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Valeria Ariza Oct 2016
Darling Dragon Blue,
Your life is a circus
full of ambiguities leaving you stumped,
unable to discern good from bad, truth from lies,
enemies from allies.

The Ring Master,
Master Illusionist,
Master Magician,
call him what you may,
he knows this,
he feeds off of this.

your misplaced trust
gives him power.

He targets you,
his spinning whip sings I love you,
Striking down ******* your soul,
drawing blood from your heart,
Painting hate in your eyes.

He announces you as his greatest possession,
his greatest achievement,
the love of his life.

But now the show’s over.
he looms over you
using his two faced mask to scare you back in your place
feeding off your insecurities and self doubt,
he grows stronger.

“Dance my boy Dance!” he cackles
‘STRIKE’
“Sing my boy sing!”
‘CRACK!’
he lines his whip with false love
to numb your pain.

But only for a little bit.
Only for a few seconds.

Long enough for you to believe it doesn’t hurt.
Long enough for you to forget his dagger words.

A damaged young dragon,
you burn your sorrow into the glass
when you whisper I love you to the mirror.
“I love you” it reads back.
and you feel so empty.

You realize you’re tired of performing on strings.
you yearn to dance freely, to soar high into the unforgiving sky
you want to burn this place to the ground screaming
“I loved you!” Roaring your mighty roar releasing your fright,
Spreading your mighty wings created for magnificent flight,
your bound legs unable to carry you,
you fall to the ground.
cold, helpless, the flame within you
threatening to die out.

The ring master finds you.
a confused frightened smile creeps onto his face
“I love you” he sneers
as he kicks you back into your cage
wondering why, oh why you tried to escape.

again with false love,
he manipulates you, a creature
endowed with so many beautiful talents and gifts,
not realizing he conditions his “ I love you’s” with pain, anger, and hate.

and you a mighty dragon only wish to control your own fate.

And so Enough.
you roar.
Enough.
The fire inside you erupts into a great blue star
transforming the carbon in your ribs into your
diamond heart,
melting your golden bones allowing you to change form.

For Darling Dragon Blue,

It is HE. that should fear you.

Darling Dragon Blue.

**I LOVE YOU.
Vivian Pennock May 2014
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps Flowing
This gushing salt water,
these quick uneven breaths I take
like I am drowning and I'm just trying to get enough oxygen,
maybe if I could stop the shaking,
maybe if I had a nice clear nose,
I could have laughed.
But I didn't.

Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
I lay here on the concrete,
and I cannot even see straight,
let alone think straight.

Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
I cannot conclude on whether
these are happy fantasies,
sad fragments of memories,
or a mixture of the two
that is making me feel this way.

Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
The concrete that supports my convulsing body
is soaked.
Every time I try to stand,
I hear a loud crack,
and find myself
cuddling with the concrete once again.

Somehow it stopped.
No more gushing salt water.
I still lie here with my silent, piercing cries.
With my writhing body.
With my nose and its trickling stream.

I must not have any water left to let cascade onto the floor.

But for some reason,
I cannot disjoin myself from this cold floor.

Cannot stand up.

Once I finally build up the courage,
something shoots me down
again
and
again.
mark john junor Jun 2014
i found her in a field of flowers
dancing slow to the summer song
lost in her mind to the dream of a broken heart
dancing sensual with her dreams of lovers nonexistent
lost in the beauty of daylights pretty wonders
she had daffodils in her hair
she had midnight in her eye

i took her to the hilltop
far and above the sea
far from the temptations and tastes
the toxic poisons that are the worlds playthings
for wicked is the worlds kiss
and i thought if i could shelter her
she would heal of her own accord
she would be the girl i once loved

i had gone looking for a square meal for the mind
little intellectual meat and potatoes good for the soul
but as i was supping and laughin with casual company
i heard the distant crack of thunder breaking
like the uniforms of illogical world come to claim
their greasy hands on her clean white linens
stole her away in the rain
stole away my sweet lover never to be seen again

so now i sail these back roads
on the trapeze of delicate balances
of firing loose cannonballs at the
fleeing desperadoes wreathed in silken plunders
balanced against my pockets overflowing
with the wicked maelstrom of misery's and mysteries
that my dark woman's heart and dreams made for me
beloved is for more than just for a passing day
i will never stop searching for this wayward lover
remembering her salt thigh and ruby lips
Hayleigh May 2014
After the first
Never again
The second
The same,
Regret, pain
The third
Disappointment, shame
The fourth
A piece of paper with a name
The fifth and I’m officially insane
Confusing clouds, constant rain
Begin to drain
Me

Thoughts, a fact
A pact
To myself
My rapidly deteriorating
Physical, mental, emotional health

31 tablets, 52
What difference does
A few
More make
Another mistake
I break,
Crack, smash
Like China
A million pieces
Despair fills the air
I lay, unconscious
Without a care
In the world

Sleeping tablets
And anti depressants
Desperately searching
For the essence
Of a hopeful soul

Hospitalisation
Anticipation, frustration,
Sedation
A safe place
With locks on the inside
Reflecting on the times
I’ve tried
Cried, lied
To break free

After the first
Never again
The second
The same
Regret, pain
The third
Disappointment, shame
The fourth
A piece of paper with a name
The fifth
And I’m officially insane

It stops here
Succumbed with fear
As I walk, tread, carefully
Undress the mess,
That is me.

2010 ©
Irate Watcher Sep 2014
concrete shades the yellow-lighted symphony.
The peso-heavy take taxis;
security valets motors steaming castle gates.
I ask, which way is the 158?
Indifferent, they say, walk straight neath the freeway
there is a bus stop two blocks away.

****.
****.
****.

Clocktower hands transpose Cindarella-brick
to embers of electricity,
a factory aside scrawled graffiti;
fingers timidly ricket pitchfork fences.
Palermo is 11 km north.
Where is the north star?

