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Javaria Waseem Oct 2014
You keep everything valuable covered with the fear
that it's beauty might be ruined with dust.
Yet you uncover yourself with the fear
that you might not be 'valuable' for this world.
Tom Spencer Oct 2018
pulling back the covers
dimming the lights

an owl calls
from the holly tree

just outside
of my window

the garden below
has grown beyond my control

weeds sprout vines tangle
in the summer squirrels gnaw

on the green holly berries
littering the courtyard

with half-eaten haws
in the spring mockingbirds

gorge on the bright red fruit
their florid songs

celebrating
light sky life sun leaf air

closing my eyes
I think back through the decades

to when I planted the tree
it was a time of hope

a time when we dared dream
of a world without

mortal enemies
when you could imagine

shaded islands of calm
hidden coves immune to rancor

now look at us
heads down lost hurtling

stumbling
under a trance

we have turned on one other
distracted by those

who grab wealth and power
under the cover of night

confused by the constant
trumpeting and alarms

blind to what we share
we retreat

into the darkness
of our fears

Tom Spencer © 2018
Debbie Brindley Sep 2018
Let me pretend our life is normal
there's no illness here
As I lay beneath the covers
with you
my dear

Under the covers
On a chilled mornings day
outside beyond our window
children are at play
Freshly brewed coffee
drifting in on the air
As we lay
beneath the covers
without a care

Spring flowers bloom
their perfume
dancing in on the breeze
Hear the Kookaburras laughing
outside in the trees
Dogs bark in the distance
a few streets away
But under the covers
nice and cosy
is where we shall stay

Till it's time to get started
on our day ahead
But for now I'm quite content
under the covers with you
in our bed
Pretending  life is  normal
Mary Gay Kearns Dec 2018
I struggle to pull the bed covers
In this little room of walls
Surrounded by images
That touch my soul
And days and hours
And folds.


Its been coming a long time
The whispering in the dark
The jackal on the road
The night shadow
And the lark
Singing.

Love Mary ***
So in this Month your Heart begins to press
For Good October promises your Due
Thinking of Delight and Travel Costs less,
And finally meeting her through and through
Her arm must have healed, given Time's duty
No more must such Fortress wall you apart
Her, Blessed Pronoun who cheers you truly
On her own Springboard she performs her Part
As you guide Witness to her own Unique Craft,
That Guideline which does greatly Inspire
Now look! Her Swan whips the Air; And the Draft
Begs humbly deep its legs to retire.
Your Hug was her Reward; Then the Flannel
Covers your Cheers on the Upper Panel.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Bor ehgit May 16
I can no longer feel your ghostly hands.
I wish I could tell which one of us is disappearing.
Lurid pressure in perfect hiding,

Heat rises amidst quiet timing.

Covers conceal fingers,
And skin conceals-

Well,

Only from the blinded.

Flitting breath from lungs to neck,

Begging tongue,
And baiting breast.

Tentative flesh,
Upon tentative flesh,

What comes next?

Anything I want,

If this is,

Yes.
Don't judge my #'s
give yourself one second
to never let your guard down
our hearts are like blueberries
when they ripen they become sweet
we can kiss the mist of morning
or swim in an abyss of fear
and release love without a warning
for there are no strangers here

what shapes and shades of grey
the way we hold our thoughts inside
imprisoned in our own minds
you smile at the flowers
and give love a thousand hours
drench yourself in music
sweet combinations
that never rush to any conclusion
you couldn’t fool me if you tried
if i had one second left to hide
i'd return the books to the library
as these archetypes are dusty
like used book sleeves
with old dust covers and jackets
is this the way, i wondered to myself
to take stock of the situation
King Panda Mar 2016
It’s no fun to cry when someone is looking at you
It’s only fun to cry when you’re alone
naked
under covers
your pillow saturated in salt
and sometimes that’s not even fun
and you wonder
why even bother
when God sees everything you do
every tear you shed
that you are always being watched
that you can never cry without someone looking at you
and you raise your fist into the muggy darkness and declare
*******
God
ryn Jan 2015
Backdrop of hues from heaven's palette
Two silhouettes stood hand in hand
A pair so in love on their deserted islet
Only witnesses were the sky and the sand

Two silhouettes with roles of lovers
Frolicked forever in the setting, evening sun
Only they'd know what laid under covers
Secrets of pure passion in their blood did run

Their merriment presented bare in a playful dance
Two silhouettes engulfed in their own private universe
Kisses and embraces offered in a reciprocative trance
Dark lips matched the other's voiceless whispers

Two silhouettes then dissolved with the set of sun
Strained my eyes to unravel this sweet shadow clad mystery
Last few moments pierced through like a shot from a gun
Because I realised that one was you while the other wasn't...

