Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Poking fun at my
Insecurities will pop
My helium heart

Like a balloon; I
Can only take so much, I
Have bursted open

The pressure killed
  Me-
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

Once upon a time in the city of Omurate
In the southern part of Ethiopia
Omurate that is on Ethiopian boundary with Kenya
There were two prosperous animal families
Living side by side as good neighbours
in glory and pomp of riches
Each family was ostensibly rich
And rambunctious in social styles
They were the families of African rat family
And the Jewish cat family; the city belonged to them
They all enjoyed stocks of desert scorpions from Todanyang
From the savanna desert of Northern Kenya,
The two families also enjoyed to feed on desert locusts
On which they regularly fed without food squabbles
                               Locust themselves they flew from Lowarang to Omurate
From Lowarang a desert region in Kenya, to their city of Omurate
Sometimes the Jewish cat family enjoyed an extra dish
In form of puff adder flesh, especially the steak of the puff adder muscle
Puff adder were cheaply available in plenty at the lakeshore,
Lakeshores of Lake Turkana
At point which river Ormo enters into Lake Turkana
So the cat was happy and relaxed
Even it rarely mewed,  
Neighbours never often heard its mewing sound
The rat also enjoyed plenty of milk with no strain
Easily gotten from the rustled cattles
Cattle rustled by the Merilee; a warrior tribe in Omurate.

That day the cat had gulped milk since morning
Even its stomach was bulging
Like that of Kenyan state officer
The rat had milk all over the house
In the kitchen, milk allover
In the sitting room, milk in abundance
In the wash, room milk all through
On the bed, milk and stuffs of milk
The rat was bored with nothing to be enticed
Sometimes plenty of milk can become a bother
The rat mused to itself in foolish African empathy
That may be the cat is starving in pangs of hunger
With nothing to drink, or may be it has no milk
When the milk is rotting here in my house
It is un-African for food to rot in your house
When the neighbour’s belly is not full,
On these thoughts the rat washed its legs, and hands
Finished up with its face,
Put on its white short trouser and a green top
It stuffed its tail inside its white short trouser,
The rat poured milk into two pots,
each *** was full to the brim
It carried one in its left hand
And balanced another on its head
In its right hand was an African walking stick
For the elders known as Pakora
The rat took off to the home of the cat
In full feat of animal love and philanthropy
Whistling its favourite poem;
An Ode to a good neighbour,
Walking carefully lest it spills brimful milk,
It entered into the house of the cat without haste
Neither knocking nor waiting to be told come in
In that spectacular charisma of a good neighbour,
When the cat saw the rat it giggled two short giggles
And almost got choked by indecision
For it had been long since this happened,
Since the cat had dine on milk leave alone rat meat
The rat said to the Jewish cat that my brother
Have milk I have brought for you
Have it and sip here it is; the real milk,
In devilish calmness the cat told the rat;
Put it for me on the table, thank you,
But my friend Mr. rat don’t go away; there is more
More for you to help me in addition to milk,
Continue my brother Mr. Cat, how can I help you?
Don’t call me your brother; bursted the cat,
For it is long since I ate the rat meat
And you know rat meat is our stable food
In a frenetic feat of powerlessness the rat was confused
In attempt to save itself
it pleaded that my dear elder, I was
Only having plenty of milk in my house
And to us African rats, it is a taboo
To have a lot of food in your house
When the neighbour’s belly is not full
So I only brought you the present of Milk
Please have it and drink,
Without taciturnity the Cat retorted in persistence;
I know and I am thankful for your good manners
But remember with us Jewish cats it is heinous sin
Forget of a taboo, it is blasphemy against the living
God for one of us to leave the rat free from our house
For you rats are the only stable and kosher food God blessed for us
The Jewish rat family all over the world
So shut up your mandibles, I am to eat you first
Then I will take milk later as a relish.

With its herculean paw the cat crushed the rat
With mighty of the leopard culture
Throwing away the white trouser
And green top from the torso of the rat
The cat ate the rat with voracity of the devil
After which it punctuated its mid day appetite
With slow and relaxed sipping of milk
Slowly and slowly as it felt its internal greatness
And hence the African proverbial cry that;
Behold foolish angst kills the African rat!
Hewasminemoon Jul 2014
It was almost February and winter still hadn’t hit. I was beginning to
think that it wouldn’t arrive, and that spring was here. One evening as I was walking down the streets of the city I looked up to see a single snowflake falling down to meet my face. It was tiny and looked lonely, but a few moments later, it was followed by several more snowflakes. Sooner than later, the ground was covered in a white sheet of snow. and I was stuffing my hands in my coat pockets and pulling my hood on to brace myself against the bone-chilling wind. I made my way into a small coffee shop that was still open and was greeted by a short stocky man in his mid thirties with a dark, curly mustache and sleeves of faded tattoos.
“Hello” he said, his voice sounding deep and smooth. I pulled out my headphones that were burning in my ears, pressed pause on my phone and shoved them carelessly in my messenger bag.
“Hello”, I replied back with a slight smile, pulling my hands out of my
pockets and making my way to the counter.
The shop was small, but it had a staircase leading upstairs with more room for seating. The man who stood behind the counter continued to unpack small plastic covered packages, putting them away in cupboards and freezers. I pulled out my wallet from my bag and plopped it on the counter, feebly attempting to pull out my card with my hands shaking violently from the cold.
“What a night”, the man said, his eyes still focused on his duties.
“Hmm.” I said, nodding. “Can I get a 12oz mocha, please?” The man looked up from his package, and giggled coyly.
“Sure you can, sweetheart." He put the package that he was holding down below him, and began making the drink I had just ordered. My credit card held tightly in my hand, still shaking. There was awkward silence between us and I got the feeling the man understood I didn’t feel like talking. He finished my order, filling a small, white ceramic mug, and pushed it across the counter towards me.
“Anything else?”
I shook my head, implying no and handed him the cold card. He swiped it and handed it back to me, along with a receipt and a pen to sign. I signed the receipt, grabbed my coffee and headed up the stairs to my right. Upstairs, there was a large room with a dining room looking table and several chairs, and to the left, and a small hole in the wall with several cushions. I smiled at the welcoming spot, and took a seat. Pulling a small table up next to me, I set my coffee down, and rested my bag on the floor below me. The upstairs was completely empty. In fact; the entire shop was empty besides the man working downstairs. I took a deep breath in and let my head rest on some of the cushions behind me. Closing my eyes, I let out my breath and felt the warmth and the vast history of the shop run envelop me. I grabbed at the cup beside me and sipped at my coffee. It was still too hot to drink comfortably, so I set it down. Out of my bag, I pulled out my phone with the headphones still attached and scrunched into a tight tangled ball.
Untangling them, I placed each bud in my ear, and pressed play, continuing the song I had stopped when I had entered the coffee shop. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and I sunk deeper and deeper into the pillows around me, the smell of old books seeping into my skin. Finally, I closed my eyes, and after a few moments, was sound asleep.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a man’s face, unfamiliar but comforting.
“Excuse me…” he said, with a wide grin.
I jumped with embarrassment; ripping my headphones out of my ears, although they were no longer playing anything. How long had I been asleep? And who was this young man? An employee of the shop? A customer?
“Sorry!” I yelped.
The man chuckled as I swung my feet around to the floor and pulled out my phone to check the time. Realizing it was dead, I scanned the room for a clock and with no success I asked the stranger “What time is it?”
He rolled up his sleep, and checked what to be a rather expensive watch. The man was dressed nicely, but nothing too formal. A clean pair of black jeans, a plaid shirt and a sweater over it. His hair, a dark brown looked thick and slightly curled. He ran his fingers through it as he responded. “It’s quarter past.”
“Past what?”
He blinked at me. “Eight…” he paused at my confused look. “A.M”
I gasped at the time. It was just past nine at night when I had dozed off.
Why did the short stalky man not wake me? Did he forget I was upstairs?
Maybe he assumed I had left, and just missed me doing so.
“I…I…” I stumbled upon my words. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, still
unsure who this man was.
“My boss told me you’d be up here.” He lifted my cup of cold coffee and
handed it to me. “I can get you a warm cup if you’d like. We don’t open for another half hour.”
I nodded, and with the cup in hand, the man turned and headed down the stairs. I gathered my things, smoothed out my shirt, tossed my hair to one side and followed the man down the stairs.
“My names Elliot” he shouted from behind the counter and the noises of the coffee machine.
“Ellie.” I shouted back.
A door swung open and in Elliot’s hand was a new cup of coffee.
“That’s a coincidence.”
I smiled nervously and took the cup from the man.
“Sit.” he said, nodded to a table.
I followed his instructions and set my cup down and pulled out a chair.
He stared at me for a moment as I stared at my coffee. After a long moment of silence, I started.
“I am so sorr-”
He stopped me and reached out, resting his hand on top of mine.
“It’s alright Ellie…really.”
I had a few questions but didn’t know where to start. So I let the silence
continue.
“My boss figured you needed a place to stay.”
I wasn’t homeless. Did I look homeless?
“Do you...have somewhere to go…?”
I nodded. “I’m not homeless…” I proclaimed. I couldn’t help but stare at
his hands. There was something different about them from the rest of the
man.
“I figured. You’re too well dressed to be homeless.” He smiled, and his
hands moved up and through his hair again.
“So, if you’re not homeless then what’s your story?”
My story? I didn’t have a story. I was a young single girl. Lonely. Living
on her own in the city. On her way home when a snow storm hit. I just stopped into the coffee shop to get warm, not to spend the night like some refugee.
“My story?”
“Yeah, your story.” he continued to grin at me.
I paused to think of an answer.
“I was just on my way home. Stopped in for a cup of coffee. Guess I didn’t
drink enough of it.”
He laughed at the comment, showing a set of pearly white teeth.
“Maybe it wasn’t a very good cup of coffee.” He glanced at the cup in front of me. I lifted it and took a sip.
“This cup’s better.” We both laughed softly, then found each other staring
for long while at one another.
“I’ll make sure not to tell my boss you said that.”
I took another sip. “I should probably go…” I said, standing up.
“Go where?”
“Home.”
He shook his head chuckling slightly. “Hang out. I’ll open late.”
“I don’t want to be more of an inconvenience than I already have been.”
Elliot reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing it softly.
“Ellie.”
My eyes grew wide, and I felt my heart beat quickly within my chest.
“Let’s not play games with one another. Stay.”
I pulled my hand away, and bit my lip.
“I can’t. I’m sorry Elliot.” I grabbed my bag from under the table, and thew
it across my shoulder. “Thank you…” I said, thinking of his hands but
staring at the blue in his eyes. I turned around, and pushed the door open.