I look straight ahead, repeating what
the travel blogs said like,
Be lost, don’t look lost;
flappy plastic maps scream vulnerability.
Be lost, not rich;
iPhones in gotham alleys are batman signals.
Walk fast.
Don’t pay attention to the eyes that pass.
Careless ponytails and brass hair attract
glances back.

Two blocks deep into the homeless shelter
beneath freeways, blankets
in shopping carts toppled over,
cars screaming away the symphony
into shadowed silence between heels striking.
Tunnel breath emerging on the other side,
gasping past stacked Jenga towers,
wired with antennas and empty clotheslines;
families and crack ****** sleep inside.
Safety’s herd thins as  couples dart left down
cobblestone tributaries
that either lead to bus stops or parked cars.
I walk straight ahead with
sleeve-covered hands that swing like sticks
in the wind.
The symphony turns to
heartbeats and footsteps
plucking quickly;
fearing the 180 behind,
to zombies with sunken eyes,
thirsty for a thirty-cent high.
True story walking  at night in La Boca, one of Buenos Aires' most crime-ridden neighborhoods. Bless the soul who gave me bus fare back to Palermo.
Irene Nov 2018
November has arrived.

I am waiting for the skin
on my knuckles to crack.
I could go out, but I will stay
and wait or my hair to dry.
When my lips become chapped,
I have lost nothing.

This is a ballroom
and I am spinning alone,
though arms await me.
I have forgotten how to be held,
though I remember how it feels.

When the buzz fades and the
lighting bugs hum,
It is something I hold onto
and keep for myself.
Derek Yohn Oct 2013
If we can find the proper restraints,
i give the sign:
hold me down and crack my ribs,
tear out the disease in me,
use a microscope (telescope ?) to find my heart,
insert conscience 'A' into slot 'B'.
Peel back my skin and cover
what's left in stained velour,
complete what i have become,
scarred, barren, torn asunder.
i tore the flesh from my bones
for me, nothing more, trying to
destroy eternity, separating
molecules, better living through chemistry
(FOCUS)
There is a seed inside us all.
What will it become, what will it consume?
(FOCUSFOCUSFOCUS)
i feel the disconnect and cry
stretching wounded arms across
a chasm of my own design.
i would tear myself apart for you,
but not for me.
ah, to be young and in love and married...what the **** was i thinking?  i guess my life at that point was just a series of 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' moments all strung together...but then again, isn't that how it is for most of us?
SP Blackwell Mar 2013
I am sitting on a broken branch

under the drug addled canopy of insecurities and lies.

I am feeling the steady sway of an oxycontin daze.

Walking slowly through a ketamine daydream that pulls at my core

like a phantom puppet master controlling my limbs.

It crashes into my brain like the breaking waves on the shore.

Breathing in nicotine filtered filth as I wait to catch a breath of fresh air.

Lungs filled with recycled tar that prevents me from gasping.

In darkened corners where lies sleep and rumors are hidden,

I wait.

I dance on a tightrope between conscious and subconscious

that is held by reality and dreams.

Dark sunglasses on to avoid

the blinding stinging light of what is real.

Mirrored glasses are reflecting the reflections back at intruders.

Deflecting glances, shifty eyes, and dilated pupils

searching for a focus point of truth  

in a neon technicoloured blur of hypocrisy.

The background blaring horns blended with a steady bass line

mimics my heartbeat.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

The fading noises pass quickly,

highlighted with insults and curses of hate and gossip

that are forgotten before you can make them out.

Spun truths turned into lies

intermixed with resin

left from yesterday.

The litter paved streets break under my heels.

Click clack. Click clack.

Broken and cracked

like the false promises

And hopes

And dreams

of those who have walked here before.

The monotonous pace is repeated

only pausing to notice the gum under the stiletto

that fails to hold her in place

as she runs towards the wet cement that has replaced

another sheet of cracked concrete.

The wet cement that has covered another lie

in order to show the simplicity of fake appearances.

A reminder of how easy it is to replace and mask

the hate filled holes that get trampled on.

The flicker of hope is suddenly unseen

like the street light lined alley that is now dark.

The stench of garbage, decay, and rotting flesh

is mixed with expensive perfume, sweat, make-up, and spilled *****.

Garbage cans are filled with the leftovers of last night.

A *** stained dress with no owner draws no attention

as the sound of snapping latex is muffled

by the screams of ecstasy that rapidly fade

like the fleeting feeling of MDMA.

Thick white ****** fluid oozes out like human glue

in an attempt to mend the lack of connection.

Strangers intertwined in hasty conversations

waiting for human contact to forget

that they are in dark alleys.

To forget

that they live in dark places

where no one lays down wet cement.

The distorted reality of alleys deceive passer bys

into thinking that they are not menacing

has been weaved like a web by street sweepers and garbage men.

The pressing sense of the need to avoid the sweepers

is unsaid but felt.

They falsely clean what will always be *****.

The *** filled backstreets yearn for love

like the treacherous woman guarding its corner.

Daddy issue lined dresses are asking to be undone

just like her lost innocence that can never be mended.

The issues and clothing that can never be fixed

abandoned on top of garbage cans for someone else to pick up.

Patches of dead grass are left

untended, unwatered, and unwanted

waiting to be replaced by wet cement.

Wet cement that soon enough will crack and break

under the heavy heated pressure of the stomping heels

of lost Girls in a desolate city.

Blood trickled trails are left behind

that have dried into the cigarette lined streets that lead nowhere.

The injured egos of men are left to linger at back doors

that will never be opened.

******* induced insanity whirls around a flurry

of whispers and paranoia wanting to here the Truth

between the spewed anger and rage of the low toned hushed voices

that wish not to be heard.

Whiskey hinted murmurs pressing on the sidewalk cracks

knowing that they will never be heard.

Looking into the dark where

Truth will never be seen.

The constant beat of narcotic users searching

for salvation in pre-packed bags of white powder,

digging for redemption in empty bottles of multi-colored pills.

