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Awe
inhale, breathe,
let it go....
strike a match,
let it flow...
give it air, space,
give it something sweet to taste...

feeling the air, humidity,
sticky moments here with me...

shadows looming, pouring like rain
effort put forth [again and again]
inhale-- breathe... let it go...
my feelings, my therapy,
ALL in what i see.

rise, fall-- shadows looming
flowing in awe, giving the air that sweet taste--
of the sweet serum on my face...
eyes open wide, full of suprise....

so strike a match, let it flow,
give it air, have a taste,
oh-- i can imagine the look on your face.

speaking of memories--
happy, sad, a few inbetween
its always interesting-- what they do to me.

shadows calling, continuing--
cliffhanger, devour me!

humid, hot, sticky--
fresh, clever--
enveloped in my senses
caught in delight..
just--

watching...
yell me, what did i mention? witness?
inspired by an event told by text message.
“When we hand down
This flag to posterity
Paying prices of life
To the country's
Age-old sovereignty
It is  with a word of caution
'This generation
Should accord due attention
To handing down
To the coming generation
A new Ethiopia
To fruits of development
A cornucopia!' ”

“Yes, grandpa
Working day and night
We shall take Ethiopia
To a new developmental height!

Once Ethiopia was great
How could we that forget?

The country's renaissance
Firm we shall advance!

For common growth
Resources we
Shall harness,
Allowing the region
Soar with wings of success!”//

I am happy to announce the birth of my poetic drama
In the Vortex of Passion's Wind
By United P.C-publication without risk and quickly (Austria)
ISBN 978-3-7103-2109-2
Release date09092015
GBP14,90
About the book
Shock treatments that attend the wrong turns of life reshape people's mindset anew and nudge them out of their slumbers. On the other hand, as forewarned is forearmed, the sagacious learn from the lapse of the trigger-happy than indulge in the vortex of passion's wind. Miss not this page turner and cliffhanger mainly dealing with ***/AIDS in a campus of a country worst hit by the pandemic.

Please buy and read the book.You could also get your collection of poems published by www.unitedP.c-publishquickly and without a risk
A poem I wrote on a flag day nothing the national feeling being eroded by cultural imperialism
Jon Tobias Dec 2010
One day

I am going to look out my bedroom window and say

It’s a nice day outside

One day

I will learn to love the heat and not the cold cushion of my bed

I will love the sand under my feet

And I will not be afraid to get wet

Run face first and dive into the hissing water

And say

**** my phone

I don’t need it anymore

Let it soak

Because if you’re not here with me now

You’re probably ******* your computer with your fingertips

What’s my status?

Alive ******* and not at home

I never will be again

I have seen one too many earthquakes

From behind the white walls of this house

Wondered too many times

what a mountain tastes like

Blood and teeth I bet

What a river feels like

Rushing white and rapid beneath me

What adrenalin feels like when I have to catch myself from falling

Rather than catch my breath from watching

Another bomb explode in some cliffhanger I am not hanging from

Here is your noose

Made of zipties and wires

The day I die

I will greet god

diving into a valley of his own creation

Rather than in a place of mine

The last thing I will ever text

I am not here

And if you are not with me

You are reading this

******* your phone somewhere

You had your chance

I got mine

And I’m taking it
Frisk Feb 2014
the only times i tried to sink was into the ocean of
your head and climb the trees of your branches and
remember every hole made by woodpeckers, every
crease in your body like origami, every complex
part of you that i knew, i would never be able to grasp
2. my body is a guillotine, and you're in my chokehold
3. if i could explain how warped and unpredictable
my head can get, you would think i needed rehabilitation,
but i don't need rehab, i need you and since you're never
around, i feel myself draining and breaking apart again
4. if you're a book, why do you seem to abruptly
stop in midsentences? and why am i so eager for
the cliffhanger to continue?
5. you make me wanna puke until my lungs give
out but why did i wake up at three am crying
tears of joy at the simple fact that you want to
see me again after everything that's happened?
6. i would break the waves in half to bring you
back from drowning in your self hatred, bring
back the old you, and throw out the new you
7. i am not typical, i am original, so don't treat
me like i'm everyone else you meet.

- kra
Spencer Dennison Jun 2014
I want to be better. But not the kind of better you see on the billboards advertising gyms or the ones mentioned in the hymns sung by entire choirs of liars and deniers of bad desires. I want to be better in the worst way possible.