---------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------

It was Valentine’s Day (or as I like to call it “Singles Awareness Day” ) and my friend had dragged me out to this terrible bar in the suburbs  titled “Distraction” My friend, who was newly single and “ready to mingle” laughed when she saw the big blue sign with the name.
“That’s an ironic name” she said, snickering.
I nodded my head and groaned as we headed inside. She was right. What was this bar distracting me from? If anything, it was drawing more attention to the things I was supposed to be distracted from by just existing with such a name. My friend walked up to the bar, leaned against a stool and ordered something sweet. She asked me if I wanted anything, but I shook my head no. After a few minutes of small talking with her, and watching her sip at her watered down drink, I noticed a young man walking towards us. The bar was dimly lit, and I couldn’t quite make him out but I sighed and turned towards the bartender.
“*** and coke” I hollered out to the man. “Pour heavy!”
I stayed facing the shelves of drinks, the different bottles organized by color and type. Whiskey, Tequila, *****. Suddenly, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder and with a deep inhale, I turned; expecting some man with sleeked back hair and a bad tan to be facing me.
Instead, it was Elliot. Staring at me, standing inches from my face. I took a step back into a bar stool, and fell into a seat.
“Ellie” he said, smiling.
I couldn’t help but smile for a moment too, but then I quickly wiped it away as the bartender slid my drink to the right of me. Before I could do anything, Elliot placed a few dollars on the counter.
“You don’t have to -“
“It’s fine”  He continued to smile widely.
I looked around the room for my friend, she was across the room playing darts with some broad shouldered man. I took my glass, placed the straw on the counter and gulped down about half of it in one drink.  
“Happy Valentines Day” he said, almost sarcastically following the statement with a slight laugh.
I felt myself smiling again and took another gulp. The bartender definitely poured heavy. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, and I clenched my teeth. I could tell Elliot was trying hard not to laugh.
“Would you like to dan-“
I bursted out laughing.
“Dance? Oh god, please. Don’t do this Elliot.”
He stared at me widely for a moment. “What are you so afraid of Ellie?”
I scoffed, and shook my head, taking another drink I responded
“I’m not afraid of anything”
He blinked at me, then ran through his fingers through his hair and breathed out loudly.
“Is it me?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer this, or what he was really even asking. I stumbled on my words, stuttering. I finished my drink, and set the glass down on the counter.
“Another?” he asked.
“No...” I paused. “Thank you”
He stared at me for a moment, his brows furrowed. He reached out to touch me, and I pulled away.
“Ellie...Let me-“
I interrupted him and shouted out “space!”
He looked puzzled, then chuckled.
“What?”
“I’m afraid of space”
“Space....? Please elaborate.”
“Like the sky, and the planets and the stars and ****”
He laughed softly. “And ****...”
“Think about it. We have no idea what’s out there. We have no idea what’s coming for us. We are so small, comparatively.”
“So you believe in aliens?”
“I believe in possibility”
“Anything could happen.”
“Exactly! Right now, as we speak, the sun could explode.”
“Or, aliens could invade!”
“You’re really stuck on the alien thing.”
“It’s a possibility”
We both sat in silence for a moment, his eyes felt heavy on me. I stood up from my stool, our bodies were almost touching.
“I’ve got to go see if my friends OK.” I said, glancing over at her. She was still playing darts with the broad shoulder man. He had his arms wrapped around her, ‘showing’ her how to hold the dart now.
“She looks like she’s doing ok to me” Elliot said with a snicker.
I didn’t argue.
“What’s your last name?” he asked.
I shook my head violently. “Look, Elliot. You seem-“ I stopped and thought of how I wanted to finish my sentence, but before I could, Elliot grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
“Ellie. I’m just a man. I’m not some comet coming down or some alien race a million light years away. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
I took a few shallow breaths, my heart was pounding. I tried pulling away, but Elliot just pulled himself closer to me.
“You said you believe in possibility. You can’t deny the possibility of you and me.”
“I...”
He reached up, and tucked a hair that was falling down my face behind my ear then stepped back, letting go of my hand.
“I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to help you conquer your fear”
“Oh?”
He grabbed my hand again and pulled me towards the door, I looked over to my friend, but didn’t fight him.
“She’ll be okay.” he said, still tugging me.
I followed him out the door and down the street. We stopped and hailed a cab, as one pulled up, he opened the door for me.
“Get in.”
“I don’t even know you. You could be taking me to some wear house to **** and ****** me!”
“Ellie. Don’t be so dramatic. Get in”
“Where are we going?”
“To the moon.”
“And back again?”
“We’ll see. Maybe once you get there, you’ll never want to leave.”
“It’s a possibility”
I stepped inside the cab, and so did he.