Screaming through the silence,

They are not heard.

The desperation can be heard through the whining moans

of the junkies that are tethered to addiction.

The over whelming sound of

Want and Need and Lust

move through the streets like the overflowing gutter water.

Heartbeats are replaced with the impatient pacing of

her stilettos waiting for her pain to cease.

Stilettos stomping on broken dreams

waiting to cross broken streets.

She gazes at the other side as if it is different.

Stilettos tapping on the street

waiting for the firm grasp of a sweaty hand to distract her from reality.

Waiting to be touched

And grabbed

And ******

                                              In hopes that love will arise from ****** ****** encounter with

strange men in uncomfortable places.

Clothes are feverishly removed with the promise of

flesh on flesh enveloped in a hazy cloud of body heat

that warns off the internal coldness.

Heavy breath and touch and kiss release chemicals

to replace the drug depleted emptiness.

The rhythmic sound of rubbing flesh mingles with

the moaning of the streets.

It fuses with the short lived pleasure laden moans of

lonely people and un-climatic *******.

Awkward silences are brief as the sound of her heels owns the street.

Click clack. Click clack.

The sound of stilettos on cement hurriedly walking away when there is

no longer a need for his body heat.

That unmistakable click clack click clack

on uneven, *****, dangerous streets.

Red lipstick smeared stains are the only trace of her that is.

That is the only trace of me that is left.

Click clack steady on the street.

Steady like mimicking bass line

Click clack heartbeat.

The crunch of broken glass under the stiletto

echoes her broken dreams.

Click clack.

Head held high never looking at the ground as she walks forward.

Click clack. Click clack.

Click clack.

The urban mud of

Wet cement goes

Squish!

under her stiletto.



V.Mata
Ren Moulaison Nov 2018
Verse 1
It's been so long since
I've talked with you
You know I've been
deep in despair
And just as much as
I wish it wasn't true,
I've felt like you haven't been
with me there
to comfort me when I
need it most,
to let me know you
really care
But now I'm thinking,
"What if I was the ghost?
What if I wasn't being fair?"
I regret all that I did,
and I'll do anything I can
to fix this

CHORUS
I wanna march around the city
of Jericho
I wanna blow the trumpets and
make these walls tumble
I'll shout as loud as I can to
let you know I'm here,
so don't you shed a tear
I won't be going anywhere
for a while
I'll stay in the promised land
and I won't miss your smile
I promise you to never again
throw this away
And let me tell you why
with this simple phrase
I love you

Verse 2
All those times that I've
neglected you,
just the thought of it
breaks my heart
I did some things I knew
I shouldn't do,
and over time,
we drifted apart
I forgot to tell you just
how much,
how much you really
mean to me
And now I’m hoping
it's not too late
to go back to where
I need to be
I'm hoping that this is
not the end
I'll do everything in my power
to make amends

CHORUS

Bridge
And when all the cement
starts to crack,
and all the bricks and the stones
are under attack,
I'll be ready to
run inside
I'll make sure to
hold you tight
I'll find you and
take your hand
We'll make it out of
the dust and the sand
And I'll be sure that
we don't bend
again
We won't end....

CHORUS (2 times)
This song is about neglecting someone you love and care deeply about, feeling the guilt of it, and making a promise to them to never do so again. I wrote the song when I was about 15-16 years old, originally about my straight best friend who I was obliviously in love with at the time; back then, I somehow deducted from a dream I had about her and the fact that we'd been drifting apart, that I had neglected her as a friend (which, in a way, was true - because she knew that, at an earlier point in our friendship, I'd gotten an intense urge to kiss her on the lips during one of our sleepovers, which I never acted on). So, to make up for it, I decided that spending a lot more time with her would solve that problem. Needless to say, that didn't pan out for me as well as I'd hoped.

Reading back over the lyrics a few months ago (having long been over the first girl), I realized that they still applied to my life in some way; this time, I was and still am (knowingly) in love with a pansexual nonbinary individual, and the reason that I felt I was neglecting them was because there were certain limitations/insecurities I had, that were holding me back from seeing the possibility that I could take care of them and be their person. One of them being that I don't have my license or a car at 22, and all my folks have jobs/other commitments; the other one being that some of our interests differ from each other, so I didn't know if we would mesh well as a couple because of that.

I have somewhat worked through the latter insecurity, however; one of their biggest interests is cosplay, which I've never been into, and obviously, a big part of that is acting. Now that I'm running a fan film production company called the Rilaya Indie Project (and I believe they would be a perfect Riley, which I have expressed to them and they've been enthusiastic about), I have found some common ground there.

Now the license thing, I'm still working on. I still have a big fear of possibly hurting myself or others  on the road, but I am determined to get my license and a car so that I can see my adorable enby more often.


And now, for some Fun Facts:

1. I have a video on YouTube of me singing this song completely a cappella - which I don't normally do because I have an intense fear of singing in front of people. I don't have very many videos on my Channel at the moment, so if you just search my name on YouTube, it shouldn't be too hard to find.

2. The line "We won't end" originally read "'Cause, my friend," because I was vaguely aware of the romantic feelings I had for my straight best friend back when I wrote the song, and I remember adamently pushing any notion of those feelings to the back of my mind whenever they came up. This was just one of the ways I did it, I guess!

3. I plan to name one of my future kids after this song when I'm older, paired with Martin as a middle name
CLARYT Sep 2018
The leaves are red and brown and rust,
The days are drawing in as well,
The colours of the sky do change,
And mighty rain clouds tend to swell.

When fluffy socks replace bare legs,
And cashmere sweaters reappear,
And loved one snuggling starts again,
Regrowing your hair, down to here.

The crackling embers on the fire,
The chick flick movies watched, again,
Hot chocolate, laced with something strong,
Comfort listening to the rain.