I want to play air-guitar concerts for stuffed animals, I want to be able to smile in a way that leaves contempt snuffed out like a candle-cap. I want to be able to rap in Chinese.

I want to be able to reinvent the word 'cool', hang out with absolute tools and not just because somebody has to. I want to be able to rule my own mind and mind my own rules. I want to find my running shoes so when I go to the fight behind the dollar store, I'll remember what I bought them for.

I want to be so much more and all these issues I can't ignore be much less. I want to make myself confess how much I love my friends, turn dead-ends into new beginnings and then spend my lottery winnings on a stranger because the only danger I see is never having been able to know them.

The truth is, I'll never be the icon of an attractive guy. I'm never be able to buy a girl a drink and not have her immediately think of what kind of a clod I am that thinks that kind of thing still works.

I keep finding myself trying to rewrite my history where the cliffhanger at the end has a parachute. Where minute details matter less and I can say I tried my best and people noticed.

I will one day be better but I'll always still be me and honestly, I think I'd still sell my inheritance to put enough money down the wishing well to make the two days you were in love with me swell into an eternity.

But we both have other things to be doing than loving someone. We have legacies we have to build on the our bare backs and suicide attacks that need to be led.

And let it be said that I have not  a clue-'n'-half how this turned into a love poem...

but in my head there is a world where in that time and place, I didn't need to be better.

I wasn't perfect. I was good enough.
Luna Fides May 2016
I told you before.
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
And I will write stories in between our thighs
about how you read me until the ******
just to leave you with a cliffhanger.
I will plot chapters on your tongue
Make sure I go in and out,
And all around.
I will make sure you remember that
I taste like fully fleshed out tragedies,
I will create pages out of
the way your eyes looked like at sunset
or the way you brushed your hands through my hair
then rip them all out.
I will tattoo letters on your skin,
I will make the words bleed out of your being
You will know how it feels to be broken into pieces,
and still be considered a masterpiece.
Because I told you didn’t I?
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
and I can love you too
and destroy you
all the same.
Allyssa Apr 2019
A story isn’t a story without the beginning.
A beginning that told us from the start that there was an end,
An end so near that we were not ready.
I was afraid of the cliffhanger that approached quicker than a rolling thunderstorm,
A storm that looked only of dark skies with hopes of a drizzle,
Not a flood.
Our passion died like the fire within that storm,
The drizzle that turned from a downpour into a flood warning into a whirling tornado of unhappiness.
My dear, I wish I could say we were the storm but I was the rain and you were the fire but the thing was,
You saw me coming.
You saw the storm and the rain yet you lit yourself upon a dry Sahara of promises and the secret I do’s we whispered to each other during the night.
That dry, crackled earth turned soft and squishy from the waves of turmoil that rained down onto the surface,
The fire doused with remorse over a lost lover.
You weren’t dead,
You just left without saying goodbye.
The ****** was nothing of a ****** but a steady decline of I love you’s to, “Have a good life,”
To barely talking,
To trailing down a hill to the very end of our story,
Regret.
I regret everything but you, my darling.
The damp earth will grow again and while I may remember the dry Sahara,
I will grow a rainforest of color without you in it.
I’m back.
Theia Gwen Apr 2014
I once knew a boy
Who breathed in words like air
We crafted a book together
And selected each sentence with great care

That boy was the best part of every genre
He flowed like sweet poetry,
Kept my thoughts racing like a thriller,
And never gave everything away like all good mysteries  

But that boy left cold turkey
Scrawled me a messy ending
He would never bother to rewrite
I guess that he was only pretending

I never thought you
Would pull a Mockingjay on me
Unsatisfied and bitter
Is how I will forever be

Because our love is a cliffhanger
And you pushed me over the edge
The days waiting for you like
The wind carrying ripped pages

It was anticlimactic
No closure in sight
You let go like it was nothing
While I hold on with all my might

And so you will continue
To breathe in hearts
The way you do air
To you, it's become an art