                            me...
Cné Aug 2017
The weary mind in turmoil writhes
and slumber will not come.
The moonlight seeps
like latticed withered vines.
I listen to my heartbeat,
in the silence like a drum,
And through my shuttered eyes....
see strange designs.
The night will not take me prisoner,
and bind me to restful sleep.
No dreams, or any respite,
no way, my soul to keep.
Groaning as I turn myself
to rest beleaguered pain,
I stretch to ease
my tortured back and sigh.
Then I fluff my pillow
to deactivate my speeding brain...
Rolling in the covers,
as my body sweats and strains,
seeking to lose myself,
discarding all, my pains

But my eyes are wide...
and still the question..."Why?"
Brains on hyperdrive
幽玄 Jun 2018
The first sign of a dream approaching is that when you’ve already awoken,
awoken to a strange place with no trace of how you could’ve gotten there.
And the unfamiliar, faces near, with eyes similar to shards– shaded  
you can’t help but notice those feelings emitted were somehow something you’ve come to known before,
but where?
–a notion coursing its way around a soundless observatory only to further dissipation—
A sign of discord covers the room,
all that was allowed is furthest from you,
a parched paper made from what seemed like rugged twine knows nothing but lead between,    you find a face emerging from it,
quickly drawn with detail,
there it stops from motion to undulating surpass,
away from a darkened room up in front of a morning taking.
This conjuring source flairs outward
rising through the outworn canvas
leading it to embers
dancing away along a fizzled plane
for what was despair inscribed in this meaningful dereliction.
To what is empty from emotion is nonexistent,
I couldn’t find the reason to live on,
this dream has died as will I... as will the will of this way this place carries over me.
Yes decay follows me,
unto everywhere will there be the silent breezes to carry me past the concrete terrain into nothingness.
I find myself to live this over,
until the advent of air drowns these lungs to knowing again,
to know exactly what it means to breathe again.
I see no reason for such things as unrealistic as they may seem likely for me to occur in this living.
Again I’m stuck in a room full of my owns thoughts,
such a dangerously sorrowful place to be.
‘For everything as it may have not been
weary am I for looking forward at
The things that never happened’

‘Turning over everyday, repetitively’

Let’s just say that this isn’t personal but for those whom share a common fate. Until overturned.
In its most rawest.
5.3

Parallels:
Snow, for me exemplifies a mute understanding from in juxtaposition with various types of sadnesses that branch off into disparately inclined yearnings, to nostalgic preferences, whether known or not. Why it happens is of course obvious but the way it affects you, makes one wonder, if at all— I think I’m trailing off my train of though here, I’m not sure where this is going..

This was inspired by a remarkable composer, as I recalled a dream before, along with the yearning of trying to expose my underlying expansion of myself with my current understanding of things. what it all could mean as much of his cello’s presence affected me during that process. I’m the gray area that needs deciphering.

—continuations:
the cello that wails the loudest, is one that suffers the most. Even so, every tone encapsulates the listener with resonance. And in that, it reaches its utmost vulnerability, showing the many hues imbedded in an infinite sadness, in an astronomical way, a type of exquisite somber, that resides in the instrument’s hollowness until implementation of procedure.
Rue Nov 2018
sky's so cold
reminds me of her
she always blew me a cold kiss

eating ice cream when it's zero degrees

ice queen
she covers the sky
with an independent gloom

I'm waiting on the snow
she gives the best shows
wearing glittery shoes

eerie feeling
you aren't here with me
I almost felt you beside me

I need to let her go
move on

let the sky fall
Francie Lynch Jul 2018
The hair is almost normalized,
The hands we hardly notice,
Real news is, with my ensemble,
A red tie splashes well.
I bear your false witness,
The hookers and the lies,
I'd get the heebie-jeebies,
If I ****** with the FBI.

But the skin, the skin,
What color's that,
That hides the blackness found within.
That wraps a frame that wracks the sane,
And covers a skull with dubious brains.
It conceals the bloated air,
From lungs to lips,
From bowels to his finger tips.
It doesn't matter how his fits,
It can't conceal he's full of ****.
Tawana Aug 2018
Death he follows me wherever I go Werther it be in the depths of the forest
Or the deepest of seas death he follows me wherever I go.
He follows me in my dreams painted with the face of an angel
As we dance on the dirt of the earth, death he follows me wherever I go.
He follows me into the darkness and covers me with sadness, I tell him I don’t want him while he screams that he loves me death follows me wherever I go.
He lays next to me as I wake and sings songs of the days to come, death he follows me wherever I go.
He wraps his arms around my body and bores his fingers in my soul, death he follows me wherever I go.
He whispers in my ear when I try to speak and wraps his hands around my throat death he follows me wherever I go.
He lays on top of me as I sleep running his wicked finger down my body death he follows me wherever I go.
He pushed himself into my life and I fell in love with him. Death I follow him wherever he goes.
This poem is about falling in love with who I truly am instead of hiding under a ruse and being the person people want me to be or doing what people expect of me. At the same time, it is also about my anxiety and how it feels at times just having a large looming shadow over me.
KiraLili Aug 2015
Combines start there turns
Morning mist covers ripe wheat
Red rimmed sun rises
Northern Saskatchewan Harvest in the Battlefords
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Out of the merciless darkness and recesses of February,
comes the hope and promise of rebirth.
Hope only as white covers the landscape and grey dominates all;
life has all but ebbed away in this wasteland of broken hearts

A year of wasted time, a life made barren by you.
Time has slipped away in healing, and transforming into myself.  
How could you have left me to face the life facing me alone,
hurting and in silent grief.  