When bedtime starts to sound so good,
And spooning makes a welcome comeback,
Making love til way past noon,
And dried up twigs begin to crack.

The beauty that is Autumn time,
My favourite time of year,
Some people greet it with such gloom,
I greet it with much cheer.....
Being a witch, I just love the time when the season of the witch approaches, leading up to Samhain, the witches new year... All the beautiful colour changes and surreal purplisms in the sky, magickal
Is it the culture of vultures or the vultures of culture that carries us away?
dress down or if you want to impress, don't dress at all,
a place guaranteed in the hall of fame,
name?
no worry,
we'll jiffy one for you in a squid's arm or two which is shorthand for quite very soon.


If the TV don't get you the radio will, one or the other will interrogate you
'til you crack and you'll go out and buy the latest rack for the records you no longer own,
an Englishman's home is his own Barbara Castle but that was forever ago and lots of John Snow have flowed under the bridges since then,
Why,
I remember when beer was only two and ten and for those of you who don't know that's 2/10p in slow mo'.

eat drink, be merry
I shall,
with my feet on the pouffe  and an old trusty pipe, have a small tot of sherry,
the culture
the vulture
my life.
Ella Alvarez Jun 2018
Hey, Siri. Take a note.

Take a note for every time I make a new document to write a paper for class, only for you to power down in 2 paragraphs, because I've observed your patterns and my studies show that I can't depend on you. You crest and trough in intervals so irregular that if someone were to trace your path, from 79 percent, to 58, to 31 and 79 all over again, they'd be able to outline the Sierra Madre.

Take a note for every time you black out like the lights in a house of a horror movie, as dread like waiting for a spirit beyond the door overcomes me, because you know what -- forget the jumpscare, your sudden death already caught me unawares.

Take a note for every time my heart stops over a powerbank left at home, because not even halfway through my Grab trip, you're full, half full, all gone.

Take a note for every time you register a full green bar one minute, only to drop to 15% in two, because I'll have you know, I'm through.

Take note - I'm disappointed in you.

You make my face light up one second, only to dim into a faint red glow the next.

You've proven yourself unreliable; how can I call you my friend?

You're my heart's ultimate puppeteer, second to none,

You get me charged up only to drain me of the color in my face like the green in the corner, full, half empty, all gone.
****, I could toss you aside, falling to my knees,

Watch your screen crack, shatter, cave in

As its glass shards fly and pierce my skin

Ripping my chest to shreds as my heart takes a piece, but that can't be,

because you tore it apart when you powered down on me!

You're the reason I think the glass is half empty, and I… am empty.

I stare into the void of my dead phone screen -- black. Low battery.

I see wrinkles creasing through my forehead, the bags beneath my eyes,

I see dilated orbs drained of any vigor, any life.

I see my reflection on this black mirror, devoid of any expression whatsoever.

No curves lifting the sides of my lips, no pink flushing both my cheeks, just me, soulless.

I'm empty. It's funny. Through you, I see a girl

who crests and troughs at intervals so irregular,

Who's traced the outline of the Sierra Madre on herself,

Who cracks quicker than glass once she's fallen to her lowest

Who realizes that maybe she's been too ******* you, that maybe she should take a look at herself before she opens her mouth,

before she cracks, shatters, caves in,

glass shards flying, spreading thin.

I stare down at your screen's shards across the floor,

I realize how I can't put you back together, not anymore.

I'm very sorry. I have no words.

I guess you can say… I'm full, half empty, all gone.
inspired by the time my phone's battery enjoyed crapping out whenever it felt like.

this one goes out to the inconsistent friends who fail to keep their promises.
Heather Mirassou Oct 2010
Good morning rooster
How do you do?
It’s the crack of dawn
You ****-a-doodle-do
You sit on your perch pride fully and woo
Standing mighty and bold you call your brood for food

Sleek and graceful you do the cockerel waltz
Strutting vaudeville statuesque
Crowing to proclaim your territory
You stand protecting your roost
***** and brave
Watching for predators coming your way

The alpha male
Your earlobes and crown are blood red like a bird of paradise
Your steel beak as strong as a saw
Your feather mane chestnut drapes over your back
Your breast fuchsia and emerald quill
Your silken tail an extended fan

You run free reign on my ranch
A thousand chickens roost in my barn
You rearrange my garden while pecking for nourishment
Eating up all the insects and brown recluses in my yard
In dust you and your flock bathe
You even watch over the hens eggs

Your calls distinct and powerful
When you are still and content sweet singing rings
You are friendly to humans
And can even be domesticated
Stay here Roo
We will protect you
Copyright Heather Mirassou
john shai Apr 2016
African cities are rather typical
We laugh at the foreighner who
Thinks a gun necessary to fight
Not gangsters but lions too

Buildings rise from the red soil
Rich and poor live side by side
Electrictricity flows up and down
There is no need to hide

Until one night
As you stammer back
From a party delight
You sense a twig crack

You turn around
And there He
The king of the jungle
Strolling on the sidewalk

Has placed his fiery eyes
Like hell have no fury
On the jugular prize

The headline the following day

"Drunk man in hospital after encounter with city cat"

It was a lion I say
Africans can tell a good story, trust me, I'm an African.
The insidious wrath of age has pilfered her beauty ..
Rusted chains hang in quietude , wrenched in dubious functionality ....
Superfluous stockyards , fencing long in need of repairs ..
Barns that once bustled with the drudgery of agriculture can only whisper ..
Wind chimes trill in the cold afternoon , the crack of the hammer to the anvil gone ..
Tractor implements lie frozen , a lone Crow stands guard over barren orchards* ..
Copyright January 16 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
delusional Jul 2013
Flowers in the ***,
The sun are hot,
As hot as the temperature,
But so pure;

Pure like you,
Like the sky blue,
Like the memories,
The memories we've made;

In the rains,
In the storm;

I'd never expect,
But,
I always hope;
Hope for you,
For you to be the old you;

I want that innocent girl,
Back;
Before  I leave,
Don't make my heart crack,
Like the night of New Year's eve;
Obadiah Grey Dec 2013
Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.