I will carry on
Gripping a jutting branch called hope
I'll pray you give me a sequel
To the romance we wrote
I had to insult Mockingjay, i'm sorry. I just had to.
Tony Scallo Aug 2013
Life. Such a small word, yet remains vague and unanswerable to many people. A word which concurrently breeds curiosity and fear inside a simple mind that continuously runs wild with questions. A word who’s meaning can only be defined as a never ending cliffhanger, leaving you with the gut aching suspense of a never resolved story. Controlling our lives like a marionette puppet with the strings being attached to the four characters L, I, F, and E. But alas, we are all blinded by the light paved into the road we created ourselves. A cracked road filled with the seeds of our generation, aided in growth from our blinded light with ambitions of reaching the sun. We give our seeds a warm reality, which sparks the blossom it’s wanted to expose to the world, the reason it was given a chance as a seed to begin with. Some people look at what that flower has to brought into their lives and cherish it, while others hide around a dark corner with harsh opinions and rationalizations. Around that corner a cold reality is approaching, causing a cherished life to be cut short. That life though, it never dies. For before it shriveled up, it did something amazing. After that flower blossomed, a gust of determination carried the seeds of it’s knowledge throughout the world to be seen as inspiration. Inspiration, and to once again ambitiously sprout from the crack in the road we’ve so blindly created.
He pondered over the note he wrote,
Sat hunched and cold in his chair,
He nodded once as he read it then
And signed the bottom with flair,
The house was not even stirring then
As he rose, looked out at the sea,
It said, ‘By the time you see this, Jen,
I’ll be hanging from some old tree.’

Then he slipped on out to the breaking day
As the dawn was beginning to spread,
He should have been further along than this,
By now, he should have been dead.
He’d heard them stir in the attic room
When he’d come in late from the bay,
His wife and a lifelong friend of his
Who’d thought he was still away.

He’d heard the sound of them making love
As he crept to the attic door,
His face turned white in the passage light
As he sank to the passage floor.
The tears had welled at his eyes at last
As he crept back down the stairs,
He’d lost a friend and his woman, Jen,
And the love that he thought was theirs.

He wandered over the grassland there
To the woods at the edge of the cliff,
But not forgetting to take the coil
Of rope, he held at his hip.
He wondered how many times they’d met
While he was away at sea,
And laughed, the minute his back was turned
To leave him no dignity.

Then pictures rose in his troubled mind
That he shouldn’t have had to think,
He cursed himself, for he must be blind
When his friend had tipped her a wink,
The pain was really too much to bear
For he’d lost not one, but two,
He’d loved them both, she’d broken her oath
And his friend had betrayed him too.

He found a tree, hung over the cliff
That was old and gnarled and bent,
With a sturdy branch that would do the trick,
It was too late to relent.
He flung the rope and he made it fast
Then fashioned the hangman’s knot,
It would swing him out and over the sea
And send him where time forgot.

He tugged on the rope to test the branch
To see if it took his weight,
Dropped the loop down over his head
When a voice cried out, ‘Just wait!’
He turned to see his Jen on the path
That ran alongside the cliff,
‘What are you doing, my love, my love,
Is my love worth less than this?’

She said she’d gone for a walk that night,
Hadn’t been able to sleep,
‘Your friend is up in the attic room
With a woman from Warley Heath.
He only met her a week ago,’
She said, ‘and borrowed the bed.
He said that you wouldn’t mind, but I
Wasn’t impressed,’ she said.

He pulled the rope from over his head
And he hugged his woman tight,
‘I’m such a fool, but I thought that you
And he… It was such a fright!’
The sun beamed down and it seemed to say
That a love so strong was rare,
While a gnarled old tree drooped over the sea
With its rope, still hanging there.