------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------


Once we were in the cab, the rush of excitement I was feeling in the bar and in the street had faded. Elliot handed the man his phone, which had an address written on it. The cabbie put the address into his GPS and started the meter as he drove on.
“So are we taking the cab to the moon? Or are we just taking the cab to NASA and then a spaceship to the moon?” I said sarcastically, my voice breaking from nervousness. Elliot put his hand on my leg, and sat back into his seat without saying anything.
“Who’s paying for the cab Elliot?”
He continued to be silent. I turned at stared out the window, I noticed the cab was taking us out of the city and I began to get a little worried.
“Can you please tell me where we’re going?” I asked quickly. I looked back at Elliot, he was sweating.
“Elliot? Is everything OK?” His eyes were shut and his breathing was heavy.
“I’m afraid of things in motion.” he muttered softly.
“Isn’t everything in motion?” he opened his eyes, raised his brows and then smiled at me.
“I mean, the world is always turning and we’re walking, or breathing. So we’re moving, no matter what-“
“Can you be quiet please?”
I looked back out the window again for what felt like a long while. Finally, the cab stopped in front a large abandoned dome like building in a town I had never been in. Elliot was quick to exit the cab, and circle the car to open my door. I stepped out, Elliot paid the driver and the cab drove away.
“So you ARE going to **** and ****** me?”
Elliot looked at me, and took my hand.
“I’m sorry about in the car. What mean by things in motion is like, cars and trains and planes and...” he paused, “and ****...”
We both laughed.
“I knew what you meant. I’m sorry if I was being difficult.”
He gave me a look and I nodded at him. He took me by the hand and led me closer to the building. We reached a door that had been boarded up.
“This doesn’t look like the moon...Or NASA...”
“Ellie. Do you trust me?”
“I...I don’t really even know you so-“
Elliot pried back at the board, slipping into the building through a small space and pulled me inside with him. The room we stepped into was a circle, and in the center; a large telescope.
“Does that even work?”
He squeezed my hand, then let go. Approaching the telescope, he stepped up a small set of stairs to a control panel. He pushed a few buttons and a few moments later, I heard a whirring and a low rattle followed by a deep sound. I felt a slight vibration and suddenly the roof was opening above me, exposing the night sky. On this night, the stars were bright, and the moon was full.
“Come here” Elliot called out from near the telescope.
I started to shake only slightly at the sight of the sky above me, I felt frozen and tense, as if I couldn’t move. Elliot made his way down the stairs and towards me.
“It’s okay Ellie.” he said, reaching for my hand and guiding me towards the telescope. We stepped up the stairs, and he stood next to me, still holding my hand as he adjusted a few things, looking in the telescope, then at me, then back through the telescope. He turned towards me, nudging me.
“Go ahead.”
I looked at the giant metal telescope, and shook my head.
“I really appreciate what you’re trying to do here but-“
He put his hand on my lower back, and pushed me towards the telescope.
“Just look.”
I put my face close to the telescope, an
Eu Claudio Oct 2014
full of nothing
and full of colours
are those balloons
ignorant they jump around
not knowing where to go next
waiting to be bursted

full of independence
and full of lives
are those cats
ignorant they jump around
with their '*******' attitude
waiting to die

full of joy
and full of ideas
are those kids
ignorant they jump around
discovering the world
waiting to grow


bursting, dying, growing
those are the blessed ones
living for the instant
the waiting ignorants
J Penpla Mar 2013
My belly’s got this radiant reel - A projection through its button - Awed eyes make the connection real
It’s iridescent luster - Splashes on the wall - Causing quite a clatter - I stumble and I fall
Gazing at its glow - Transfixed a chagrin’less grin - Bemused, though I do not know
Whence came this beam of brilliance - Bursting through my belly
The bees-knees of recipes - To the royal'est of jelly
Put forth in panoramic views - Ephemeral equations, yet eternal patience
To whatever riddles I so choose
When I can I stand, and stumble to the door - Framed now in gleaming seems
That were not there before
It’s **** a burning bulb - That shatters when I turn it
Has me tear away my hand -To be sure I have not burned it
Still, the door opens on its own - Thus I continue on my way
Into the plush and overgrown
Kaleidoscope's array
Inspired by a short film about a dreary robot on an assembly line, who finds a light-bulb inside, but looses its glow after marketing it. Wish I could find it again so I could cite it!
Shelby Apr 2019
death bursted into my room tonight
awakening a deep slumber
outstretching a cold boney hand
as if offering for me to go with him

I felt no fear or sadness
I have been waiting for death to greet me
I have admired him from afar
a lover who took no chance in courting me
Until he was ready to give me an embrace
That could be defined as loving and warm
but it was sinful and alluring

flickers of sparks in his eyes
ignited a fire in my soul
a passion that I had longed for
as my hand grabbed onto his
he pulled me close in the middle of the room

he began to dance to the tune
of our heartbeats synchronizing
a beautiful symphony rang love in our ears
craning his neck
he leaned in close
inhaling the shakiness of my breath
moonlight illuminated the poison dripping
from his puckering lips
as an offering to taste
what afterlife was

it held soft undertones of an earthy aftertaste
but an overpowering intoxicating sweetness left me hungry
for just one more dip
in his suicidal serenity

moving in one fluid motion
sweeping behind me
a boney hand placed on an unclothed forearm
slowly slid up my shoulder
as another arm was placed around both hips
he pressed himself tightly against me
icy breath grazed across my neck
making hairs stand up on my arms
as a moan escaped between closed lips
he whispered a seductive I love you
as he tucked hair behind my ear

the words I longed to hear
were met with a sharp knife
placed in open hands
and a crooked smile
spread across his face
it was at that moment
I came to the realization
to become his fully
my beautiful souls light
must burn out
to match his souls decayed state

no persuasion was needed
I longed for this moment
now the time was finally right
steady right hand raised
the elongated blade
"together forever..."
death breathlessly whispered
as a swift motion
punctured my abdomen
breath was taken out of my lungs
knees buckled
as death dropped me to the floor

tears of bliss flowed from my eyes
staining mascara streaks on flushed cheeks
I peer around the room to greet my lover
in another embrace with my final breaths
but im alone
left with a bloodied knife in hand
but this forbidden passion of a deaths dance
was only used to take ones soul
not give it the life it craved
laughing through the flood of tears
not even in death was I loved
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2015
oft on bus seated next,
every one of your senses
adjusting, modulating,
to her unpredictable
solar flaring

you don't ever risk
that first missing
           misstep,
your entirety is
sun bursted
        (un)/consumed
in unhappy joy of her
consuming presence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you laugh
years later
re the topic of
your first shaky
foot in the mouth
a classic misstep
first bow shot,
opening one liner

and each storied retelling  
is nature!s
snow and rain
refilling
the love of your
groundwater table
welling up

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you love her scent
the silly hats she wears,
her short skirts arouse,
that last open button
a misstep invitation,
angry it incenses,
her every solitary everything is
incense,
pervading a daily
co-riding
passenger's
oxygen? starved soul

~~~~~~~~~

her umbrella is a wet
selfie stick
accidentally opening and dousing
an un random next door
seatmate

just another unlucky misstep for
someone sitting next store,
oil on the fire of
happily ever after

two selfies are last seen as
one
un selfishly
toweling each other off and
on
with wet kisses

~~~~~~~~~~~

you eavesdrop on her
earbud music,
weep internally you do with
crazed jealously

The Temptations
are so unfairly
singing to her
"Ain't to Proud to Beg"
and neither are you

you heart is misstepping
to every beat,
your fingers
thrumming,
you idiot, not quietly enough
humming
in the next seat

the first,
will not be
the last

smile exchanged

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

poem writing on the tablet,
amidst the groaning awful
no moving
city traffic

overheated bus
combustible with
winter snow dampness,
wet dog sweat smelling people clothes

all you want to do is get home
shower off
the daily dirt

the poetry writing pastime
is the place
where you put yourself
to better to pass over
your sour surroundings

her finger rattlesnakes,
misstepping over,
noisily invading,
the invisible boundary
constructed to hold up the
eye-averting
Keep Out sign
to momentary,
too neighborly
strangers

her red painted
pointer finger
smudge prints on your tablet,
accompanied with
bespoke words
"try this"

that smudge suggestion
won't come off

insisting on crediting
a shared authorship,
you ask for her
email and cell,
so you can share
her
forever

co jointed tangled
bus and bed sheet first efforts
on writing, all about
what you play~argue
what should your entitled poem
be titled

you think

endless short love story bus poems

but she prefers,
with red fingers persuading

the first misstep is the best

both see the merit
in each other
I love this poem. I do.

Lyrics to "Ain't to Proud to Beg"

I know you wanna leave me,
but I refuse to let you go
If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy,
I don't mind coz' you mean that much to me

Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me, girl, don't you go

Now I heard a cryin' man,
is half a man with no sense of pride
But if I have to cry to keep you,
I don't mind weepin' if it'll keep you by my side

Ain't to proud to beg, sweet darlin
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go

If I have to sleep on your doorstep
all night and day just to keep you from walkin' away
let your friends laugh, even this I can stand
cause I want to keep you any way I can

Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin'
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go

Now I've gotta love so deep in the pit of my heart
And each day it grows more and more
I'm not ashamed to come and plead to you baby
If pleadin' keeps you from walkin' out that door

Ain't too proud to beg, you know it sweet darlin'
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Baby, baby, baby, baby (sweet darling)
Micheal Bevan Sep 2010
If I were an opened can of pop,
You know what I'd be right now?

