s little cosilation
Compared to what my babies are suffering
Not a word do they say
Bewildered looks of confused pain
Swollen welts track their skin
The sadness in their eyes
the situation they are in
Their Backs, arms and legs
Mark the horrors of the day
They just want mommy to
Make it go away
I know they don’t understand
not sure what to say
At least  I try
They still show love, exceptence I want to cry
They give unconditional love
Only this grace comes from
Heaven God above
This gives me the courage to FIGHT
Planning my attack  strategy

As I prepare dinner
I make a list
We may be battered swollen bruised
But we are not broken or defeated

My tools are depleted
FLEAS don’t care who they attack
I have bites on me a well
at first I didn’t know why I couldn’t tell

Now Im winning
Armed with the Internet knowledge
I have become an entomologist
Arradicating the species
It’s to early to tell
Half past two a.m.
No sleep again tonight
Oh well
We are all sleeping
With one eye on our surroundings
A false sense of safety
As cautious optimism dances
In my head
There are no more fleas
on my dogs, in my bed
Carpet, drapery, bedding
Its a  tremendously large task to complete

Struggling to prepare a list before
I nod off my to sleep
I will not
can not
accept defeat

If you don’t get a handle quickly
on these fleas
They will take over
One female can lay 200 eggs
Diatomaceous earth food grade
  The ultimate destruction
It’s Considered the best natural alternative
Safe for humans and animals
Kills bugs
For the first time in many years I am being attacked by fleas taking neighborhood walks the neighbors yards have fleas in my dogs brought them back so now I’m on a vengeance to deflea my house my dogs it’s becoming a possession I’m at war and I will win
The Fire Burns Sep 2016
We mount up and ride the road
Leather clad and bikini topped beauty
clings to my waist

The wind is in our face
her hair blows ferociously
goggles spotted with bugs

Confederate flag do-rag
club vest, decorated
nickname on the back

500 miles of pure bliss
curves and hills and straights
in the summer sun

Stop along the way
outdoor bar
El Pacifico and lime
inspired by a friends poem and a different friends motorcycle pic on facebook
I really want
To c my dad
But he only
Makes me mad

© From A Poet's 💔
3/22/20

Photo inspiration

Kissing in the rain
Washes away the pain
Even if it's in the shower
That takes over an hour
The hot water will run out
Then cold water comes out the spout
And then kills the mood
So we move to the room
Things r heating up now
There's no turning back now
Let's keep the momentum going
Now that our juices r flowing

© From A Poet's ♥️
5/12/20

2 Mother's Days
Came & went away
2 Mother's Days
I cried the day away

© From A Mother's 💔
5/12/20

Stress is a b*tch
It steals your joy
It makes u itch

© From A Poet's ♥️
5/11/20


Co-vid
Inspired by Jolene by Dolly Parton

Co-vid! Co-vid!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
We're beggin' of you please don't take our health!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
We're beggin' of you please don't take our wealth!

Your symptoms come n a disguise
The media spreading all your lies
W/ scare tactics & fear mongering
Your gift to us makes us all cuss
We can't b who we were once
And we cannot compete with u
Co-vid

We dream about u n nightmares
U r on the news, u're everywhere
There's no escaping u @ all
Co-vid

But we can't easily understand
How you can take women & men
But u don't know what they mean 2 us
Co-vid

Co-vid! Co-vid!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
We're beggin' of you please don't take our health!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
We're beggin' of you please don't take our wealth!

U could have your choice of homes
But we can't just go out & roam
Home's the only place 4 us
Co-vid

I had to write this song to u
Our very lives depend on u
And whatever u sent our way next
Co-vid

Co-vid! Co-vid!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
We're beggin' of you please don't take our health!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
Co-vid! Co-vid!
We're beggin' of you please don't take our wealth!

Co-vid! Co-vid!

© From A Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/19/20

Covid-19
U r obscene
We once were free
But we couldn't see

U stole that
From us
Til we
Wanna cuss

We can't see
Our fam
And u don't
Give a ****

We can't see
Our friends
Will this
Pandemic end?

Some can't go
To work
U're just a
Big ****

Kids can't
Go to school
Now parents
Have to enforce rules

© From A Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/8/20

Quarantine
Day 33!
***!
Woe is me!

Quarantine
Day 33!
Who r u &
Who is she?

