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patty m Oct 2016
Outside the house
that once was mine
I freeze before the fire
reflected through the pane.

After the icing, with limbs broken,
under heavy weight,
I bow before the icy tundra
drifting in my own dark winter.
zebra Aug 2017
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless

we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever

i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
it's located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco
bright is the sun

i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist

a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma

i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up

i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb

i am the dead living
Irish Ditty.. One fine day, middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other.
haley Oct 2017
The trail of a wedding dress
The flower girl holds with tiny fingers
Clutches

We too hold the endless stain of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black heart
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth

The truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
Alight,

The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease

To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
To burn
What is already charred

Today
It smells like not your favorite food for dinner
It smells like having to do your math homework
It smells like burning books
It smells like gnawing on your own skin for feast
It sounds like tired, howling machines
Spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek

Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
Nameless places
For nothing has gone without the occulent scratching hands taking hold

Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones

Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doors
Today it rains curdled crimson

Tell me shooting star
If the child liked  jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.

As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.

The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed
Seanathon Jul 29
This poem needed an outstretched hand
To save it from defeat

So I laid me down on broken cliffs
And simply reached

To save these words from quiet worlds

I... will not... delete
Hahaha! From The Clutches of Delete
ryn Oct 2014
Brittle dry earth beaming with longing,
For wet kisses from heavy heavens' door,
In soothing rain, finds the heart’s belonging,
Releasing the sweetest aroma...petrichor.

The mist of warm moist wafting playfully,
Kissing and engulfing in a subtle unworldly spin...
A feeling ensnared by the clutches of fond remembrance.
Like the cadence of your breaths upon my parched skin...


A taste of your last dance on my fervent lips,
Awoken with each drop, still makes me thirst,
I lift my head, entranced by memory’s grips,
Craving you, again to make my heart burst.

Here again...two drenched hearts encased in glass,
Latent spectres melded together as they did before,
Promises wrapped and bound to the gaits of the other,
In eternal dance, laced with everlasting redolent petrichor...


Dajena M
**rhymesmith
Another collaboration of thoughts between lovers of a natural phenom.
Shout out to Ms. D. for the magic hidden within her mind, heart and written word. Thank you for another opportunity... Enjoyed it so...
So two down, 8 more to go! ;)

Hope you enjoy this, beautiful people of the universe!
Kitt Jul 2017
A baby clutches his mother’s dress
Unaware of how it will save his life
Unwary of the saving grace that will come to rest
The child is soft and clean
His name is Eugenius, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a babe, no bigger than an infant can be

A toddler clutches his mother’s dress, the hem
Unaware of tragedy
Unwary of the Horror that awaits him
The child is frightened and shaking
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a little one, no taller than Mama’s knee

A child clutches his mother’s hand
Unaware from behind her skirt as they are herded
Unwary of the disaster to come from the cart
His name is Genie, the second of three
Before Mikey, after Richie
He is just a child, no higher than Tata’s knee

A boy holds his brother’s hand tight
Unaware of the danger he is in
Unwary that the coin from Mama’s skirts will save his life
The boy is healthy and strong, though not for long
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Michal, after Richard
He is naïve, but soon to grow up prematurely

A prisoner holds his own shirt, unsure
Unaware of the pain that is coming
Unwary that he shall walk away nevermore
The prisoner is hurting and ******
His name is “Gefangene,” the second of two
After Richard, before the crimson mess
He is crying for a ****** towel carried by

A handicap clutches Mama’s leg
Aware that he cannot cry as she shuffles him out
Wary that outside her skirts is the hunt
The handicap is hurting so badly
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before the new bump
He is unwilling to believe

A kaleka holds tight to his brother’s back
Aware that he is a burden
Wary that he is a load
The kaleka is waiting, waiting.
His name is Gene, second of three
After Richard, before Theresa
The kaleka is ready for release

The dziecko holds again to Mama’s skirt
Aware that he is now free to leave
Wary that he will never be independent
The dziecko is elated and mourning
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Theresa, after Richard
The dziecko will never be the same

Sixty five years later
Gene holds Rosie’s hand tight
Aware that he is old now, having lived fully
Wary that death is imminent at last
The great-grandfather is peaceful and content
His name is Tata, Grandpa, Gene, husband, and more
He is the last one left of his war
The survivor is ready to reunite with his family
He gives thanks to Hattie’s skirts
That kept him alive though the hurts.
Eugeneus Borowski is my great-grandfather, a child Holocaust victim. This piece is currently featured in the World War II poetry unit in the syllabus of a literature course offered through Northern Essex Community College. The only surviving first-hand account of Gene’s experience is a cassette tape of an interview he gave many years ago.
Pagan Paul Feb 2018
.
She walks the castle walls at night,
with a rose held fast in her fingers,
the mist rolls away across the land,
the memory of her lover still lingers.