Flat.

That,
Is a horrible thing to be,
Cause you see,
I am up and bubbly fresh,
Now down,
Gloomy doomy death.

I am moss on crack,
Growing out of floor,
Covering the world,
And wanting more.

Cause you see,
When a blind man falls,
I like to laugh,
Because he doesn't know when the ground
Is going to hit him in the face,
And when it does,
He's so surprised
Like "How the hell did you get all the way to my face?"

Then I, come up to him
Laughing,
And say,
"You met it halfway!"

And run like a *****.

But I'm flat,
And that,
*****.

Like a straw set in a frosty milkshake,
Set between two starry eyed lovebirds,
And as they are about to indulge in the yumminess
Of the creamy bounty before them,
The eye of the guy,
Catches the sight of the girl,
Who's not sitting in front of him,
Passing on the by,
Catching his eye,
And his girl is soon by his side,
With a look on her face,
That could stop a race,
Dead in it's place,
For the fear of the world coming apart at the seems,
And he, knows, it.

She knows what he thought
When he saw what he saw,
And when he stuttered and sputtered,
She had heard it all,
Just not in so many words,
So much for these lovebirds.

She said what she felt,
He heard every word,
Then she turned and sped out,
He went quickly after,
And every one heard what he tried to shout.
And bursted into tears,
At the humor that was there,
Far less did his attempts,
Even try to fare.

It was told through the day,
From ear to ear,
"You had to be there"
They said with tears.

"But baby wait,
This is too much,
Come on, let's go back,
Our milkshake hasn't even been touched!"

And guess what?
I feel like that straw,
Feeling so lonely,
Nerves getting raw,
Listening to the fight,
Knowing this ain't right,
I should be cold,
But with the heat of lips,
Caught between sweet nothings,
And sweeter sips.

So you see,
What I see?
Feel,
What I felt?
How it just stood there,
While the milkshake,
It melt.
Leaving it in a puddle,
No one would drink,
And being wasted like that,
Poured down the sink.

Makes you think.
That,
It must be horrible,
To be,
Flat.
Richie Vincent Mar 2018
I imagine god’s fingertips to be the size of every broken bone I haven’t tried to fix,
When he died he took all of it with him,
and when he came back three days later,
he became heartbreak,
a martyr of sorts, if you will,
And every time I try to talk to him, he is too tired to respond,
but I do not blame him,
he is doing his best

My grandmother’s lungs gave up on her and collapsed into dust like they once were before all of this,
like all of ours will do some day on a hill of a million sunsets,
where every broken bone will no longer need surgery,
and every bursted vein will bleed into a thousand different eternities

I promise myself that one day I will walk this world over and not stop until everything is on fire, and everyone is crying over someone else,
and I will slip into every crack and crease that my toes feel,
and I will love it and I will die for it,
Just  like how I have loved them and I have died for them,
for as far back as I can remember

the sun always reminds me of someone else,
and the problem with it is that I’ve never looked at the sun and thought about myself,
I have been too busy writing my own obituary onto every inch of my body,
so when they find me suffocated under a pile of my own traffic jams,
they will know how I ended up here,
because god knows that I won’t

I have been too busy filling my bones with gasoline,
so that when they break, you will be able to set them on fire,
I don’t want to be cremated, I just wanna burn out of here,
I don’t want to be put into the ground because cemeteries seem like our way of never ever being able to let go of what is able to **** us

We are all made of iron in some way,
I have bad days some days,
On good days I am sleepy in a lustful way,
And on bad days I am tired in a jealous way,
I’m not saying I’m unstoppable,
but if you catch me under the right light,
I might just seem that way

I’m not sure where I came from,
or where I’m going,
but all of us, you, me, everyone here,
we are all going,
and we won’t stop,
never stop, never stop,
We will go on forever and ever,
even after we think we can’t anymore

Until the angels hang us up by our shoulders and personally read us all of the sins we’ve committed over our lifetimes,
And our grandpas tell us the last stories they can remember from the great war,
And our skin shrinks itself until the only thing we have left to feel is absolutely everything,
all at once,
all the time

So while we continue to walk this wide world over,
until we grow so exhausted that every breath we take seems like fire coming out of the mouth of every honest person that has ever told us a lie,
We need to realize that our jobs consist of nothing besides simply breathing,
Simply breathing,
Deep breath in, deep breath out,
Deep breath in, deep breath out

Take it slow,
Become comfortable, whatever comfortable means to you,
Take a warm shower,
Make yourself clean,
Wash away all of the ugly you think you have left in your skin,
Deep breath out,
Deep breath in

Breathe
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
For
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
By
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.


They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
Where,
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
By
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
Bestowed
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
Until
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).


If I so chose
I could
Be anything
That
I imagined, even
Today.

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
When
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
Now?
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
Simple,
Strong,
Stunning,
Sound,
Sapient,
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Our
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

She
Is effaced by
Time
(For Sorrow has no end)
And
Tormented by Space.
(Height,
Breadth,
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her
Without
Compassion.

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Pierced
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
Hope
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wither,
Wax and
Wane;
Never
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
And
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Become
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Lowly
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Eyes,
Hearts,
Or minds.

Yes,
(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
Ammad Khalid May 2013
I keep a smile on,
I tell the world all my dreams will come true.
I try to keep my heart alive.
I fill it with happiness,
That's the least i can do.
I'm a bursted star.
I'm a fading call.
I'm a caretaker of an abandoned settlement.
My hopes have been erased.
Don't tell me,
Don't fight me,
the fire in my heart,
I can see my dream in ashes.
My prayers are my cure,
work and worry is on my mind.
Come on,
fight me.
I have told the world all i wanted to say.
I remember the time when i was afraid to say.
I have no issues with anyone and none with myself.
I still have belief in myself.
I don't know why.
I'm the waves crashing on a paper boat.
I couldn't escape my own storm.
My heart is riddled with thorns
yet it refuses to tell its tale.
I still live happy and laughing,
knowing I'm a barren land.
I'm a caged bird.
I'm a caretaker of an abandoned settlement.
loggi Jun 2017
October 14th
-2005-

When is October,
With the leaves of red,
With the crisp cold wind
Blowing to the west.
There she sits and waits,
For the boy with the red Chevrolet.
It is eight o five,
He is five minutes late.
But she occupies herself
With the crumbling pastry
On her tiny plate.
He pulls up outside,
And she looks and waves,
With a smile she cannot hide.
It is nine o five.
It is time to go.
She had a great time, he knows.

It is November,
The pine is yellow,
As they walk down the lane.
He holds her slim hand,
And she laughs again
To a joke she would never tell
To any of her friends.
As they walk down the lane,
They talk about a future
They might never attain.
But here they are walking,
Down a yellowing park lane
With their hands linked together,
Waiting for time to go away.
There is a park bench,
Aside a small lake
With red and brown shapes
Just drifting upon
The placid landscape.
He motions to her
To come and sit with him
And take it all in:
This favorable day.
But she thinks of the time,
The job she has at five,
And she tells him, "let's go."
He looks at her and smiles,
Wishing time would go away
As they walked together,
towards the red Chevrolet

Here is December,
The leaves have lost their ember,
As she sits drinking coffee
By her apartment's window.
she is clad in comfort
Snug in a blanket
From her bed she had to unearth.
She blows her hot breath
Upon the chilled window pane,
And draws shapes, words, names
Upon the fogged window frame.
Finally she traces a heart,
With two initials
Separated by a plus sign.
She smiles at her art,
And the heart she has made,
And wishes it would not clear away.
But something catches her eye,
Through the unfogged heart lines,
A red Chevrolet parked
On the side of the street lane.
There is a knock on the door.
She gets up and tidies her space,
She looks in the mirror
And pouts about not having
Makeup on her face.
She goes to the door,
Takes a breath and opens
It to a familiar form.
He has flowers in a vase,
That has an etched heart, with her name

-2006-

It is January,
a month of frigidness,
but of drunken merry.
Here they survived
for only a time ago,
and the seasons
change with heavy snow.
They do not talk for a time,
But each of them wonder
If it is all fine.
Things return, as you know
A car running the highway,
And a girl living alone.
Oh that message said,
“I can’t wait to see you again.”
To her it was a punch,
To him it was a friend.
But their bonds to each other
They were only flailed,
But the cut would not make an end.
So this passage stayed this way,
He would drive a car,
She would look away.
But its hard not to see
A bright red Chevrolet.
So with a phone call,
at the crack of dawn.
A girl fell in love,
Which was all wrong.
The other would come,
And it will not be long.