Quarantine
Day 33!
Washing hands
To meet demands

Quarantine
Day 33!
Only go to work
Don't get perks

Quarantine
Day 33
I work full-time
But not he

Quarantine
Day 33
Shopping carts
6 feet apart

6 feet apart
And no hugs
6 feet apart
Don't share cootie bugs

© From A Working Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/11/20

N response to another poet's poem

We too are essential
And get paid small
For the work we do
For travelers and all

To find place of rest
At our hotel
We're practically the only ones open
As u can tell

I'm also a caregiver
Keeping people healthy
Although with covid-19
Not many r wealthy

We're all n this 2gether
All over the world
Hopefully future changes come
Soon to the weather

Don't matter the color of skin
Black, white or brown
We're all stuck in
All over every town

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/11/20

The 12 Months Of Lockdown

On the first month of lockdown all over my small town,
Jobs laid off, people stayed home!

On the second month of lockdown all over my small town,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people stayed home!

On the third month of lockdown all over my small town,
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people stayed home!

On the fourth month of lockdown all over my small town,
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people stayed home!

On the fifth month of lockdown all over my small town,
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

On the sixth month of lockdown all over my small town,
Honey-do projects!
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

On the seventh month of lockdown all over my small town,
Toilet paper hoarding!
Honey-do projects!
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

On the eighth month of lockdown all over my small town,
Pay your bills online!
Toilet paper hoarding!
Honey-do projects!
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

On the ninth month of lockdown all over my small town,
People went crazy!
Pay your bills online!
Toilet paper hoarding!
Honey-do projects!
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

On the 10th month of lockdown all over my small town,
Hosting watch parties!
People went crazy!
Pay your bills online!
Toilet paper hoarding!
Honey-do projects!
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

On the 11th month of lockdown all over my small town,
Virtual church attendance
Hosting watch parties!
People went crazy!
Pay your bills online!
Toilet paper hoarding!
Honey-do projects!
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

On the 12th month of lockdown all over my small town,
Wear face masks & gloves
Virtual church attendance
Hosting watch parties!
People went crazy!
Pay your bills online!
Toilet paper hoarding!
Honey-do projects!
Homeschooling!
Video chats
Online jobs,
People got bored
Jobs laid off, people got sent home!

© From A Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/11/20

We're 'spose 2 b locked down
But it don't look like it
But all over my town
Ppl r pitching fits

They cannot go c
Their own family
They cannot go do
What they intended to

They r stuck inside
W/ family they hate
W/ rules 2 abide
They can't go out on dates

They will get over it
(Not b4 they pitch a fit!)
Or they'll get a ticket
(And they can't afford it!)

© From A Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/12/20

People wear frowns
And they wear gowns
People wear face masks While doing tasks

Pretty soon they'll wear
Coverings for their shoes
Just like doctors
And surgeons do

People wear gloves
Afraid they'll get sick
Like God up above
Couldn't heal them that quick

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/12/20

Easter n quarantine
This is obscene!
Easter n quarantine
Covid-19, u r really mean!

© From A Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/12/20

I can't c my kids
He still says they r his
He teaches them hate
Now that Morgan is 8

Roy's following too
And I don't know what to do

© From A Mother's 💔
4/14/20

He found another way
For DSS to say
That I cannot c
Not even #3

He's using the system
To benefit him
To brainwash them
Against me & William

© From A Mother's 💔
4/14/20

Happy birthday
To u all
Sorry that I
Couldn't call

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/20/20

"Boredom"
Inspired by: "Jolene" by Dolly Parton

https://youtu.be/Ixrje2rXLMA

Boredom! Boredom!
Boredom! Boredom!
Please give everyone something else to do!
Boredom! Boredom!
Boredom! Boredom!
Please before we go insane inside!

Your torture is beyond compare
U drive us to the brink w/ dares
W/ nothing left to do but stare around
Your smile is like evil disguised
Your voice telling all kinds of lies
And we've run out of things to do,
Boredom!

They talk about u on the news
You're streaming w/ the largest views
There's nowhere we can escape u
Boredom!

And I could easily understand
How you have need to recruit us
But you don't know what sanity is
Boredom!

Boredom! Boredom!
Boredom! Boredom!
Please give everyone something else to do!
Boredom! Boredom!
Boredom! Boredom!
Please before we go insane inside!