Cold flagstones beneath her slippered feet
hold the histories of the aeons tight.
Old battles, wars, and terrifying sieges,
ghosts of ancient warriors wail in the night.

And still she clutches his parting gift,
she wears the bond burden of his ring,
his love weighs upon her broken heart,
tears flow free with a melancholic sting.

They fall upon the stones and disappear,
additions to the heavy tomes of history,
little gems writing sadness in a story,
as she stares into the distance so wistfully.



© Pagan Paul (10/02/18)
Tawanda Mulalu Dec 2018
A hand on a throat, where if all fingers touch, the throat
turns to ash. The villain of an anime I now watch
clutches the hero with his middle-finger aired
before the vital moment. I jump
on holiday off a cliff
and my chest stumbles with simulations. My body angled
poorly as I could slap headfirst. I was warned that my feet
should sink first if I merely fall. If I dive, my fingers
should first touch the water. I am depressed
the months before. College student, America. So far off, so cold
from the landlock of my birth. And the summer
study-abroad, double-abroad. In Italy
I was watching the Creation show itself on old ceilings
in marble-rooms, looking for some culture
that might have been ours if not for the pillagings that brought
gold and bodies to shape that gold into buildings like this. So I jump
and fall. And shiver emptily. It is the same feeling as the nights
on the bed thinking of futures without this self. Thinking as if
I did not exist. Ignored emails from therapists. And here this
feeling!
: it made me want to live. So I jump again
on the higher ledge. My friend afterwards asks if I'm okay.
I'm shaking slightly. I'm without words. I laugh
with the same absence as any birth. A baby's confused cry
without tears. A long way down. What blue-green water,
as if dug for in the earth and sold for courtyard dances.
It glimmers all over my body, frizzes
up my hair as my ****** curls soak it, squeezes it down my face,
down towards my neck like fingers.
The villain walks away. The next time the hero sees him
he should be careful. He will have decided to **** me by then.
http://bokunoheroacademia.wikia.com/wiki/Tomura_Shigaraki
Harry Jun 2015
we love
and we love to be loved
but we won't make up our minds
deciding which one we prefer.
we love
and I love the love we love.
I've loved to love the love
that loves the both of us.

So touch the both of us with the love I love so much;
brush away the lust
that clutches to the love I've loved to love:
the love that loves to love the both of us
so much.
zebra Jun 2016
she came to me one day
the *****
beautiful like a girls choir
singing Latina L'Amour
moving her bottom
like a metronome

her ******* a cascade of kindness
that break the hearts of men
they die
for those
blouse muffins
her smooth legs and feet
made for *** art
lickity splits and ****** contortions
while her wiggly *** and ****
tell you
what heaven would be like
hips that sway  traffic
causing pile ups
and fender benders
and make good boys
hopeful about being chosen
perhaps anointed
and judged worthy
but alas  
turn good boys into
chronic *******-rs
in dim midnight closets
or trawling *** criminals

at the very sight of her
my soul buckled
i wanted her
like darkness
needs a lantern
like blood
needs cells

she looked at me
with ****** in her eyes
it would make my **** wet to hurt you
she said with a soft tremor
ill **** yours for hours
tongue toy
losange
gullets prey
girl food

will you earn your suffering
adore my goddess ***
and lick it **** and span
kiss my beautiful feet
with tender devotion
pray for cruel ***** abuse
be consumed
by ******* jaws
thrill me
love me
flood me
with blood
and ****
die for me
my love

as i looked into
her hollowed
desperate soul
so eager
and felt deeply her need
and loved her to tears
to broken hearts mend

to struggle with
the dark angle
unrequited love
to expunge
years of vacant stares
of nameless women
and empty beds
to forget foreboding
bath cabinets bereft
of girly things
like
lolly pop pink lipstick
cherry sherbet nail polish
lacquered hardened coats  
aerated perfumed clouds
of vanilla candies
and fashionable
demonic party masks
over black brooding mascara
on almond eyes
hiding hot embers
cool and staring hungry