David Lewis Paget
mark john junor Sep 2014
thorns in the thicket of thought and
thistles of the heart's crown makes a bitter tea
which she pours thin for her porcelain dolls
with plaster-of-paris cakes 'n' cookies neatly adorned
with christmas colors daintily painted in blood and tears
the bard speaks the rueful tale with cliffhanger pauses
and excited joyous moments enclosed in the
crisp images of winter wonderland
the bard is a figure of such stories
long white beard and eyes that twinkle like stars
but now that the tale is told
the song sung.....
the bard retires his joyful face in his private room
with its smoky mirrors
and clutter of memorials to his younger days
his words once on the powdered lips of elegance
now are the dirt stained humble man's bread and butter
they were grand stories
they were adoration's to velvet goddesses....
but now they are but thorns in the thicket of thought
picturesque visions of nubile nymph's only sadden the old man
the bard packs away his joyful face
it is for the readers whom he loves
the road weary eyes linger upon her lace
she was a beautiful moment of summer in his winter life
she's now a sacred image protected by
thorns in the thicket of thought
Jessica Leigh Sep 2014
"The future is even harder to hold onto
When you have no chance of living it."
-Anna Gray
Sara Reilly Feb 2016
good bad girl. fight like a boy. tsunami driftwood. raincloud no silver lining, where lightning strikestwice. bare feet hot cement. kidnapped girl in the polaroid. let me check my schedule. curiosity...cat. eggshells. prescription candy. thru the looking glass. holden red hunting cap. tyler/jack. why ophelia never learned to swim. hold my scissorhands. Drucilla. natural disaster. scartissue love tattoo addiction pain dissociation association. carrie bradshaw's evil twin. holly-go-lightly meets courtney love. wednesday adams grows up. marla singer's song. bad dreamer. caufield's *******, cobain sympatico. makes sid viscious look tame, e. edward grey esq.& miss. holloway synthesis. the white rabbit. igby. anti-heroine, captain jack's sparrow. temptation/seduction/truth cliffhanger. ticking sleep bomb, roman candle(lit). spilled milk guilt. poppy field dreamer. cafeconleche. waternymph/siren/pixie, hideandseeker. riotgrrlchild. fallen angel-demons beware. blindfoldedandbound,if swallowed contact doctor immediately. good veins. contagious, mixedbreed badmanners. moodswinger. shadowboxer. wrong side of the tracks. superlowrisepunkass. theonemamawarnedyouabout, chaoscalamity&charisma;, irresiatible&incorrigible;, neverlearnedmy lesson. kneehighs and runners thighs. handlewithcare. klepto-crinalin and hypno-medicine, tomboy/schoolgirl. skeptickeyebrow. *****-flirty. cherrybombpocketpacker, hardcandy. sociopathsister. victim of my own past. hunter/hunted. bootstrap-trapped. is that my blood? just a minute while i reinvent myself.

i’d like to meet:  
everyone i have forgotten and everyone who has forgotten me
David Hall Aug 2015
years ago I know not exactly when
my journey came to a quiet end
I retired here to these spacious halls
to live out my days inside these walls
I’ll tarry here forever more
while life goes on outside my door

I had my days beneath the sun
the sun has set but my days go on
life’s river flows on towards the sea
but I find myself upon the beach
and whatever life was left to live
has flowed well, beyond my reach
"Some people die at 25 and aren't buried until 75."
Benjamin Franklin
Simpleton Dec 2015
I found her
Kissing her knees
Cupping her neck
Gasping to feel a pulse
Nails bitten to the core
Spewing profanities
About how everyday ends on a cliffhanger
She stood slowly
Defiantly
Tiny and dainty
Hair a messy mane
A lioness
Concealed beneath layers of indifference
Her hands trembled
And her body swayed
I won't beg she growled
Feral and wild
As though her lips were not a flat line like that on a heartbeat monitor
She reminds me of what it felt like to be betrayed
And what it felt like to be loved
She made me want to get involved in something I no longer believe in
I am a cathedral of deadbolts
And she made me want to change the locks
Butch Decatoria Feb 2019
MEGA-man! & The s i c k l y  WORLD!

“Who survives?!”

Each other’s exhalations.
Nigel Obiya Jun 2010
Self analysis?
Or self induced creative paralysis?
There's a fine line
Between correcting, perfecting... and losing your spine
Mine
Is a critical look at what I do
And it's a positive, laid back method too
Go with the flow
Make you read it quicker/faster/sprinting
Michael Johnson... or, slow... mo'
"These new generation poets, they just don't know no more"... They say
The older generation, fail to understand how we play
With words... swim with the sharks
And glide with birds
Dangerous sometimes... poetic cliffhanger
Still stronger
Faith is unbreakable... diamond
lasts longer
You see?
It's 'kicking', like a thousand ninjas...
And Bruce Lee.
BiZZiLL da' WORDSMITH.- From LOOSE CANNON
Bruised Orange Oct 2011
it'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget*


we sit and talk
art and beauty, love and fear
my heart cracking open,
and you, rushing in.

we sit and talk,
play at the deadly game
ignore the consequences
shun the inconsistencies.
the words, words, words
they swirl,
and we slip, we slip, we slip

--its a real cliffhanger

hearts on sleeves
music weaves
stories come to light

secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot

we sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through
fields of daffodils
under dark skies
with rainbows.