U could choose other planets
But u have chosen planet Earth
Seems we're the one for the job
Boredom!

I had 2 get this off my chest
So we can actually get some rest
I hope there is not another test
Boredom!

Boredom! Boredom!
Boredom! Boredom!
Please give everyone something else to do!
Boredom! Boredom!
Boredom! Boredom!
Please before we go insane inside!

Boredom! Boredom!

© From A Poet's ❤️
4/21/20

If I cuss like a sailor
And dress like a tailor
Then my mouth would b *****
Even passed the age of 30.

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/22/20

If it smells like a trout
And u can't stay out
B sure to use protection
So u won't get an infection

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/22/20

We pay rent
And don't c a cent
Of it in air
And she doesn't care

© From A Poet's ♥️
5/3/20

Photo challenge

I caught Tinker Bell!
The devilish little sprite!
She has been causing hell!
When she is out of sight!

© From A Poet's ♥️
5/3/20
Sometimes
when I do something
a little less
than good,
the mind
bugs me
with a guilt trip
to ****** land,
and I know
that morality
is a cornerstone
of Buddhism
which I subscribe to,
but the moral, virtuous, pure way
bothers me
as does the chemistry
of the mechanism of the mind
which gives me
this crap.
As i sit on the damp bank amongst the ivy that can’t help but tickle my ankles
I listen to the gurgling stream, and she says to me
“Life isn’t always as it seems, but if you look at everything with a positive mind-- obsticles become easier even if they seem impossible…”
And the trees wave me on..
Their support helps me breathe in ever so deeply..
I’m alive, i’m alive…
The bugs cheer me on to peddle faster and the wind is here to cool me off
And as i let out a big sigh,
I’m not ready to die,
I am spaceless, i am timeless,
I’m not ready to die
I’m not ready to die quite yet
this poem was just for fun, i love to personify nature as if the little beings/ critters are my friends... inspired by a simple bike ride in the park and being able to simply sit by the bank an listen to what around me has to say
Lee Jan 2013
Once upon a time
in a land very close to home
a young girl sat and swayed low
in the old swing
on the street
its twisted rope gnarled and rubbed at her hands as she gripped it
swaying ever higher
higher towards were the tree had swallowed it up
growing all around and into the rope
so that is swung down like a golden necklace,
discolored and thinning
angel incarnate a breathing trinket at its helm
the wind blowing off the dead heat of the setting sun
made her whip her head
and look up into the shelter of the tree
for many years it had stood there
swaying and spreading and thriving
all for its own purpose
but today, it had given the last of its great strength
to the little rope swaying oh so gently
and to the little girl resting oh so peacefully
on that splintered board that snagged and bit at her legs
but the tree had grown weak
and the bugs and vines had leeched its strength long ago
and in the joyful peak of her swaying pivot
she reached level with the dieing branch
and with the last moaning crack of defeat
it was set free from the tortured life it had lived
as she went sailing blissfully ignorant
towards the magenta pink and violet purple streaks
of the sun setting over the hills in the distance,
the end
This is from a while ago when I was trying to write a series of short story/poems that began with once upon a time and ended with the end. I have a couple more that I need to clean up and work down so feedback on this one would help me with the others.
Kida Price Jul 2014
It's strange to see the female form
The personalities they've developed out of the norm
The way they speak
They're actions weak
Falling into the mold as someone meek.
They try to rile up to the idea of strength
Doing things unladylike and less like a saint
Swearing like sailors and keeping up drink for drink
Agreeing with the stupid **** that men tend to think.
But screaming at bugs and making belligerent scenes.
Makes me wonder how I turned to be
Not like a lady
And not like male majority.
Hit like a girl?
I hit like a brick
Who carries a knife or a gun?
That's the guy's job
Not the chick's.
Most will assume
I have more guy friends then girls
Because I'm permiscuous
And without a clue.
Trying to find the next masculine thrill
Let them into my pants
Because I'm on the pill?
That makes me invincible, right?
If I can't get knocked up
You're up for some fun tonight?
I avoid guys of that type
Cause that encourages the ******* female stereotype.
I'm no feminist
By any stretch of the imagination
I shave my armpits
And I hate petitions
I love cooking
And chick flicks on occasion
But I have a habit
Of acting above my station.
I talk freely about *******
I watch ****
And I listen to the metal rock sensation.
I bleed without hesitation
Wether it's on cutting my fingers on accident
