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Jaycee Nov 2014
Tears,
Shatter.
The floor,
Cracks.

Against the splashes,
You hear them splat.
Your heart beats furiously.
The girls heart breaks.

She falls.
Eyes shut.
The hits,
Leave cuts.
Her smile,
Vanished.

Against her own will,
She lashes.
Screaming,
"Mother, no!"
Lady Luna Jan 31
Clarity carves crevices creating
avenues altering adjacent abysses
Which were once thought of
as a waste of space.
Do not be afraid of what is pouring from the mouth
Of a man with closed eyes....
Adjust and close yourself into that space
for you are not a waste
Sometimes, cutting corners makes for
erasing the unnecessary
out of your perfect circle
No matter how crooked it may seem

Definitive decisions dare darting
thoughts to teeter tenaciously
till they are forced to stop polluting
your space with remnants of
what has been carved away
what you have carved away
Pathways to success were never made with
an unfamiliarity of depth, of dirt,
of falling,
and fearing, and failing
But it was also not made with foreign hands
or the vision of someone else
Do not heed the warning
of the man with closed eyes,
for he is incognizant of where
the cracks in your hands may take you.
You're gonna go far, kid.
Gabrielle Isa Nov 2017
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.

Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...

...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.

His "I love you"s became poison
That seeped deep into my bones
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
The rain ticks on the curb
Like a chronometer
Held up to a short race

As a man entering the mall
Feels his pocket for his
Wallet;
A grimace cracks his face.

© LazharBouazzi
CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there’s swings now
and an empty barn
with quiet corners
and broken walls
echoing chambers
that speak to the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from the warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
the holder of those pigs
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
CK Baker Jul 19
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figure, holy shrine
monastery in grand design

cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley way
gondolier on full display

winged lion on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare

crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to hell
golden stairs of placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge

torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side

black plague, attila the hun
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch

middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
CK Baker Jan 2017
Thank you:
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
pisser seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tank
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
butt finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgy
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nose
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life
in basic form
CK Baker Jul 2017
They weren’t all cut from the same cloth
vilified tenders of an iron chink
some were lovers
or lucid dreamers
stage romantics
hidden behind jackboots
and skull caps
and switchblade seams

Caste members of a forlorn pack
counting their patches and deeds
conjuring demons
around the center console
filling dreams
with radio reds
and dusted quarries
and faded sepia prints

Brass knuckles
marches of the few
lightening bolt cracks
from a chilling blood moon
death’s dark specter;
cold and ominous looms
the cobalt sea swells
near the nestled, and lost
Clubhouse at Kiusta
Show us some light, Mr Jimmy
Hayleigh Nov 2016
One day you'll find someone who makes all those broken pieces of your heart feel like the most beautiful jigsaw in the world, who cherishes your cracks and fills them with gold dust.

She wasn't wrong when she said you deserved better.
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