(scene change now)

in dark of night
i squeeze out hope
from my heart.
god ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side, leaves
me bleeding on the floor.

and you, fool you are
rush to my aid.

if you're saving me,
who's saving you?

you with your secret
decoder ring from your
box of caramel corn.
cracking my heart,
you peel my layers.

your questions run deep
but your feet will run faster,
and i'll fall, i'll fall, i'll fall.

gravity's a real drag,
i've felt it's pull before.

me with my third eye
see the pan and play.
this show will end
leaving us all sitting
in our seats wanting
another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.
this ain't Disney.

we'll feel like we've been
ripped, ripped, ripped

no refunds here,
go file your complaint
with the man upstairs.

the audience stands,
turns to go.

white elephants know there's
no silver lining, no *** of gold.
they threw popcorn at the screen
but you didn't notice.

i always hated white elephants;
i thought you did too.
who invited them to the show?

we step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause

this hail falls down
on a sunny blue day.
afraid to touch you, but

i want to catch you in my mouth.

would you please
just go away
before i end up with lumps
on my head, in my throat?

my eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail, this ill fated show


--bruised orange
Xander Duncan Feb 2015
He is a book that was recommended to me just after I passed the shelf on which he was displayed
When I said I hadn’t been reading much lately
Life gave me a chapter full of pictures to begin with
And told me that one page at a time is still progress
In fact, one page at a time is the only way to make progress
He’s a well-read book with new words for every reader
And instead of leaving paper cuts on my hands he leaves ink stains
There are golden letters on his spine that I’ve taken to tracing absentmindedly every time I re-read a phrase
And dog eared pages that I’m not sure I have the authority unfold
He’s captivating
And quickly becoming my favorite story
He is English as a second language and still teaching me more about my tongue than I ever knew
Translating fears into excitement and confusion into intrigue
I didn’t know my skin was cryptic until he decided to decode me
But now I’m fascinated with hunting for the hieroglyphics in his neurons
Listening to tales spun by our own curiosity
Story time trumps bed time whenever possible
And when we decide that language itself is sometimes a ****** up means of communication
We try for morse code heartbeats and braille necklines and bizarre entanglements of hands
And when we decide that sometimes language itself is the best thing in the world
We talk the hours of the clock down to ticking hands and hourglass sand
Or get distracted and I’ll decide that I could travel the world in one night using the roadmaps in his veins
Where I’ll get lost and ask for directions and go through the same streets again anyway
Because I didn’t see everything the first time around and I really enjoy the journey
He is a pronoun that sounds good between my teeth and tastes like learning how to whisper before you learn how to speak
One of those words that I was never sure I was pronouncing right because I learned it by reading alone and deciphering based on context and roots
But he’s also one of those words where once you learn it you start hearing it all the time
And you swear that the whole world acquired this new term with you at once
He is nostalgia in a new experience
Nostalgia-- roots meaning home, or to return home, and a pain or sickness
He’s a homesickness that draws me to him every night
And he is a wanderlust that draws me away from the home I’ve known
Convincing me that comfort zones need exploring the same way tropical zones do
He is an encyclopedia on staying warm in Michigan winters
An atlas from desert countries
And a topographical map that makes me think
I could learn to like geography
Or cartography because he knows that the best way to record new terrain is to explore it first
And I’m content to be a notebook full of scribbles detailing the peaks and valleys and abandoned alleys
And arrhythmic patterns of wind set to traverse through tracheas, reaching lungs only when necessary
He’s the breath I forgot to take when a cliffhanger was resolved
And I don’t always know if I’m a page-turner or just a bookmark within one
But he’s a genre that’s meant to be read under the covers with a booklight until the sun comes up and reminds you that time isn’t as frozen as you hoped it was
And even when I don’t know if we’re on the same page
He tells me that there’s a reason that books have more than one
And I’ve never been good at guessing how stories are going to end
But I'd like to spend some more time reading
This is a short story that was written for a contest  'Magic with a cliffhanger'


The young magician had waited all day for his audition on Britain’s Got Talent.

He arrived at the concert hall in London at 7am, even though the doors did not open until 9am. Being two hours early however did not put him at the front of the queue, and the smile of anticipation turned into a scowl when he saw the crowd around the entrance. Hundreds of contestants, both young and old, and boy did they look weird.

Jimmy came from a normal family, and lived in a normal street with other normal people. Looking at this group of strangely dresses misfits, normal did not have any part in their lives.