Love in February,
pastel hearts and a chocolate box.
Bouquets, and fancy gin
All the flattery would begin.
Some weekends at the movies,
Some nights meeting her friends.
Their life started to return,
But what from it could she earn?
Some nice nights in candle light,
A stuffed animal from a claw,
But what did it mean at all?
“Yes, I’m free at eight.
Be on time you're always late.”
“Oh sure! I love to catch up.”
“Oh yeah, remember our lake?”
“Yes the one with all the ducks.”
“Yes that is the place, right?”
“Yeah I’ll see you there tonight?”
“I can’t wait at all,
I haven't seen you for so long.”
Some things are sacred,
When they are not shared.
But really this new girl,
Was not at all new.
She was the first one
And this other girl
Was a replacement
That he met in the fall.

Then walked in March
With his hands and loud clatter,
But he could not shake
The peace that had begun.
Two girls, different lives,
But they were both the same.
Same long flaxen hair,
That drifted below their backs.
same smile and loving stare,
But the only difference
Was their loving eyes.
The girl from the fall,
Had brown eyes, a soft voice,
and a spirit so gentle.
The girl from before,
had blue eyes and a voice
of loud summer laughter
who lived with a sense of death.
Blue eyes lived on the edge,
Brown eyes lived on the current.
But both girls would be the same,
nights wiping mascara,
Similar nights at the parlor.
Both were each others’ mirror
But none would take the curtain,
and reveal what was hidden.
He would not worry,
As he drove down the highway.
No grey doubt ever minded him
As he rode his red Chevrolet.
To him, it was a game.

Then April rain fell.
Can you even tell
What were the feelings
That were felt when she saw
The two plane tickets?
She was taken aback,
She had never left
The city she lived in,
And she rushed at him
With clutching arms and happy grin.
No words would describe
what she felt within.
The old girl had gone
to Europe for a trip,
Leaving him with one set of lips.
So he thought to himself,
a trip away would be good.
He would spend some time
With the girl he loved.
He would do whatever he could.
So at an airport,
at a quarter to nine,
The two of them talked
And everything was fine.
She would joke with him
That he was actually on time,
And he would make a face
To resent the sense of disgrace.
But here he was thinking,
Of the girl in another place.

Blooming flowers in May,
Were her favorite sight.
The reds, blues and pinks
were among spring’s delight.
She enjoyed the ducks on the lake.
This was her first time
Ever seeing these mallards
Bask and splash their heads.
He was on the other side
On a call he could not ignore.
Things started to slip with him.
She would call and he would say,
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
She asked him if he wanted
To meet her family.
“I’m sorry, I’m busy that day.”
But here she saw this sight,
A boy across the lake she liked.
She did not know who
gave him an “urgent” ring,
But he was laughing
At this emergency.
He seemed so distant this May,
But he was not far away.
She could go up and walk to him,
But if she dared cross
This great immense strait,
She could effortlessly reach midway.
But her balance would falter
Because he would not cross for her.
So she would sink underneath.

Runaway in June,
With flaxen hair flowing
With wind blowing down the highway
In that red Chevrolet.
Tan skin and sunglasses on,
These were the parts she enjoyed,
All summer long.
Although they neared a place,
Here time slowed and she could stop space.
She would turn up that song
And sing each lyric she liked,
and then toss it to him
as she passed him the mic.
All their troubles in May
Seemed to wither away,
as the hot air curled
each locket of hair.
Planes streaked up in the sky
As birds kited by.
The greenery of the trees
Flowed with life effortlessly:
Waving a sort of fresh hello
As the asphalt steamed
a cool dew of tomorrow.
They approached the exit,
With the harsh winding twist
That they would slow down and glide.
The sun streaming up in the sky,
Her happy gentle eyes.
He had another date at five.

Pink sky in July,
and a black aqua night
With night bugs buzzing
and the firefly light.
then on some warm nights
The sky filled with red, blue and white,
As fireworks attempted
to journey so high,
Until they bursted
And died in the cold atmosphere.
When it was past dusk
And the time settled on twilight,
The great blue vault would open up,
And reveal the infinite.
Stars twinkled, and flew
Against the nothingness
Hopping to find a purpose
For their brief existence.
The girl from the fall
Believed she had some worth,
That a creator put people
that she was meant to meet
Upon this sad Earth.
The girl from before
Did not know she encroached
On a love so new,
Nor did the girl from fall
know she was doing that too.
He would say “I love you.”
Which to her it was sweet.
But “you” can be plural.

They met in August,
August the tenth to be exact.
They knew each other
Ever since junior high,
But neither mustered the courage
To come up and say hi.
She went off to college,
He went away too,
But they met in a coffee shop
In the middle of June.
They soon started to talk,
and soon a new love grew.
This was the girl from before,
A clever girl who loved books
And a long afternoon snore.
He was a year older,
and he graduated a year ago.
She trusted him so much.
He bought her flowers,
He would spend hours with her,
Walking to the edge of nowhere,
And slowly journeying back.
But for some reason
Something came undone.
She wondered as she walked
Down upon the gray sidewalk.
Not watching or minding her step,
As she bumped into the girl
Walking to her left.
A brown eyed girl with flaxen hair,
Both unaware of a love they share.

A new friend in September,
She had began to know well.
Last August they collided,
Laughed at each others’ mistake,
and then chatted as if they knew
Each other for a longer time
than is accustomed to new friends.
They sometimes saw each other
While walking on the sidewalk.
Sometimes they smiled to chat,
And sometimes they waved
And never looked back.
Little by little they came through,
They talked, and they laughed
About anything old and new.
But soon they started to fade too.
The girl from before,
Started to work at night
And would not leave her apartment,
Until an hour after
The girl from the Fall left hers.
Maybe she was not meant to know,
Perhaps fate decided
That the truth would never come
If they never collided.
So things continued this way,
Until they met again one day.
They laughed and said they should catch up.
She got her number,
Next month it went under.

When is October?
Where she cried her eyes.
When in October,
Did she find out his lies?
She was someplace away,
Cruising down the highway.
It was at a party,
from a girl she would never know,
Who told her about the girl
That they both came to know,
Who had a boyfriend
That was so very sweet,
and a picture of them
That put her heart in her teeth.

October 14th
-2006-
9:14 pm

An hour does seem so long.
She asked him if she could
Borrow his red Chevrolet,
Because she had no other way.
It was late, and then came the rain
As she sped down the highway.
She left him a message,
that he did not understand:
“I’m coming to see you.”
As the car furiously ran.
The wind whipping, the clouds crying,
It was not safe the speed she went
In that red Chevrolet
Running down that highway.
She wanted to scream,
She wanted to fade away.
But time was there edging her so,
As she counted the minutes
For the amount of time
It would take to get there.
She would have to tell
The girl she began
To know so well as a friend.
But this had to come to an end.
She neared the exit
That had the sharp twist,
She tried to slow to a glide,
But the water kept up the stride.
And suddenly time slowed
As the car leapt off the road.

October 14th
-2006-
9:44 pm

Everything floated,
The dust, the old receipts
As she gripped the leather seat.
She just hit the guard rail right,
As the car flipped in the night.
glitter headlight shards,
And red sirens blurring,
Why was she in such a hurry?
One flip, then came two,
The mechanical acrobat
Performing a stunt
That was doomed to fail.
She counted the minutes,
That she still had left,
As her broken head
Leaked her thoughts upon the dash.
The memories slipped out:
The dates by the lake,
The days in the red Chevrolet,
and the girl who bumped
Into her on the sidewalk.
Sirens blurring, people looking,
at the side of the road.
A stretcher was coming,
her body they were carrying;
Pale, limp, and bleeding.
When is October?
Where she took a drive.
When in October,
She died.