------------------------------------
AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
----------------------------------------
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
---------------------------
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
------------------------------------------
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
---------------------------------
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.
====================

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
----------------------------------------------
Amen.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

-------------------------------------------------
We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure as the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,

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

It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
-------------------------------------------------
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
---------------------------------------------
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
--------------------------------------------
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


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

A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
--------------------------------------
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--
Yippeeeee!!

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

Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,

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

Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.

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

Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!

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

Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.

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

The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


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

Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!

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

Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,

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

I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.

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

Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous

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

Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.

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

Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.

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

Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"

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

.
Well,
     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.

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

befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours
grin.

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!
-------------------------------------

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.

________

Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.

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

They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.

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

As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.

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

She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
-------------------------------------------------------
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four

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

I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.

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

Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.


Oh Mon Dieu !!

Obi.
Give me a Coca Cola party number 1
And boot conservos up the ***
All they care is their 4 bedroom house yeah mate yeah
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 2
As we watch the singer do the boogaloo and then we crack open that bottle and spray it on
Their uncle oh how cool
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 3
Simon finally puts up the Christmas tree
First he puts the tinsel and then the bells and an angel to go on top ph yeseree
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 5
After those 5 cokes I feel alive
I jump up and down to every song I heard on the radio
Nice and high
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 6
The nice Coca Cola will give me
A nice sugar fix
As I slam it down, it goes through my body
Yeah if also rots my teeth
Give me a Coca Cola party number 7
Coke is so bad for you I want to send if to oblivion
But the more I see santa or Sydney swans or the big Coke truck red and white is the key
Give me a Coca Cola party number 8
Instead of roast dinners I prefer Cola lollies on my plate
You see as I ate each one
I sank into a garlic naan
The lollies gave it a sweet taste
Give me a Coca Cola party number 9
I would take my Coke and walk around the party introducing myself saying hi, my name is Brian and I told one man I hate the liberal party
Cause they don't like the poor
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 10
While doing your tapestry you have your 2 litre Coke near you like your one of the real men
But people say cokes a kids drink and I say to you this
****** oathe I am a cool kid
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 11
If you keep drinking that stuff
You'll end up in heaven
But not in a good way
You will be with tony Grieg
And Norman may
How cools that
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 12
Have a few quite cokes with santa and his elves
After Christmas Day
When they load all the presents into the sleigh
Party party party
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 13
If the Coca Cola party was a kid
He would be finally in his teens
But he will say to his uncle
Have I got the muscle
To enjoy drinking Coke oh yeah
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 14
Every kid was nice to people
But me mate I was really naughty
So santa gave me no presents
And scounged around my house for money
To buy a nice 2 litre bottle
Of Coke
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 15
When I go for a run I feel tired
And a bit sweaty
The Coke slows me down mate
Please don't lose your entire
Top row mate stop drinking Coke
Merry Christmas Coke lovers
Past and present
Meg Apr 2018
I am alive by luck at this point.
I wonder if the gun that will eventually take me has been made.
Whose trigger will bury me.
How many bullets, like a flock of sparrows, will come carry my life to its final bed.
Today, I am alive but there is no law to thank.
If not me, then someone else.
Born into a game of chance we never asked for. Traded diplomas for obituaries. Traded graduation speeches for eulogies. Traded futures for an early grave. Forced to cash in their chips. We don’t want to play anymore.
And this too is eulogy. And this too is prayer. And this too can resurrect the coffin wood back to a tree. Can sing back alive whatever parts of you died with them. Whatever leapt in your throat at yet another headline.
Mourning until you, too, are a thing to mourn.
But we will no longer be martyrs.
We are the rude awakening to politicians who pawned out our safety, who bartered our lives for bribes.
You say “gun reform is not the answer” but all I can see is a bullet rattling like a pinball in an innocent student’s jaw.
You smell like gun smoke and
I can see the AR15 you're holding behind your back and
I guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them.
Give teachers books not bullets:
Kafka isn’t kevlar.
Bronte isn’t bulletproof.
And how sick is it that we must add school shootings to your list of proud american traditions.
Throwing opinions like punches.
How many more have to die before you decide your ego isn’t as important as you think it is?
And I, too, am buried alive
My soggy grave parting its greedy lips.
To you, my bones, when ground into gunpowder and mixed into water, taste like champagne.
My pulse, as thin as an obituary panting beneath sweaty palms, and sure
We are “just kids,”
But you are forgetting we are the next generation
And you autopsy your fists.
Call it reclamatory.
Lately, when asked “how are you?” I respond with a name no longer living.
And who knows if mine will be next
Performed this yesterday in my first poetry slam and won second place :)
Emanuel Martinez Mar 2011
Self-breed hatred so easily suppressed
Taunted by the world, it’s waiting to explode
No, there’s no true taste, we’re only meandering
Listening to the menacing roar begging
To be given breath to materialize

Subtle commentary begins to eat at the flesh of self-belief
Identity crises momentarily paralyze audacity’s ammunition
True sights of self-aesthetic-beauty tremble
Diminishing that part of self-worth
Looming attacks threaten to pour over and reduce
The value of internal splendor for it’s seemingly of no use

Every praise never given to the self but to someone else
A constant crack at the foundation of self-love, it subconsciously ensures
She and she and she and she are said to be wonderful, but never the self

Realization that from any angle the self is not good enough
Leaves the mind discombobulated for lifelong sentiments of inadequacy
Seems to be the only route

Unconscious self denigration provokes false sense of value
For the true inner wealth in self-worth is sullied and unidentifiable

But the self is not merely self-loath and harboring of inadequacy
For goodness in abundance is found a few peals away from the layers of insecurity
March 6, 2011
Katherine Paist Nov 2012
I long for what I’ve never known: a word
that captures the foreign feels of speech surging
from my throat, the ways they shake and crack with
fury and failure as I break away
from the safety of silence, in jagged
and fragmented sentences–I’m desperate
to seize meaning, trying words like puzzle
pieces, I’ll force them to fit together
to form the spaces of pieces missing.
My greatest fear is to be incomplete.