You alone can answer the questions,
and you alone can make me whole once again,
to face a new life and calm the ghosts of the past and
give me the hope of renaissance.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Virtue this Sample, Beauty's Maiden Name
For Last Year's Praise I was Honest and Mean
Offering Roses whilst praying for Gain
Across Nation's Wear impossible to see
What Reality? Only a Bigot's Hat
Covers what the Bilderbergs want us to Know
Delusions a-like, or Clarity at that
Once revealed would make the Whole System blow
Forgive me. I should have spoken Tamed Words
As a Son-in-Duty in Prudent Form
If only but Fair, that he should give Word
Then I could have ended this Year-Long Storm.
I only meant Peace; If he can just Speak
If he can be Open; And I be Meek.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
nathaniel Sep 2018
august’s withered days swing from view.⠀⠀
flicker of a breeze caresses earth’s cheek.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
crinkle of a leaf, a wail beneath your feet.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
a wispy veil of dew covers the dried remains of a summer’s past.
treetops glistering, vibrant golden hues⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
first flicker of daybreak rising slowly.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
an infant’s feeble cry of autumn’s might.⠀⠀⠀
although november is my favorite month, september has always held a special place in me, even if it feels like it flies by so fast.
silentwoods Aug 2018
Two years into adulting.
It’s possible, who knew?
I look the same as yesterday
But today I’m twenty two!

Dentist trips still freak me out,
Sometimes I burn an egg.
My blanket covers both my feet,
So monsters won’t grab my leg.

I don’t go out on Friday night,
My ankles feel the weather.
And when I help the kids with homework,
We both learn math together.

Sometimes I’ll burst out crying
For no reason at all.
I know the words to one rap song,
And still prefer guys tall.

My puns are all intended,
There is a spoon I hate,
I’ll never mix my whites and brights,
I can’t stay up too late.

My life has been a wild ride
But I’m thankful for each day.
One day I hope to be mature,
One day... but not today.
Josiah Israel Jul 2017
Deep in a magic forest, with big old magic trees
And all the magic creatures that live inside of these

There is a magic island, upon a magic lake
And on the island stands a stool, the like no man could make

And on the stool from dawn to dusk, resides a little man
Who spends his days in deeper thought, than any mortal can…

How does he think so many thoughts, well you must realize,
That though the man is small, his head is twice the normal size.

And as for food, well first of all he quite likes eating bugs
Beetles spiders, grass hoppers, slimy snails and salty slugs!

Inside his beard he keeps a hive, so honey he can eat,
And sips the dew from roses, which he grows atop his feet…

And when the night time brings the cold, the old man doesn't care
He simply covers up, with all his long and tangled hair!

Regardless of his oddities, the man is still renowned,
For being quite the wisest man, who never can be found.
This poem was told to me by a young Fairy on the road to a Wishing Well near my house.
Marina Nov 2017
love,
we are either in love, falling in love, or falling out of it
there are many ways to explain the term of love.
some of us are too numb to feel any of it
so we hide underneath the covers because love is in the air

if only we can see that not all love is not all bad.
i am afraid of falling in love so i hide and decline my thoughts
i rather stay to myself than to get hurt with the emotions inside me
i learned this by encountering it
i know out there id find someone
but now is like a rotten fruit next to perfect veggies
were all just little kids looking for a beautiful someone
i don't want to hurt no more
Francie Lynch Sep 2018
I've used them on my windows
To see the clear outside,
If I read the Op-eds,
I shudder, shuttered and hide.

I've spread them 'neath my plates and cups,
My shelves all neat and tidy;
But the headlines made it clear to me
My glass is more half empty.

They had a place in the litter box
For **** to scratch and squat;
I laid them round my garden plants,
They made fine insect traps.
Rolled and twirled they'd start a fire,
I could fold them into hats.
They cleaned the grease from BBQs,
And they're safe to pick up glass.
Crumple them for packaging,
They work as school book covers;
Add water and some flour,
To shape papier mache lovers.
Fold seeds in them to germinate,
Then use them for compost;
There's many ways to employ
Your Times and local Post.

But I won't subscribe to Dailies
For the felling of our trees;
And yet I miss my papers,
And the ways they worked for me.
But when enthroned,
You'll hear me grouse,
There's no **** paper in this ****-house.

My cell works well to scroll and swipe,
But it's only good for a virtual wipe.
Pagan Paul Jun 27
.
Through a forest glade
and down a narrow path
there stands a sacred tree
with its heart torn in half.

Bramble clings to its trunk
ivy covers over its bark,
reaching up for the light
fighting against the dark.

Forgotten by the woods,
ignored in a crowded place,
for it yearns for attention,
just a little tender grace.



© Pagan Paul (27/06/19)
.
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