October 14th
-2006-
10:14 pm
The line count is significant.
teni Sep 2018
how would life be
if we lived in a
     house of balloons?

personally,
     i would hate it.

every morning
i would wake up
and *****
every
single
     balloon.

i would shatter
every
single
    glass table.

i would walk
among the shreds
of bursted latex
and shards
of broken glass
cutting my feet to bits.

i would drench
the furniture
in kerosene
and light up a cig
and drop the ****
in the path of the fuel.
causing the
     house of popped balloons
and
     broken glass tables
to go up in flames.

only to go to bed
and repeat it the next day.
because im too scared to move out
but too attached to leave.
so i do what i can
to make myself feel
     powerful
and
     in control
and
     dominant.
hopefully the girls got off the tables before i shattered them, poor things.
Second Wind Dec 2016
Lips pressed together to form an 'o'
Releasing a breath, ever so slow.
The air was caged in a soapy dome
Racing towards the neighbouring ozone

A warm breath fading into midnight blue.
Evicted air just trying to pass through.
The sky hurled tear drops down,
steering the troubled bubble into a ghost town.

Sneaking through a forgotten crack,
lost in a creaking wooden shack.
A little girl of two,
came skipping into the room.

She looked at the dislodged air,
as if it was a silent prayer.
She held out both of her little hands.
An oasis in this waste land.

Closer, warmer, safer, just don't rush
, but as soon as the little bubble touched
It was gone.
Seen by no one

The bitter breath finally free
¬The trouble stems from the branches bursted from mean tantrums of the heated Johnny Appleseed’s handgun. held me for ransom but in as much as he trusts his land lock planned spot he must remain unplucked or  ****** with stuck with the function of patiently waiting to branch out and touch something. Turn the pages on the famous channel changer cuz this cliff hanger is upsetting the readers’ digestive systems. Howdy stranger maybe don’t strangle and erase the angle their plato fated brains are facing and they’ll be no problem when the mad-man-made stage caves in. Oh ancient aliens, save them from the cavemen take them to your leader they’ll meet her and she’ll tame them. Train them to fly all unidentified like and fight flickering lights that “look pretty nifty when they’re perfectly aligned all nice like that right”? **** pay attention their coming in hot with a heat seeking mission! Fully equipped with infinite wisdom and phish records skipping they’re insisting you’re a loose end who’s been missing from planet prison. You planned it didn’t ya? The way you resisted being apprehended by those animals. You’re intangible that is to say untouchable to these cannibals. Until they snuck back and struck fire when inspired to stuff the sling shot with cannonballs. ****.. terrible.

That tragedy outlasted the whited out new paper pages for nearly half an eternity. You know, internally I feel pretty empty about the incident cuz theirs a hollow feel in my gut which leaves more room for my heart to bang its head against it. Its like the old tricky ticking ******* wanted to burst his branches out of his old standards and habits of doing the laboring favor of keeping me alive. Which to be fair I completely understand where he’s coming from. I went 50/50 with him on a bet, both of what’s left of our chump change life savings. No pun intended. Threw it all at the odds of the abstract fast track approach to finally get up and move away from this place because we don’t like the crooked looks of it. No more straight edges making us circular patterned people look like were cutting corners. We were taking these squares down in their own home court advantage. They had flat feet man. A good solid stick in the mud demeanor if you know what I mean. They wouldn’t budge. Until the they jaggedly and abruptly branched out to spread their seeds and infect most of the infantry into agreement. I still remember them yelling “stick with me”.

The trouble stems from the tangents tearing the seemingly handsome devils by their new haircuts. Bare-butted phantoms prancing shoulder to shoulder  roll over on the motive to hold boulders or shotguns in his holster. But hold up, he was sold a handgun by a man who scammed him to run as rampant as a rabbit can run to tear up the lack of land with demands to “get in the family’s tree trunk”. And thus we sunk. He was Much more of a cold shoulder of a quote unquote soldier in his old days. Don’t **** the messenger lest you lessen his lesson from his letter, hope next time the handgun writing is a little bit better. In a nutshell, that Johnny kid has a tremor. He’s just a teenager in between the brain and the thinker. Thinking more meaning is a synonym for meaner. No more lingering in this trunk-stuck scenery, he leaves her. Makes a deal with the real inside of reality and magically adapts to their ragged jagged jackpot actually he quite liked the lack of quiet he’d suggest you try it if he didn’t die happily when he tied a tight neck tie to his promised-landslide. Tragedy.
K Balachandran Oct 2021
Bursted tyre, alone,
She tasted 'highway despair',
Lift offer, uplifts!
brandon nagley Dec 2015
i.

Amiss was I, in mine earthly vessel,
Agin the igneous chasm. Bane being's,
Inside of this thing were gruesome,
baleful, their laughter caused spasm's.

ii.

Amongst the hideous unholy creature's,
Bursted in, from on high, in majestic features;
A native speaker, a distant teacher, an angelic
Waker of love's soft due. She took me up whilst
She pulled me through;

iii.

I held her plumage, we held close tight,
Never thinking hadst I met this queen, though
We held close all night, all was right. At once tis
I was home, into her arm's, her embracing charm.
Hadst I met this empress before? Asked mine sinful soul.

iv.

Passing through a tunnel, going many miles a speed,
Mine blood dried, mine tears now fine, she saidst we must
Proceed; "O' how I thanketh thee queen, for rescuing me,
From that hellish pit in slime, in grime, dirt and ****. As
didst I sit; as I whispered to her "I thanketh thee so much".

v.

At the end of the tunnel, I couldst see the brightest white,
It flooded me in amare, none heartbreak was there, just happiness-none to compare, wherein all made human reasoning dive deeper in their psyches; though tis this is what's real, mountain's that overtower the field's of rosebud bliss, I entered on in- the entryway of paradise, with Jane's kiss.

vi.

Seraphim sang a million songs, I couldst seeith loved one's, I couldst view mine old cat and dog; whilst tis this place hath none need for a moon or the sun, God lit this divinity; tis a wonderful reality of what mankind pushed away, or tis what many blind themselves from, ignorant and dumbed, by man's philosophy.

vii.

Mine amour' cameth back into sight, I asked her the question that was in mine mind during ourn flight; " queen Jane, I hadst asked, I kneweth thee mine love, long ago mine lass, verily I kneweth that tiara atop thine head, verily we were lover's in ourn spirit form before earth, yea mine love? Jane replied with a smiling look, "verily, verily, we art in God's book's, we were afore spirit lover's from ancient time's hook's, we were predestined to meet once again, the Lord sent me to thee Brandon, mine king, soulmate-best friend".

viii.