And I’m constantly reminded of this
over coffee-talk and shared politics
as I recoil shyly in forced defense
of each vowel, and every consonant
and the myriad of their constructions:
they are stuck behind my eyes. I am left
apologizing for my vagueness and
for the grey shades of embarrassment and
finite language–when a dictionary
is never a long enough read for the
lone, longer walk around the circumference
of my head–or any red eye flight I have
ever caught that takes me from thought to thought:

the moving belts of baggage claim don’t
have to tell me of the luggage I lost.
As possessions were plucked from circuitry
I clung to the emptiness as if it
was mine and took it home as leverage.
I write in circles ’til I’m motion sick.
I write myself into thought-asylums
where silence is another language:
a slow germination of roots lacing
down the bell-curve of my spine.
A foreign tongue, An othered alphabet.
Toni Lane Apr 2017
What do I know of this Blue Bird?
Absolutely nothing.

I know It flies so high into the pink of the sun,
It migrates south one year then comes back
north for the next.

I know It likes to sneak Its eggs
into other nests to ensure Its brood
survives.

But really,
that’s all I know.

I know nothing significant—
I know not what It feels,
what It thinks,
I do not see Its memories as a young chick
learning to fly, to hunt.

All I know is that it's blue
and likes to crack nuts with
Its sturdy black bill.
PG Aug 2015
What must it have been like thirty-four years ago
For my parents, still with three months to go?
Weddings and funerals days before they had attended
Now one life begins just after another ended.

Nine months the calendar says we must wait
But not for my arrival; just couldn’t risk being late
July was the due date, not any time before
But I arrived instead in April, month number four.

Thinking back on it now, I must quickly pause
And ask what kind of commotion did I cause?
The first cries from my mouth, the first glimpse at my head
What were they thinking about where life had led?

A priest baptized me quickly as a child of the Lord
I gradually improved, and then their spirits soared
Months later I would come to my first and only home
But unlike most children I did not begin to roam

Both said I used my energy to speak
It was almost like I knew my body was too weak
I would give anything to spare them the pain and shock
Of being told by doctors I would never truly walk.

I don’t know for a fact but I’m guessing my dad
Took this news to heart quickly and got really mad
After all, this man wanted to make others feel better
And now his own son was sick?  Here come the four letters

Or was their no sadness between them?  No anger? No pain?
Just a quiet resolve to let normalcy reign?
I suppose in some way they had no choice to make
Just do the best job they could and accept any mistakes.

This may seem strange, but I truly want to know
After being told this, where did they think my life would go?
How did this change their plans for me?
What did they think?  What could I be?

Don’t mistake this for pity; I’m not feeling sad
My childhood was awesome; the best I could have had
A brother and sister who helped, played, teased and fought
Would I change anything, you may ask?  Absolutely not!

Parents who encouraged me to learn, grow, and love life
Never hiding that all of us would one day face strife.
I was never promised anything would be simple or done with ease
But lately I just want to shout “Can I catch a break please?”

Don’t misunderstand, I’m not here to place blame
We all have parts to play in life’s little game.
But sometimes it feels like the wheels have gone off the track
And I’m looking for ways to get the balance back

People often say with a grimace or a frown
That life goes by too fast, and they wish time would slow down.
That is not my main complaint, but if I had to take a crack
It would be that I feel just about a decade out of whack.

Up through high school was pretty much an active blur
Football games, pools, proms, I never really felt unsure
My 16th year passed without trips to Driver’s Ed
But I never really cared because I knew what lay ahead

Graduating HS and then leaving town
Heading to college away from parents?  Nothing could bring me down
That summer and the next four years simply couldn’t be beat
At that point, it seemed like the world was at my feet.

My time at college would change me at my core
Hangovers?  Drug-addled roomies?  Never had those before
I wasn’t totally naïve; I knew all three existed
But voluntarily choosing them just seemed to make things twisted.

Yup, I was a goody-goody; though not quite like the Pope
But whenever things went off script it was hard enough to cope
Like telling a mom her son was kicked out after she asked me
Or when he said, “If the cops come don’t worry; I crashed into a tree.”

I didn’t mind these changes; though many thought I should
If they didn’t serve as a reality check, what else ever would?
Old friends left and new ones were made
Some memories are gone now, but so many have stayed

My first prom date in high school soon went away
Freshman year of college, right before Valentine’s Day
Soon after, a new girlfriend came along for a stint
At that point, I saw what craziness meant.

It wasn’t her fault; that’s not what I meant
We had good times; including a traveling version of RENT
But there was no real spark between us; just one of those things
Very quickly she learned how to pull my strings

Those two people??  Yup, they’re it
Keeps running through my mind
Yet I still believe there is someone
Out there for me to find.

I’ve been out with women since and felt more than a tingle
It’s just that none of them have ever been single
Married, engaged, friendzoned, or my decision
It feels like I’m out on an undercover mission

Online dating pops up in my head
Don’t have the guts to see where that would have lead
Please don’t read this and start to feel sad
It is not intended as a personal ad

I’m bringing it up because all too often
People with disabilities falling in love is all but forgotten
Every time the subject comes out of my mouth
People run for the hills or start heading south

Even friends and family who go back a long way
Often stay silent with nothing to say
Kept waiting for that much hyped talk about safety, women, and manhood
But no one  ever said a word, and I’m not sure they ever could.

I’m not an idiot of course, I know how it goes
Have fun, be respectful and safe, put bros before **’s
These days, I will stop and think   Do people even care?  
Or simply feel like it’s impossible because of the chair?