while wrenched obsessive
for the feminine
that drag my soul
through long coffin
hollow gullies
that drive me
to invocations
of Hecate
sacrificial blood rituals
voodoo trances
god forms
and black art astrologers
who have the power
to move planets
through space
and change fates

oh so wrong
yet i must
for loves sake
say yes to her
yes to her for pleasures sake
even if in the end
i am left to moan
to howl at a blood moon
with in the confines
of her dark edged
appetite
ascending in sin
as she ***** me
like she hates me

yes my beloved
to vanquish numbness

she consoles
my willingness  
excites
i felt her adoration

be brave for me
she murmured
sadists are cowards
teach me surrender
you are glorious
in my clutches

i made my self ready
positioned my self
as per her instructions
face down
legs apart
on a bed of nails
happy in my pit
as she played
a whole lotta love
by led zeppelin
blood swollen ****
oozy
for her tender kisses
and brutal schemes

the masochists tao

to denigrate oneself
to kiss your goddess feet
to lick your perfect ****
to adore your prim rose ****
to taste your lips of fire
to tangle in your silky locks
to see your eyes a blaze
to drink your saliva nectar
to eat your crumbs
to lick your *** clean
to be beaten
to your satisfaction
to drown in your *******
to hold you close
to take pleasure
in your cruelty
to suffer for your delight
to be
the sacrificial lamb
to be a victim
in an ****** dream
with jaws and teeth

she took me inside
smiled  like a feral
lust twisted child
took out a
scalped handled knife
brushed it across
my tummy and *****
terror brewed
excitement struck
my **** got so hard
she grinned
and salivated
like a Satanic Cheshire
in bloom

she devoured ***** warm butter
as it poured in waves
into her black lipsticked
pink wet mouth temple

oh she said
i like it a lot
do you mind a small incision
my darling

mommy needs
a little taste of hell

her face shape shifted
into a warbled shadow
as she licked her lips
and tickled
her *******
with gooed fingers

cut me i implore
im in the mood
you sweet savage

she opened me slow
o o o o ooow
ooh the sting
don't stop i begged
loving her
voluptuous greed
as she covered me
with heavens kisses
eyes desperate
devouring
drenched through ******
and bestowed
upon me
eager  licks
that swoon
and savage wounds

she took charge
with curvilinear cutlery
she gave it to me hard
oooofff
then good again
aaahhh
then deep and threw
like a spoon through Crisco
a surgeon from hell house
oh so fun she said
she licked my ****
fingered my ***
****** my *****
frenetic
then stuck me with a fork
giggling
not done yet she mused
and then
required of me
that my tongue
obediently pay homage
to her naked mouth ****

i was the pig for slaughter
needles and knives
burned *******
bruised ****
a bleeding torn
pin cushion
eyes teared
back arched
torso writhing
cherry cheeks
blood gusher
her *******
and belly ****
soaked in my blood
commanded me to lick
my own pools
of red plush
for her amusement

a couple at play
in Satan's temple of lust
her face turned to mischief
in a demons trance
her soul
like hyenas
and clawed weasels
all trapped villeins

im done ****** around
with you she quipped
her **** on fire
like a burning house
she plunged a blade deep in my gut
her eyes wide and glaring
like blazing head lights
possessed by hell bats

oh my goddess
for you
over the summit
as i shuddered
arching in torment
curling into a ball
squirming
like a severed worm

her face contorted
with horrors fun
her **** pored forth
tremulous quivers
and hells
brimstone gasms
ecstatic

oh she drank my blood
****** my ****
with kaleidoscopic tongue
like a devils bride banshee
licked my *** clean
filthy *****
defaced me with a drooling ****
and brooding ****
strangled me with nylons
until my lips ran numb
until my tongue dragged
like a corpse in a car wreck
she  whimpered and cooed
suffocated me with her **** ***

stepped on my face
with feet i adore
chewed off my *****
a black mambas kisses
filled my mouth
with hot rocks
that melted my skull
oh cry to heaven
wheres Jesus
as i scummed
up-leaping

the  last words
i ever heard
*** you sure to kick a lot
im cu cu cu cu cu cu *******
for you blood boy
dead dead dead
floppy floppy head
**** like cherry pie
Sofia Von Jul 2014
Cigarette smoke
Wheels no spokes
Board rollin down alleys
Late night skate
Let me escape
The life I never planned

Never on time
You best lower your expectations

Snortin molly in the bathroom
Chuggin ***** in the hall
I could be anywhere at all
But I’d still crawl
back to the clutches of dependence
I forfeited life's race in the first lap
Yet I'm still trapped
Coughing up blood
I strive for nothing