His first inclination had been to turn away and get the bus back home, but his determination to show his true talent to the obnoxious Simon Cowell helped him overcome his disgust at what he saw in front of him.

He forced himself to join the disorganised mob that he deemed an excuse for a queue and after a few minutes, he found himself wedged between an overweight middle-aged woman and an extremely tall teenager. The woman wore a bright yellow suit with red buttons, and volunteered the information that she had always wanted to run away to the circus to become a clown. Jimmy nodded and gave her a weak smile, a smile that masked his silent opinion that the woman was crazy. Fortunately, the tall teenager kept his ambitions to himself, though the fact he wore a frogman’s outfit did have Jimmy wondering.

When the doors opened a man holding a megaphone came out and bellowed a welcome to the rabble, and he tried to create some sort of order to the aforementioned queue. His attempt failed and as that was the last Jimmy heard of him, he could only assume the man went down at the weight of the pressing mob.

Eventually Jimmy obtained a ticket with the number 304 written on it in bold felt-tipped pen. “304” thought Jimmy, “three hundred and ruddy four, I'll be here hours”.

And it did take hours, hours of purgatory before his number came to the top of the list, hours surrounded by the strangest and most pathetic people that Jimmy had ever met.
Minutes later introductions were made to the two grinning imbeciles that he had seen many times before on the television screen on what seemed like every Saturday evening since he had been born. Suddenly there was a camera in his face as they asked him about props and music. Jimmy shook his head and answered the smiling duo, “I don’t need anything, just my wand and this black cloth”

Ant and Dec ushered the young magician onto the stage.

Jimmy was momentarily stunned at the size of the audience, and more so at the noise they made.

Pulling his thoughts together and taking a deep breath Jimmy walked to the centre of the stage and stood in front of the microphone.

“Hello, what’s your name?” asked one of the female judges.

“My name is Jimmy,” answered the young magician.

“And what are you going to do for us today?”

“I am going to make Simon disappear”

The crowd roared with laughter, the noise was quite overwhelming and Jimmy stepped back a few feet feeling quite dizzy.

Simon Cowell got to his feet waving his hands at the audience and spoke to Jimmy.

“OK, young Merlin, it seems like this unruly mob want to see your trick. Do you want me to come on stage, or are you going to magic me away from there”.

Jimmy regained his composure when he heard Simon’s pleasant voice, and saw his beaming smile.

“Can you come up here please,” said Jimmy.

Simon walked up the steps onto the stage and stood before Jimmy.

Jimmy unfolded the black cloth that he had been holding, it became bigger and bigger as it unfolded and the crowd roared with yet more laughter.

The young magician asked Simon to cover himself in the cloth, which he did without objection.

The crowd roared some more as they heard Simon shout out. “Hurry up Jimmy, I can’t see anything from under this cloth, and I'm scared of the dark”.

Jimmy took out his wand and waved it around while he mumbled a few well-chosen mystical words.

“Hubble, bubble, away from here, obnoxious Simon disappear”

Jimmy tapped the black cloth that was completely covering the self-professed “biggest man in show business”.

The black cloth crumpled to the stage in a small pile as the cheers and screams grew louder as the audience witnessed the disappearance of Simon.

Jimmy knelt down and refolded the black cloth as Ant and Dec strolled onto the stage both clapping in unison.

“Brilliant,” said Ant.

“Where is he”, said Dec.

“Gone” replied Jimmy...