That’s the million dollar question with an answer unsaid
I don’t regret a single minute of where my life has led
My five nieces and nephews bring more joy than I’ve ever had
But eventually someday, I want to be a dad

Whenever that thought gets some space in my head
I always try and visualize five plus years ahead.
Many logistical questions abound
Could I chase him or her?  Change a diaper?  Pick them up and carry them around?

Be a good teacher of what they should know?
Compassion and hope no matter where time may go?
Give them all of the best things in life?
Without adding a burden to any future wife?

Don’t get ******; I’m not cursing the chair
Or saying that it has become too much for me to bear
It’s my legs, my freedom, and my travel; hope that doesn’t sound cheesy
But I also understand why it may make others uneasy

I don’t drive on my own, can’t dress or shower without an aide
So people don’t worry much about me getting laid
Totally understandable, no problem there
My issue comes when others think I don’t WANT these things or care.

I’ve heard “You drink??” in surprise and “Hey man, you must have pills”
Not screaming back takes all of my will.
“I won’t hurt you; will I?; “Do you smoke **** for the pain?”
Comments like these just drive me insane.

Not all of them are meant with spite
I can tell the difference and am usually right
But it must be out in the open and said without care
That people with disabilities should do whatever they can dare

It’s not always easy; that’s why I started this rhyme
Unexpected obstacles and problems can eat away at our time
But always keep people around who will let you dream
Celebrate your successes, and be there when you need to scream

They may not be the ones you thought or who you knew the longest
But you don’t need physical power to be among the strongest
Even if it takes more time than first thought
Never let anyone say that you should not have fought

Go to concerts, casinos, see the B’s, C’s, Pats, or Sox
Resist when anyone tries to put you in a box
Always give and expect 100 percent; never settle for half
And I guarantee no matter what, you will have the last laugh

To those who may know me,  thanks for being there
In ways big and small, you’ve all shown that you care.
It’s good to get this out with no apology
My next step isn’t clear yet, but no one will stop me!
jdmaraccini Aug 2013
Divine Minds Transcend

There is so much more than what we see
what we fear and choose to perceive
what we're told we must believe
a place that's hard to conceive
a portal to a world beyond belief
Since birth, it waits for you and me
a world beyond a lucid dream
I can tell you where this portal leads
it leads to a cure for humanity
So step onto the magic train
and learn to accept your certain death
For life is nothing more
then fabricated reality

Fate, it seems is not without a sense of irony

I finally broke free of the evil me
it wasn't church that set me free
it wasn't drugs from psychiatry
it wasn't money that made me see
I had to die from this reality
and accept my certain death

It's your turn to consider the facts
now breathe a bit and try to relax
Just one second as I remove the mask
then a crack like a whip and a panic attack
No slack as you slip into a static bath
your vertebrae split you are severed in half
You blast away and never look back
the math adds up so you have to adapt
Half of you is lost and your soul is cracked
the other half swirls in the endless black
As you float down an uncharted path
you finally breakthrough at last

All you thought you knew from life is shattered
as you step into the looking glass
© JDMaraccini 2013
I could explain to you the exact process by which my Brain craves something more,
It begs for Dopamine, Seratonin and other such delicious chemicals,
It gives me sunshine, when the rain pours through the crack in my window,
I gives me happiness, when my psyche wanders to it's bad old ways.

Is there more to life than the things we perceive with our primitive organs?
I'm not so sure.
So i fill my bloodstream with these potions that make me see beautiful things,
So i fill my lungs with the acrid taste of fantasy,
So i fill my veins with hope, and dreams of when i was happy,
So i fill my head with the notion that i can stop whenever i want,
And deprive my Brain of this reality, in the hope it will give me something more appealing.

A wise man once said, that only a life lived for others is worth living,
And so i find myself worthless, bathed in glorious hedonism,
Alone in my palace of dreams.
Fred McCarthy Dec 2010
I heard the crack of your heart.
And that hurt me even worse.
I heard the sound of your teardrops as they touched the floor.
That would leave marks for good.

I saw the tears in your eyes fog your sight up.
And that drownt my heart completely.
I saw the pain you embraced.
And that covered my world so badly.

Come fly with me...
Away from here...
To my trance...
Where you could see the sun go down as the world fades away.
Where the trees of autumn by the river are gilded by radiant snow.

Come fly with me...
itoro Mar 2018
Unapologetically Black

I am black, what does that mean
It's supposed to mean that
That everywhere I go I am seen
It means that the sun and I have the best of relationships
That of melanin and honey I drip
It means that every step I take is magical
So beautiful, its biblical
My body, a pulchritudinous sculpture
In my roots, circulating the richest of cultures
I make my own light
And it's so so bright, such a beautiful sight
My cloud-like tresses with the most diverse of personalities
From wavy, to curly, to, coily, to *****
Everyone who is not me can only envy
But instead,it means that
It means that everywhere I go I am seen
It means that people don't have to think too much
Immediately I am judged
Because of the colour of my skin
I am treated like I come from the bin
You see me wearing a hoodie
You immediately think to **** me is your duty
Because I’m African
You treat me like I ain’t human
But I’m so much more than that
Now, I’m going to try to talk to you and make an impact
Don’t you realize, that the fabric of our society is being torn up by racism
We’re destroying and attacking ourselves like it's cannibalism
Don’t you realize that you're not worried about me
But instead my place in the human race
Don’t you realize that you are fed half truths
In the history books
I'm more than your stereotypes of being loud and obnoxious
You all think the same way it’s like you don’t even have an option
You focus on my colour
And don’t realise that the cops killing us are getting dollars
Amadou Diallo was shot 41 times when trying to enter his apartment
Think about it, he never got to do all the things of which he dreamt
This Guinean immigrant came to the country supposedly with streets paved with gold, only to fall to the ground, ****** and grey
It's not a big deal you say
Well Sean Bell was shot on his way home to his soon to be wife on the day of his marriage