Or my monthly menstration
I go to my job
To ******* work
Not to show up and whine
And allow my duties to shirk
You can't earn something
Without working for it first
So if you're lazy and broke
You deserve it, dumb ****.
I don't assume that I get what I want
With a bat of my eyes
I don't think I'm the apple in my father's eyes
I only manipulate
To get the attention away from my sight
I feel sorry for those gentile lies
That I'm supposed to own power
Because of my breast size.
If I'm blunt then I'm a *****
Too quiet then a ***** doormat
Too funny then I'm annoying and try too hard
Too boring then I'm a ***** with no substance.
I've cast these judgements
Of fellow girls alike
They act all tough
Until it's time to fight.
Grow out your nails
Put your earrings to the side
Talk a big talk
Then run from the blight
Acting like the bigger person
To cover the fright.
Don't start ****
If you don't plan to swing
Then your big words
Don't mean a ******* thing
Stay behind my back when you talk about me
You know better than to say it in front of me
A flick of my blade
A flash of my eyes
You wouldn't last long
Considering my size
If I have something to say
I'll say it to you
Because I know there's nothing you're going to do.
I won't waste another thought on you.
Live up to your anatomy
Leave mine up to me
You'll find that your substance
Is only false imagery.
Not all girls
Are like what I'm describing
But the lack of female rationality
Is the reason why we're constantly destroying
Our good names.
Don't be a man
Don't be a ****
Just be what you think
Be what you want.
Just because you have the power of the hole
Doesn't mean you have to act like a dumb *******.
jesi Gaston Mar 2015
“I've realized,” I write, “the Groucho Marx of the mind is chaos personified. The Groucho Marx of *my mind *was chaos, I revise and already think I should revise again – “you never know where you'll end up,” I think, of me and of Groucho. Either way, Groucho Marx came to me in a thought when I was thinking about a poem I will not finish, that would have been about him. “We were just four jews looking for a laugh,” Groucho says at least twice – once when he was alive and once now as I invoke him – the heavy glasses, the synonymous greasepaint lip, the cigar – lit, with smoke that surrounds and engulfs me, threads tangibly through the air, through my eyes, and through the insides of my sinus densely, like mossy Eldritch Horrors and old movies somehow without stopping my vision. He has a mouth but it doesn't move, he is not alive – instead he is a ghost, instead he is dead but standing there, with me, in space lighted from within – space that's white like the smoke – thickly. Among all this, a ghost in a black suit. At least, I think the suit is black, or bluing black. It is tinged with 50 years of rotting celluloid, and paired with a white button up underneath – no tie.
         Growing up all five of them were poor, very poor – so poor they were Jewish-in-New-York-in-the-early-1900s poor. Forced outside of the world, into their world from birth, while their mother, Big Duck, put them up to instruments and got them begging early – vaudeville was their daddy after all (“after all” being a refrain in the poem I'll never finish, repeated like a mantra – after all! after all! after all! after all!– in that text, and used like a drug – afterall – and always driving deathward to an end that never came and can't, after all is written down) – with the jokes they told and sang and played, on their piano, harp, and banjo, all the time – and here is how she learnt how well Chico could play the piano, and how well Harpo could play the harp. And how poorly little Groucho played the banjo. The shame she felt, the shame she must have felt – but here my poem consumes them, because I am already sure that childhood is wrought with fear of birth order, sure as I am that middle children lack something, and maybe have something for that lack, but It's me, not Groucho, that takes over, saying Groucho was the obvious middle child, and of course lacked Big Duck's approval – Big Duck hated the banjo strumming and myriad puns he threw, I say – puns being a part of the poem, the poem which would have (but never) ended on Groucho ducking soup. I wanted it all as a joke and still do, but who will disappoint? Who could? There are options – Groucho, myself, the poem, etc. all working poorly. It is hard to imagine the lack that would culminate in a poet – maybe this gap is wider than a middle child – writing three brothers into a brawl, cartoonish in the streets. May be even harder to imagine the discontent and fear at work inside a child of five – birthing chaos. Maybe I misspoke – I can't know,  I'm not a child of five.