as he walked off stage.
This is a short story that was written for a contest  'Magic with a cliffhanger'
Hewasminemoon Aug 2014
find me at the bottom
in the disorder
i'm just stuck in this spot
forgive me if i'm ever on my knees
you are a cliffhanger ending
and i'm the one who doesn't know anything
you're making it hard for me
i'm anticipating
til I fall asleep
please don't lose hold of me
i'm not a lost cause
what you've given me is more than i can say
wish i could explain
i know i lose my heart so easily
tell me when you feel ready
sooner or later
i'll stay right here
till you're right here
Except for the title, this poem was written using only lyrics from the artist, Lights.
Nicole Fox Oct 2013
Lately your belly laughs and dry humor are flooding my mind. The only times we make eye contact are over volleyball nets and ice cream sales. Once the most important man in my life, you no longer fill the position. I fired you.
But then again, it’s like you quit. Instead of asking me about my day, you tell me about your new girlfriend. I’m beginning to forget the directions in which the wrinkles around your eyes move. I can’t exactly pinpoint your gray hairs anymore. You once embraced me with a father’s love but now pat your hand on my back.
Despite the frigid weather when you left, it didn’t seem so cold. But nine months has now felt like nine years and the temperature has only declined. It’s no surprise considering communication has never been your strong suit. Every time you speak is a cliffhanger. I am dangling from heights unknown, waiting for an answer that may not come. I want to submerge myself in your company and harmonize our voices in conversation. How are you?
My eyes do not reflect the chocolate brown in yours but instead radiate blue like the ocean. Unfortunately this is not our only contrast. Funny how years ago our faces were so similar but now that things have changed our only mutual feature is our height.
You’re half my original chromosomes but I don’t even know half of your day. Where do you go when it’s dark and the moon is shining down over you? What do you call home? Your absence is a mystery I cannot solve. The position I once promised you has been filled by a more qualified candidate; you wonder why I’m always with my boyfriend.
Although I am angry, I am sure this is unintentional. My hope is that this is only temporary. The only question is, how long will you be gone; when will you re-apply?
miss you
Jessica Leigh Jul 2014
I think of all the things in the world,
The future is the hardest thing
To hold onto.
Richard Riddle Dec 2016
It was an era in which we needed ......."heroes!" Those years preceding, during, and after WW II. The movie going public clamored for them.....and we got them! Those "cliffhanger" movie serials! 12 to 16 episodes, each averaging 12 to 15 minutes in length.Masked crusaders battling foreign agents....or..............the "mad scientist" who, in his laboratory, developed a contraption to melt mountains enabling him to rule the world....or just a crusader to protect the public from any villain bent to disrupt society as we knew it.
The science fiction heroes, Superman, Captain Marvel, Flash Gordon . Buck Rogers, "King" of the Rocketmen(there was only 'one) and  countless others.
All doomed to die, in some fashion, at the end of each episode, whether it being surrounded by villains, or in  a vehicle last seen rolling off the edge of a cliff with our hero trapped inside, unconscious and........ helpless........so we thought. And we returned, each week, to see how such a fate was averted. And, we loved them.
They enriched our pride, putting our country"first",  proving that "good..........conquered evil. We felt good about ourselves and.......


We still.........................can.......'united'

(Where are you when we need you!)

r.riddle: 12-11-2016
Originally titled "AfterWW II", I changed it to "Cliffhangers." They began in the mid 1930's, although there were some in the "silent" movie years.
Hi Gibson, of Algonquins table. i want to accept that your comments are elderly and full of  scholastic charm. I have been appreciative to you in each and every situation. I still promise that i will listen to you in the future.I have looked at your photography it shows you are an elder. in this perspective an intellectual elder and an elder in the global community without regard to race and geography. you are the age of my father and thus i am bound to respect you as my father.However, i am intellectually emboldened by both logic,reason,ethics and wisdom of the times to differ with you on a few factors in relation to my story poem humanity of Jesus Christ.First you over focused on my grammatical and typing mistakes in relation to English language  and also on the issue of whether Nazareth was in the colony or it was a colony.By this selfish focus you failled to remember that my inference of Nazareth as a  colony was simply my employing of a poetic tool of synechdoche.I can use one to refer to all or all to refer to one.Just like the same synechdochal experience we have in the bible where Jesus was referred to as son of David , son of man, son of God, and so forth.My in ability to use  written English which can impress you should be  seen as an intellectual anachronism. I am not a chauvinist of English language. I have my own native language which is more mature than English. i don't have any motivation to treat a deficient language like English with any earnest. Secondly i wanted you to see the point of Jesus physical deformity, afilliative relationship with Mary Magdalene and the experience of his mother in the bombazine. you have not seen this.When his brothers slavishly laboured for  Joseph of Aremathea and Yude his last brother slapped him you have deliberately refused to see.
There is another problem i want to point out,i was responding to Theodore not you , but you came out in full combat armed to your teeth with drones of your academic superlativity. Here you are wrong. You lacked the virtue of intellectual humility. Why are you always joining Theodore and his foot soldiers to attack other participants on this table ? or you want me to forgive you by concluding that all Americans have a burden of proving to be Americans and hence this tempo of cliffhanger civilization ?
The references you have mentioned in your riposte lack the element of universality. Most of them are published in north America.These preceded by a current world quagmire that usually in every social , political and intellectual situations North Americans fail to have behave publicly by wanting every thing to look American . And even their social researches have always been skewed by a bias that the results must ring an American tone.You have not quoted any work written in french language,Russian language, Germany language nor Arabic  only not mention Yiddish. You have displayed an avoidable limitation.Kindly research again into humanity of Jesus Christ for the benefit of those who depend on you intellectually.