After she verified what I kneweth, the pain and anguish lifted off of mine shoulders, once a sinner now renewed, mine eye's stared into her's, I felt the affection between us two. Finally; me and her met again, mine all whom I looked for back on the globe, mine soulmate-mine soul; I felt joy for the first time since birth. I was elated, ive waited a long time, to be freed from death's curse. Mine longing and mine wanting of thee mine lass, finally hadst come; praiseth ourn God, for sending thee mine chosen one.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Amiss means out of place....
Agin means next to or against.
Bane means pretty much horrible or not good.
plumage is a collection of wings.
Afore means before
Tashea Young Apr 2017
I'm
I'm from the land  overflowing with  milk and honey and my mind is more rich that The Europeans useless green paper money yes far from a dummy and like the dawn of day my personality is Always sunny.
I am a rare soul
On the outside I am just another hueman but on the inside I'm a being of the supernatural
I am a radiating rainbow
Shinning in between blue and purple
I'm the canvas of the star child so paint me Indigo.
I'm a lantern in the darkness of the heavily wooded forest, I glow.
My heart is as pure as the whitetess  snow
I am a farmer planting seeds, So, I reap what I sow.
I expand my horizons because the more you know the more you grow.
I am  vibrant just as  the stained glass window.
My soul is  a strong and fierce bolt of  lightening, quite powerful.
I am Fearlessly and wonderfully made in the image of  The Most High, Quite beautiful.
I'm an individual whose  energy is a current thats just flows.
Maybe because Love is My religion no matter where I go.
I was Created from the particles of stars hidden in the cosmos
Mixed with the elements of earth
Descended from the heavens, past the galaxy and from the wombman my spirit and body became one at birth
As it bursted thru my Earth mother, The Universe.
this body became both a gift and a curse
My life became as song unrehearsed
I guess thats why they nicknamed me lyrics because my words were my  hook and verse.
I am like many phases of the Luna very diverse
I am the moon that rises to rest in the midnight sky upon the evening shore as the cool ocean passionately kisses the sparkling sand.
I am the wombman with a vision and a plan.
I am India Arie, boosting your souls immunity. Healthy for you like vitamin C.
Loving me unconditionally
Embracing the Queen in me.
I am free!
I am Lauryn Hill opening your eyes to see the things that Are Real.
I am the peace that is still.
I express the way I feel.
I am Jill Scott giving you some food for thought.
Pay close attention because lessons are being taught.
I'm am Erykah Badu giving you something you ain't use to.
I'm Alicia keys Feeling the music putting my mind at ease
As the nature gives my skin goosebumps with its cooling breeze.
I am Janet Jackson giving you that that fire and passion.
lacing it with that poetic justice style and fashion.
Yet  I will have you talking to and looking at that man in the mirror like Michael Jackson.
Jacob Oates Mar 2015
With a whirlpool of intentions and a focus greatly skewed

My declaration of disdain with my voice has this imbued:

Having ****** into the chaos of a modern need for thriving

With a trust that all my actions give me credit for surviving

Don't ask me for my progress, as I doubt you want to hear it

You've picked out your priority, yet contention makes you fear it

Bursted bubbles of illusion gave you free fall to the curse

of scatter plots for your design as you could only make it worse

Pick apart and yes unravel every thought you've come across

Shifted eyes upon the prize has darted off and at a loss

Identity has forced my hand to cry out for the masses

But contrivances you understand are killing off our chances

Everyone is sure and no one seems to quite grasp the fact

That catharsis marks a farce as art and we're all caught up in the act

Set the stage, turn the page, start from the top, we know it's crucial

Knowing meaning is a feeling, but the feeling it seems is mutual
J Apr 2017
Drudged for the gold but drawn silver
Yearned for warmth, greeted by shiver
Braved the tempest for your embrace
Awoke with heart that ran a race

Oh, Star! My Star, empyreal
Your luster is ethereal
I reached, resolved and full of hope
Lo! I gaped through a telescope!

Within arm's span but could not grasp
Stung achingly like spider wasp
A shunned love, a bursted bubble
Such pain is unfathomable

Bewildered thoughts, our hearts won't weld
Let go of things I never held
Tender soul, albeit bereft
Set free someone I never kept

And though the sun shined ever bright
All I can do for now is write
And bid the long tale to a ghost
Of a love most true, but almost
Giovanna May 2013
it was put on the board.
my teacher told my to stand up in front,
of my 6th grade class and,
read the assignment.
i stared at it for a while,
and i started to read,
to, then suddenly the letter t,
flipped upside down and decided,
to become an f
the the o became a c
the c turned into an n
i could feel all eyes on me.
my mate whispered "today"
i said today,
still trying to figure out how that matched the board.
we turned itself into,
me.
but i finally remembered what i say first.
its been 3 minuets now and,
all i had read out loud was,
"today we"
will and be started to move around the board.
then all the letters switched around,
and
       f
         e
            l
              l
                
                      o
                          f
                     f
                                the board.
the only thing still there,
was one word.
then my mate finally whispered to me,
"today we will be"
and i said that.
then i turned back to the board.
while i was attempting
at sounding things out
my mates couldnt handle it anymore.
they bursted out in giggles.
i read "poet..try?"
and got a detention for delaying the class.
pam Oct 2014
"Why do you write a poem?"
"Poems are so deep."
"I hate thinking deep."
"Eww, so meaningful and dark."
"Ugh, thats so sad."

Those are the words I always hear.
Whenever Im there, here, or near.
They talk about my poems behind my back
Sometimes if they could, they might throw me a rock.

Funny how they knew.
Funny how they find out.
Because that girl that I trusted
Bursted it all out.

Life, life, life.
Is this what they call life?
Is life the thing that makes you get a knife?
Im tired, arent you?

They are living in a world full of lies.
In a world they think they'll be famous.
In a world they think everyone likes them.
But, they're wrong.
This is a world that is dangerous.

They should open their eyes and start entering reality.
And entering reality starts by understanding deep poems.
- PD
There’s a man lying on a bed
Next to him sat a lady within the blanket
Zapping a cigarette, he handed it to her
Sharing a secondhand smoke
And said
“I love lady with a brain.”
She hopped on his chest
Interlocking his lips without letting upcoming words slither.

Following day
There’s a man lying on a bed
Next to him sat another lady
It costed thirthy nine seconds to forementioned lady
Rushed into the room
Bursted in tears
Recalling sugar coated lines the man had retorted.
“It was literally.”

She asked him why would he do such thing
And he replied
“Lemme get the bulb outta my head first.”

The last thing he’d remember
Was sharp pinch
Beneath his necktape
And there’s a lady
Whispered
“It was literally, darling.”
and this is literature, Darling.
brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

In sheol, I lifted mine view atop me; wherein the cave was a dreary scene, fixture's and antique beam's screamed of the hopelessness in this sump.

ii.

A preternatural shimmer, bursted this chthonic picture; the demon's betwixt me and her hunched. Her brigandine of Filipino shine, yoked into mine synapse.

iii.

Mine carrion shook, into the nook's, she slipped me through sheol's crack's. The earth above, I was taken up to, seeing all, I felt a calm, from this seraphim of tribal awe.

iv.

She saidst " Brandon ive come, to giveth thee mine protection " I felt a rush of her touch; direct ressurection. I healed instantaneously, as mine soul finally found it's other half.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose
Ix Ryley Jul 2015
If the world was so vibrant to others
And if people bursted with color,
I'm sure I'd feel less alone.
the words have left my brain
the pen has fallen out of my hand
and on to the floor.
the page is not blank however.
my tears are the new instruments
that paint the pretty picture.
I have lost the focus and ability to focus.
my motivation left the day
you completely faded away.
my heart pounded for you,
how could you be so deaf?
I nearly bursted with rage,
how could you be so heartless?
I've become crumbled ruins;
craving to be built up again.
this is my cry towards my happiness,
where did you go?
how could you leave me?
thrcy Jul 2014
I stare at the moon & the stars
Wondering if you are too
But then I say to myself
You're probably out with someone new
A girl who's got the scent
Of cherry blossoms
And tastes like fresh picked berries

So you're probably gonna distract yourself & try to get the thought of me out of your mind
Trying to concentrate on her but the twinkle in her eyes reminds you of me & so you rush out the door, slap yourself & bang your head on the wall & spit out the words you could never say to me & while you immerse yourself in things I shouldn't even bother to care about I'm here looking at the moon & the stars telling them how much I miss you

And if you do take her out to your favourite place just like you did to me, the moonlight & twinkle of the stars will follow you throughout the night & you'll look over the sky remembering the first time you took me there too, how we shared secrets & stories, & how I almost told you that you were my night sky

So I wish that the light catches your attention instead of her & you'll remember that daisies were my favourite flowers & that you can't get your eyes off the moon

But isn't it funny how empty I am right now because I swear months ago I had the whole galaxy within me  and now I've cried a **** ocean in my body & now I'm drowning
And that volcano inside my chest corrupted when you told me you were leaving and the lavas have
bursted throughout my whole veins
And I had the whole planet within the back of my hand to guide & show you the world
But all that is nothing now because you left & you're never coming back and I'm here a big mess of stormy weather who's gloomy all the time, waiting for a rainbow to come along & see the bright side of things again
This Apocalypse Summer
has really got me down,
but then I'm up running
through what is left of town.
I never got to swim the backstroke
before Brunswick Basin bled
Lake Olympia from amidst her oak,
before Deer Creek went dead.

The streets'll burn, the bodies break
and the blood washed away by beer.
The streets burned, bodies broke
and we're still here.