50 BULLETS

No reason stated
Is this really what we’re going to encourage
Aiyana Stanley was only seven when she was shot in her sleep while her house was being bombed
Unacceptable it is beyond
Today I walk on your lands fearing our lives, my head the ground
I wonder if my heart ever feel sound
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired
I choose not to stand around and watch the hate
I know that I was not made for this fate.
I’m tired of the continuous *******,
Well **** sorry I didn't realise i wasn’t allowed to be black in public.
My skin is not a burden, it’s a blessing with a touch love,
Smiling wide, head high, graceful like a dove.
In the future we stand, sit back and relax
So I puff up my ‘fro and turn my ****** music on,
Because whatever you say or do I will not crack
I will always stay unapologetically black.
this is a collab poem i made with @lorenzyyy_
i do not claim all rights. i give half to miss. lorenzy.
Ottar Apr 2013
Violence sells, *** sells,
but why?
WHY?

Do we have a greed as a society,
greedy need to feed insatiability?,
from East to West and North to South,
Watch carefully what spills from my mouth.

I can not digest what I divest to the dishevelled remains of my day.
I know they are not supposed to end or begin this way,
with tears instead of raindrops falling on my face, rolling down to...
to my paper covered desk, absorbed and lost drying the instant they were
spilled.  Have you had your fill with what the world ills your way?

Take time to exhibit patient poise, in all that you face,
you are not alone in your lonely place, some say feel it,
I say try to pray and seal it!  Away, oh Lord, away!  Take me.

All this which is not the world's best will target you as a test, not the same
day or the same time, but sometimes, it will seem so as  it comes all down the funnel
cloud of darkness of heavy woe and the gravity of your circumstances; pulls
at your hair on your head, plucks your nerves till your limbs feel heavy and dead
as your heart pumps red liquid poorly through the frozen pipes that circulate
oxygen with red tincture flowing that could be spilled like the tears and cover
the ground sorrowfully, bleeding ......
heartfelt loss
embarrassed as it is emptied,
from your vessel, with more cracks and
holes, pass me the plumbers' putty please!

Seal it and pray, each crack, each hole, each day,
C'mon!
It is not about how low down and into despair you go.

It is about him, Him! You might not agree, you might not
see, you may not believe, but He believed in you and me,
FIRST, so if things get bad or go worse,
look up from a position of pain, move to a place of
strength, to the rock, to the cleft, to the shadow of
an eagles' wings and then see what His mercy brings.....
Take what His mercy brings hold it close by your heart,
in your face.............your scars......the ugly...... will one
day BE gone........may my hollow sounding words tremble
like a tree-trunk under the weight of many birds that take flight
with your plight, your harsh existence, be carried away in flight
on the echo of "no more tears, no more tears" sends the winged
prayers to flights of  spoken freedom........ heard higher and higher.
littlejoelle Jan 2017
It's another year coming to a close -

A time to give and sit around
Talking about all the wonders

Unexpected, and crossed fingers for - alike

A new box we now have filled
With brand new moments
And snapshots of memories
Nights we danced like crazy
And those we spent staying up talking, far crazier
Dreaming and stretching out our fingers

To grasp the distant future
And hold the best of new days close

A whole new box of all wonders
And reminders of when we were most human

To open and sift through, picking apart

And piecing together the parts
Of our lives and holding on
To the fewest, the brightest
And those we can't live without
On the bleakest of days and the longest of nights

For all we have is this firecracker of a life
The last five seconds between

Lighting and setting off
And on to the explosion we become

We've spent our years sitting and holding on
To one last glimmer of hope

A slow burn, simmering

Almost never going off

And right before we've all but given up
We're taken aback
By the loud crack and the dancing of lights,
Falling embers and exposing new dimensions

Now there is more to discover
Time to spend
And create
The next great adventure,

A hopeful new year, lasting long and
Filled with sights and stories

Two in the morning worries sitting on the roof,
Long swigs and watching the faint trail of smoke

Days for searching and nights spent answering
Questions that make up an existence
And those that give life

To the new year
And how it posits,
Theorizes all three sixty five new ways
The odds are fought, not so much as even defied

But goes down among storied days
It remains and awaits

With the grace of kind hearts and warm cheer
To be remembered and placed

On the footnotes and small scraps
Of history and the infinite loop

Of memories that together, create.
brooke Jun 2012
I had a dream
I awoke to my own
I made it out of a never-ending hallway where
truckers bore down on my back, I
saw the morning through a crack in the woodwork
I could breathe the air,
lay out over the trees below me
if so tangible, vivid, how not was it real?
who is to say these illusions aren't physically palpable
a photo etched over in pencil, grainy
my hands were soft and drawn
but when you wake up in a place where you sleep
you open your eyes
(c) Brooke Otto
Devin Ortiz Dec 2016
If you can't beat them, join them.
That system that beats you down
Pick a side, have a good ride
Finish it to the end.

Hasn't worked out too well.
What to do? What to do?

If you can't beat them, become them.
That power of the opressor
Use it, abuse it, live large
Crack that whip.

Hasn't worked out to well.
What to do? What to do?

If you can't beat them, change them.
Sweet knowledge and empathy
Change a heart, make a friend
Seek out humanity.

Hasn't worked out to well.
What to do? What to do?
torrey Jan 2015
Lonely for you only
I would give you the world
I'd hold your hand and kiss your head
Until your stomach twirled
You're the smell after it rains
Your kisses leave stains
You're my last thought before bed
Your fingers linger in my head
Don't leave me here
With goosebumps burning from your touch
Don't leave me here
Please, I love you so much
You walked away and I just watched
Each step left a little crack
Right across my heart
My bones started to wither
My heart, again bitter
Everything I once was started to deplete
The wind scooped me up off my feet
Destroying everything we ever built
My petals started to wilt
I loved you wholly
Losing myself in you only
If only you were lonely
Petrichor- a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies after it rains

— The End —