Thanks

Alexander k  Opicho
Eldoret,Kenya
Jade Mar 2019
I swallowed
the sound of your name
like it was a star--
five points,  
the type they
teach you to draw
in kindergarten.

It hurt
on its way down,
stalagmites of constellation
catching on my uvula,
hanging on with
astronomical strength.

But this is no cliffhanger.

Do you know what happens next?

I stopped breathing.

You've never deserved
your name,
you know.
"Light giving,"
it means.

Oh,
and how I gave into
the sublime
fallacy
of it.

Because
all you ever did was steal
the moons from my irises.

You treated me like
I was the dirt beneath
your fingernails
(you forsake
the dust on your windowsill--
but don't you know
all dust comes from
the wondrous galaxy that
dwells before us?)

I reached out to you
only to get
c u t
          o f f
at the hands

Still,
I couldn't let you
go,
didn't know how to.
Even when my flame
was reduced
to these weeping cinders,
even when the idealization
I held between my palms
found itself exiled
to this mausoleum
of severed trust,
hatred blossoming
in rosettes against
crumbling tombstones.

The epitaph reads,
"At a loss for words."

Tell me this:
what sort of
"light giver"
doesn't believe in
in the possibility of magic--
in the pinnacle of light itself?

You always thought me
a foolish girl
for dreaming--
naive girl,
silly girl,
wrists blooming
in paper cuts,
always one fairytale
away from insanity.

Until
one day,
I stopped believing
altogether.

And all it took
was a single glance
from those eyes--
glacial sapphires,
your grandest seduction.

Hell itself would have
hardened itself to tundra
at the sight of them.

You always had a way
of contaminating
the things I loved
with a frostbite so lethal,
I would have
gladly dismembered
every hypothermic part
of myself
(every fragment of soul
you ever touched).

Like a shooting star,
I fell for you--
hopelessly.

Catastrophically.

And then the heavens went
dark.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience.)
Ty Aug 2013
why hasn't anyone even noticed
I'm standing on the edge
(tm)
Dauphin Dolphin Jan 2012
I still remember when you first aired
your series premiere. I quickly fell in love
and tuned in every night. I certainly had
no need to record the action,
the comedy, the drama.
Reruns were nostalgic memories
of the new episodes that I never missed.

You couldn’t find the right time slot for me
and we grew apart. It wasn’t the same.
You seldom aired until you stopped airing altogether.
How do you feel knowing that you are my cliffhanger
ending to a canceled show? I could shy away
from television altogether or find a new favorite show
and appreciate what you had to offer when you were around.

Maybe I’ll read a book instead.
I am walking away from the static
rain on the screen. I still remember
the series premiere when you first aired.
Rohan Nath May 2017
Stay holding on to the mountain cliff!
For deep down below all you will find is grief.
You have come too far above touching the sky
Imagine about all you have tolerated to come this high.
You may cry and you possibly will suffer.
But retreat is not your word, for you are a cliffhanger.

An accomplishment never comes too easy.
It’s long twisted road full of obstacles and too messy.
Let your hands sore; Let your legs be numb.
But do not be all gloomy then succumb.
Believe yourself and you can accomplish wonders.
Prove yourself mighty, for you are a cliffhanger.

You will initiate your journey as an unknown.
People will mock at you and you will be thrown.
Don’t listen to them and continue your journey
For there will be a time when you will have glee.
Life will show you the best and worst it can offer.  
Pull yourself up and reach the peak, for you are a cliffhanger.
Patty Nieberg Sep 2015
I didn’t think I’d lose myself in you
Hesitating to fall,
It was a brave conquest
At the edge of it all
Looking down into a pit
And so I went without looking
Convinced that you’d be at the bottom
To crush my fall
Who knew you were the one to push me.
Luna Craft Sep 2015
Humanity is on the rocks
And we are nearing the edge too quickly
Pollution and overpopulation have filled the fallen forests
Popularity is all that matters now
Yet to care about your appearance is vain
Death is glorified to look like a romantic gesture
The world can’t continue like this
We can’t continue like this

— The End —