I don't want to feel
I long to be free
From society
Our culture has maxed out
So now everyone wants to shout
for help because what the world wants
Is unrealistic
We try to overdose
And become comatose
To drop all worries of material success
Those
Stacks on stacks on stacks
Racks on racks on racks
We forget
its just paper
Not what defines us

The rest is up to the people
To rise about the atmosphere
Of atoms and mold supportive molecules from the elements we're presented
Not corrected like a sent typo
To your mom
Or boss
Control
Is unattainable
Fathom the slack of a slacker
Loosen your ropes
And walk the plank
With no hopes of disaster nor triumph
Determined
To just be
I wouldn't say this is old but it's from a good set of months ago.
ryn Jul 2014
The dreamer is breathless as he clutches his chest
These feelings amuck inexplicable at its best
Managing a gasp and finally drawing his air
Never thought it possible, these feelings he'd share.

It's been long since he'd last uttered the deal breaker
Expecting hate and regret, yet receiving love so tender
It softens him so, lifting him way up high
It blinded him so, fighting it he never did try.

On swift magical wings, down to him she had swooped
With kind loving hands, his time-worn body she adoringly scooped
Into her warm comforting chest, the dreamer would retreat
He finds comfort in a sound; the rhythm of her heart beat.

Chest to chest, soul to soul, their hearts beat as one
He looks up teary eyed, he looks up at his sun
She gazes upon him like she's known him forever
He stares up at her and says, "There can be no other".

Together they took flight to destinations unknown
Their love they would want, to carve immortal into stone
They had cared not for the whims of the universe
Submerged themselves deep in love's sweet murmurs.

This thing in his chest badly wants to sing
Of words so sweet, of melodies so endearing
It wants to say true words of praise
Whisper promises of an Eden-like place.

The dreamer worships his sun as he'd found his dream
Dreams of rolling meadows and night's silvery moonbeam
He whispered of feelings that he believed to be his
He presented them to her as she's the only one he sees.

I am the dreamer who never truly wants to wake
Hopeful of a life that this dream could possibly make
I still am the dreamer who believes it'll all come true
I am the silly little dreamer who's madly in love with you.
Not Lauren Oct 2018
Love is varying but you were not what I expected when the word first tarnished my vocabulary. The word is sinful and leaves such a foul taste in my mouth; no one will ever get as sick of the word as I did.

No one's ever surpassed the absurd expectations of this vile word & I don't want to stick around to find out if I’ll fall into its clutches too.
My love is ruined.
Bradyn McCall Jul 10
support was the only thing separating him from keeping afloat and going down crashing under the waves ******* him into the abysmal chasm rendering anything caught in its clutches effectively useless

given hope he finds the strength to push on, step after step building himself back up, finding out who he truly is, dedication to success and glory all that fills his mind

but since that initial spark of support, what once was a wildfire burning so fierce nothing could penetrate it, was now barely more than embers in a torrential downpour, threatening to suffocate and extinguish that flame keeping him going

when that drop connected that flame died, and with that flame he did as well, thrown down the chamber of hell he was confident he could avoid, recklessly thrown around inside his own head as if he were nothing more than a chew toy used by a puppy starting to teeth trying with all its might to rip it into the tiniest pieces turning it into nothing but a sad co existence that can never be fully recovered

even when a new group pours gasoline on that flame, attempting to burn away all which thought to cool the embers of the once unparalleled fire, the heat does nothing more than graze the droplets, before extinguishing once again, torn at the seams, dulling to nothing more than a spark, and like nighttime in an overgrown forest, the flame dies, leaving nothing but darkness.
Al Drood Oct 2018
Lying supine on a child’s bed,
new sunlight plays upon her golden ringlets
as another day awakes

Bright blue eyes blink at the new morning;
she sighs at the sound of
grown-ups making breakfast.

Afraid to rise, she clutches the duvet
and asks her Maker for the millionth time,
“Why am I so?”

Throwback!  Alien!  Changeling!  Freak!  
How cruel the spoken word.  
Insults hurled - or whispered in fear . . .

Ah, but “One in a million!” her mother proclaims,  
“So great a heart!  So great a spirit!”  
If only she knew.

Angelina smiles a bitter smile,
and pushes her tiny face deep into the down-filled pillow.  
She begs for death, and whispers “I am nothing.”
Detached Aug 2018
When you lay thine eyes on that which is yours.
Do you find existence and stability,
or do you find disarray and anguish?