                  Groucho is dead, is still standing in front of me expectantly, not moving. Right in front of me when again I hear his voice – reanimate and filtered through a phonograph – weakly rising above it's own eroded texture – “I was misquoted, I was misquoted... Quote me as saying, 'I was misquoted.'” I wanted his life entropically spinning this place, spinning throughout this place, a ghost – to live forever is to die forever in every gaunt lie, misquote after misquote re-shaping our dead selves until grotesqueries we never intended are held comfortably under our name. Groucho, aimless, escapes because he pre-empts – he uses his whole self to decimate his cultural body, to save the self he's sacrificed. Groucho means to become a void, or Groucho becomes a void more correctly – Groucho means nothing, can only mean nothing, because he's focused his words – his self – around his lack – the words' lack. Because the words always lack, and Groucho is all words. I see him take out the greasepaint container, which is in a shoe-polish-looking canister, and then I lose Groucho again to facts – he was the outsider using words to one up them. I see his wit like a weapon. His being in Hollywood was a stress on Hollywood's peace of mind. I see him tearing balsa wood from up under the street and chucking it into styrofoam towers, which crumble. I see the SUVs that swerved to pass him run into walls, deflating the cars and the walls while the drivers run screaming with ketchup pulsing from the real wounds in their necks. This is where my poem was – more or less. My poem had Groucho gleeful – “Groucho skips, Groucho skips, Groucho skips,” it said, “down the streets throwing rocks at cars...” – the melodies of my naive poem's schoolboy nihilisms never broke enough – “In Groucho's perfect world every day would be spent disrupting traffic, smashing bugs and ******* everywhere,” it said because it was too young to understand, because it had no void, and could offer no revolt from meaning – revolution being radical agency expressed through violence against every order, hatred for every structure including itself – in Groucho's perfect world really there is no language and no one knows what happens after all.
            Lingering is the thought that Groucho means something – lingering is the vaguest, most insistent and warlike imprint of a metaphor on Groucho's face, ineffably moving me to continue but Groucho is no friend, and Groucho is not with me, because the Groucho of the mind is not Groucho, Groucho hates the mind, and Groucho negates all possible Groucho's so the imprint is not Groucho's. The ghost is a misquote, the poem is a misquote, the letters are a misquote, I am a misquote – and this is a misquote too. His cigar (growing bigger) is puffing out that white cloud smoke but still I can see him – the smoke just goes into the space around us, the space that redacts and recreates itself every time I consider it – a copy of an 18th copy, with only Groucho remaining in all iterations, like the borders of a decomposed jpeg quietly losing logic. Groucho the lie, Groucho the memory – a man shaped around the falsity of metaphor and language – floats, as subject, through my memory – punctum with no point, void. Here he is – naked, a stark black silhouette I'd never claim. He's staring, but he's not staring at me because I'm not there. What's left is overstated nothing – the ghost of a man who negated logic, left in the mind of a poet who has long since given up on the man, and soon will give up on the poem.”
There is nothing left here. I am alone, I am dizzy – overcome with boredom.  I want to say, “Groucho is not here, was not, cannot be here” – I know instead I need to end on a mute point.
formatting is wonk for this one anywhere except libreoffice. It's always prose but there it's prose with cool spacing (which is to say it fills exactly a page in 12 point times new roman font single-spaced)
Becky Jo Gibson Aug 2016
I woke up under a bridge
alone
it's dark under here
my eyes still haven't adjusted
I think I have bed bugs
at least I am dry, well sort of
recalling yesterday
my morning spent packing
rain is clearly taking my home
I feel it in my bones
hurry
no one is going to help
where did all this stuff come from?
I really don't need this or this or this or this
what a day that was
today will be worse
the ground is wet and mud is abound
stinky already, just wait till it settles
homeless has a smell
rain is not my friend
surely it is not the same as before
when the sky was not my ceiling

Becky Jo  Gibson
cait-cait Jun 2018
ive worn a brand my entire life
that’s been
stamped across my forehead.

i believe that
everyone can see it,
painted red with little girl blood.

all my life people have taken chunks
from me, and all my life,
i’ve given people chunks.

i believe that maybe if i were different
i would be perfect.
im cruel, and im sorry.
I’ve never felt comfortable my entire life and i just realized it’s killing me. I did something I might get in trouble for and I’m scared.

— The End —