Shadow people wander the sidewalk,
been here since the bombs dropped.
Never got no noisy television,
just watch the streets and shadows in them.
I'm pushing up just like daisies
and pulling them up for fun.
Convinced that I'm going crazy
from the trips that I get on.

Jane says she cannot get it:
"something hidden...back when children."
You're always looking for the road
where we used to drink too drunk,
where you look to have again
what we had so long ago.


Do you feel it coming?
on Earth His will be done.
Collapse a long time coming—
still nothing new under the sun.
Summer is for the living.
That's a bubble-bursted, sun-dried reason.
It's the end or I am fibbing,
still live up the rest of the season.

First came the flood then spilled blood.
Had anyone caught on of that to come
you know we'd never have let it begun.
But it had:
got you, your mother, and dad.
Surely there was nothing we could do
but hunker down, get a job, and rue
the day they brought us into
the Old World and buried the New.


I hear tell that downriver
the water gets warmer;
I hear tell that valley below us's
a hotter n' hell, body-ridden bowl of dust.

I hear tell that upriver
the trout they run thicker,
the water cooler, air smoother, and **** sticks thinner.
I wanna flee up that river
but I'm not that good a swimmer.

How do we know?
We think we're smart,
in fact we're geniuses.
But we're still sitting
and can't stop talking about...

This Apocalypse Summer
has really got me down,
but then I'm up running
through what is left of town.
Hysterical. The italics denote a yet more hysterical melodrama where the Apocalypse's beginning becomes ambiguous (Did it come? Is it? Will it?).
James Cooper Jul 2017
today I did nothing only
    stamped down tears
          dropped naked
trusted hand’s slow
     planned present enmity
drove a pair of strapping green centipedes
    bursted into death
broke my home into several
     scrapped subjects
wondered how are you
           refused
Daniello Mar 2012
Of course we’re born sad little creatures!
To be born, we had to have the picture
broken & bursted—for, being born, we’re
fragments of it. (But not just us born—all
of it that’s born…all of it’s fragments.)
Us, though, we found out about the pieces
(and that we’re them) so shock-hearted and
weary-eyed we joggle ourselves around,
and waggle and babble (because we can move
and talk to the other pieces, like you) in the
sedulous task of trying to see what picture we all
formed before we were born and to see
if we can’t form it again while born and living.
And, also, inexorably, to see like fateless
naked goggling chicken-children what part
we have—is it a sun’s ray, a cloud’s feather, a
grass blade, or is it just the indistinguishable
shade of unctuous bole that’s laid there
almost smeared in between? I’m not quite sure,
our tabs seem flexible enough, and to add
we’re whimsy little interlockers, so no wonder
we’ve been going on billions of years now.
At this point it’s probably give-up or never-end,
and both options, frankly, seem quite abominable.
I wonder if that’s what it says on the box,
right above “meant for children” and “small
parts dangerous choking hazard.” But the
question is what to do when you’ve realized a
piece has been missing, always been missing,
and probably more. (Oh, and for after, you can
ask if it was never put there in the first place,
and why)—do you just imagine, then? I mean,
just that—just imagine the whole thing, after all
the fuss been going on to hold hands and make it out?
I’m telling you, I bet the sucker is something else
entirely, like something I don’t even know what,
but different—crazy different, I bet. And it’s
probably why they didn’t want to include it,
those ponzies—we wouldn’t choke on that one.
Not that piece. Still, though, I hope it says on the box.
I hope it at least tells you something on the box.
Wait, where’s the box? What box?
Jasmine Sylvia Aug 2016
Can you still hear it when the angels sing? Your car radio only seems to play static stations these days, as if it knows how empty it's gotten inside of your head. Damaged goods, that's what your mother always called it. Something that's just not good enough because the last person to touch you didn't read the signs that said, "fragile, handle with care". Did you forget to tell them your bones were made of glass? Did you let them know the person before had already shattered a few? I guess that's why you drink so much, just something to numb away the pain. It must be hard to feel anything at all when you're two bottles deep, passed out in someone else's bed because you cling to anything that remotely resembles a home. Something warm, at least that's what you'd like to think. If only the people who touched you didn't quit so quickly. Cold turkey, hands that turn your skin to frost. Nothing warm about it other than the heat in your cheeks at night before you start to cry. You're just feeling sorry for yourself because there's no "do not disturb" button for you to click. No way to tell someone you need to be left alone because your heart is too wounded to fight another war. If only you hadn't been so nuclear. Full of energy that bursted and took out the wrong people. Always pouring yourself into a new body and constantly coming up empty. You've given away so many of your pieces that there's no way to connect the dots and define yourself. Stuck in a body you no longer recognize. You'd like to call it identity theft but the person inside can't scream out quite loud enough. Somehow they've fallen so far down the rabbit hole that even the Hatter thinks it's far too gone to bring back. I know when you were little they said that if you ever got lost to just call for help, but there's nothing more you can do when nobody wants to pick up the phone.
Alayna Mae Dec 2016
I feel drained
As if every last drop from my veins bursted
I feel tired
As if my mind teased me of sleep
I feel lost
As if I was kidnapped and forced to escape
I feel triggered
As if a gun is the only answer for my anger
Willem van Waas Oct 2013
When the lucidity of love lingers,
And the fire from the heart keeps burning.
As passion slips through the fingers,
All that once was, is turning.

The embers that bursted into flames,
Fueled by the very first embrace,
Sparked by the taste of her lips,
And the curly strip of hair across her face.

But when the sparks fade away,
And the thick mist thins out,
Loves powers decay; hearts turn to clay,
And the sun gets blocked by a cloud.

Though when love is like mine for you,
After many years, it will still be true.
Daisy Vallely Oct 2016
It's been a decade since i’ve seen my beloved… the last time was bittersweet. You left me blue like clouds ******* the hue out of the sky, and releasing warm rain that purifies the unclean. I smelled the rain. I bathed in the burning cleanse that gave me life. My life.. like a blanket of recycled cloths, patched together with fraying threads.
I was Cleo, and you were Osiris… I broke the bulb and bursted the light, and awoke in your darkness. Your darkness that I could taste like ****, sweet,somber lollipops from the waiting room of your fortress.
I can still feel the crevices of your patterned finger tips grazing the edges of my blue aura… I vibrated in your presence and just like that, we were one, together at last without life to tell us how to live… We didn’t need to live. When our lips fell dry of all conflict, you used to say to me… “There is no hell… but the afterlife is blue”
Sometimes now i float through time as if it’s a shopping outlet invaded by stores I have no interest in, striding down the pavement with no intention of absorbing my surroundings… no intention of acknowledging this measurement that tells me the answer of “when”.
You were just a color to me… Once I was a yellow daisy and you were a green machine that kicked and screamed… But once we danced together… we turned blue.
I am not blue because I am depressed, foreboding, or desperate… I’m blue because all I embody is myself, as this colorful existence. You were you, too.. and you were so blue. Your palace was nothing but a blue dream in a blue burst of my thoughts… and your memory was nothing but the smell of blue… then some day suddenly, I smelled nothing at all.


© 2016 D.M.V
Marco Avre Feb 2013
Maybe it's true,
Maybe it's true that you are March and April's pollen,
Maybe it's true that you are the shadow of the sun,
maybe it's true that you are a dream of god.

Maybe I am a gale,
One of those warm but gruff,
those that can mess with your hair,
but never impregnate you.

Maybe it's true,
Maybe you told me, maybe you did,
that our love, only at times
looked like it was going to live

Maybe it was born dead,
with forgotten bones,
Maybe it was only mine,
this cold fruit of sharpened longings
embodied in my chest.

So, don't speak of my love.
I ask you don't speak of my love,
Don't speak of it as if it was yours.
The thorn is yours,
the scar is mine,

the scar of all these years,
you have bitten,
you have scratched it,
don't speak of it
as if it was yours,

as if your hands had been chopped
in the wood of his coffin,
as if your mouth had gotten wet
right before you gave him bread,

as if you heart had wallowed
in the torture of his quietness,
as if your ears had bursted
in the second he stopped breathing,

so don't speak of my love,
I ask you, don't speak of my love
Don't speak of it as if it was yours,
as if it was yours...

— The End —