When our flesh unites;
Do you feel consumed and infatuated,
Or do you feel contempt and malaise?

When you hear my voice;
Do you quiver in ecstasy and find tranquility,
Or do you hear endless sorrows..

Whatever you see, whatever you feel, whatever you hear. Do it with much haste! For the clutches of my endless torment beckons my soul..
Sylvia Fénix Jun 2018
It wades down the end
From upon the hill, it descends
In it's raggedy, misshapen claw it desperately
clutches a tool,
or a weapon
The scythe sways idly from left
toward right
Brushing along the tips of
the field's innocent leafgreen, darkened
by the dusk of the night
Through the stealth, it's entire form is
blackened. Hidden from me

An occasional glimmer of moonlight
glances my eye, reflected from it's iron blade
It beams infrequently across it's figure
allowing me to spy it's features
Pinhole eyes, a dark but somehow bright white
gazing right through me as I into it
It's mouth was stitched up, but smirking toward me
fabric lips stained with crimson betrayal
I smile at the symbolism and accept
I feel a sharpness drawl against the flesh
below my chin
The movements holding the same creeping terror
But I stay unafraid
I close my eyes
I make my peace
I right my wrongs
I ready myself for the reaping

But then my eyes are open
And the field is bright
Daylight shone upon the roses and the daisies
with the foliage inbetween blazing green
For a moment I theorize a dream
That the encroaching monster
was simply an unconscious figment
But as my hand ghosted my neck
and felt light scaring over it's delicacy
My ideas drift towards the reason
why that thing left me standing

From across this strange place I see
perched upon a simple, smiling scarecrow
a bat
usually, this would be quite the worrying situation
especially as he was staring directly at me
But I could only smile at the black-winged one
And wave my own wing in it's direction
Turning around, I began to make my way elsewhere
In whichever direction destiny would push me next
Weightless, feeling free of my hand-crafted shackles
The cage I designed for myself broken
And you know what?
As I left that field

I think the bat might have smiled back
new chapter boyes and gorls
lets see where it takes us
Levi Kips Jul 2018
I know this country whose Russia strong, neutral like Switzerland but constantly terrorized like Afghanistan both the inside and out. All she wants to do is be happy, be loved.
That's why she stays attached to her North Korea love as if she couldn't like she's South Korea. I've been on my fair share of rescue missions with her and showed her that there are shores that don't look like Normandy, that there are paths without a trail of tears, or war, that looked more like paradise like Jamaica but she still returns to him as if she's his jurisdiction.
She's blinded by her by the bullets and bruises from him. Mistaking her ****** vision for red hearts around him.
I feel like America. I give her what she needs despite the embargos he sets, i mean the boundaries she sets for herself. I try to fulfil my Truman doctrine promises I tell everyone, I tell her, I tell myself, but she keeps coming back to him no matter how much he pushes her away like California to America.
One of these days when he throws her away from his clutches I want her to stay freed like Hati. But that's a war she needs to fix from the inside like Syria with no outside interference just support and supplies.
But for how long do i have to watch this process of nuke and reconstruct, nuke and reconstruct with no blast shield, no guard up held, just defenseless attacking from her hands and his.
I don't want to wait until 9 / 11 to strike back, I don't want to wait for pearl harbor for a turning point . Is there a way for cold war. A way for change with no fighting, a way for her to break down the walls they both build, A way for her to free herself, a way she doesn't have to worry about her life on vacation, a way for her to stay free and most of all happy.
This is a poem about my friend whose in a abusive relationship and I can't do anything about it.
Kyra Feb 1
The Nor'easter in my mind won't settle
The inside of my scalp is wind-burned
Every step is won in a never ending battle
Every breath stolen like a meter of ground

I bury myself a trench
trying to escape the clutches of Zephyrus
All four gods circle around me in a typhoon of noise
Eos's sons, vultures in my head
Eli Sep 2018
The tomato plant.
A useful thing.
Produces bright, red tomatoes.
There is only one problem.

The long, green vines…
Keep invading the sidewalk.
Weighted down by the tomatoes,
The vines slither along the pavement.

Pretty soon there won’t be any more room to walk.

I fear the vines will wrap around my legs.
I will then be trapped in its green clutches.
Just a like a fly…
A helpless fly trapped in a Venus Fly Trap.

Want to know the sad, bitter truth…
I really hate tomatoes.
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