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Katherine Apr 2017
The old man stands in bare feet
on the composite floor,
gnawing on raw potatoes;
a crypt of tenderness
behind a barrier of
golden baby teeth
and thin wire rims.
He swallows ardently
pushing whole potatoes,
passed a sixty-year-old
clog in his throat.

One day, that tenderness
will drop like lead
from his mouth;
each word
cratering in the softest earth
“I’m trying.”

One day, on the back
of his blood
he’ll remind me;
with a mouthful of lead
and a snarl,
he will urge me to run.
Oskar Erikson Nov 2023
left our things
cratering the desert;
palms upturned
pulling the pressure away -
soft-words
talking down the crumpled spine of loss.
the sand,
the sand.
if it wasn’t so fine,
would you be able to trust
the mistaking of
abrasion for absolution?
will you be able to forgive
the belief
that a collapse can come
with good intentions?
Amber Grey Jul 2013
I was happy then, because there were eight.
I was happy because it smelt like ash and ukuleles;
rushing water that could very
very well break my neck.

I smiled and you smiled back
blinded by a flash of everything,
anything that happened in Decembers and Februaries
and the warm air, lying thick on the back of your neck
melted that flash clean until all I saw -
all any of us saw -
were blinking images of ourselves.
caught unaware and griping but also so very happy.

It smelt like summer, like tires speeding up, up
higher and higher until we crashed into the sky and fell down,
cratering holes as acid rain.
Aaron Blair Nov 2012
There are two moons,
the one I used to cut my wrist
and the one that followed me home,
bathing my blood in silver light,
its round-eyed innocence gone.
My skin glowed white, hemoglobin
starved, celestial, cementing
my place in the firmament,
so that the universe cried with me,
cratering all the worlds with its tears.
betterdays Mar 2014
just a moments grace
from the rushing roaring
in my brain.
just a little surcease,
a second's truce
between voice in and sane.
i just need to change my focus,
to blankly stare,
for the smallest while not to care.

to have a twinkling and a wink,
to re-adjust the mindset.

to re-sing the refrain,
to desist the cratering battle,
to lay in fields quiet,
to release the burgeoning
strain.

to hear the epiphanies call,
sweet and clear.
to understand life's meaning.
to balance fear and longing,
couarage and strength.
to walk my passage willingly,
all of it's undetermined length.
one quiet moment,
is all i need right now,
in order to adjust my wavering stride.
that and the knowing,
you will walk beside.
Henk May 2020
Pile stone after stone upon my chest
I deserve not the breath that i draw
Brittle bones house a pulse ever softer
As they splinter, caress
With the grace of the moon descending
And force of the guillotine's blade
May the echoes of my death rattle fall upon deaf ears
And be swallowed by the lapping waves

May my bones please the hounds
May my flesh feed the ground
May my heart cease its ache
May the sun rise again

Oh sweet sleep
Still and unending
A calm descends upon the embers of being
The coals cratering my eternal home
As deep as need be to bury these shameful bones
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'

nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man
,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the  
other bad good girls,
who got there first,

but we will write of
******-rings and
other crazy songs you sing

it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"

which line is a joke,
which around your neck is
your customized yoke,
which is why:
plaintive wail to no avail,
the regret that never can be sated,
the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just,
(and unjust)
just enough
to make a semi-satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear

whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy writing
and the return of
my no longer muzzy^

Ms. Minx A. Muse-me
<£>
2:13pm
a poem in reserve for you, the Canadian girl
^muzzy - groggy, blurred

always about you and you

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2046630/to-new-beginnings-and-******-rings/
<soft spoken intro>

...see your still here again,
    .....think your still welcome here?
                 ...here,
huh

Closed our mills, took our jobs, put in down our throats,
Fed us lies, took the pensions, thought we were a joke,
Media all bia's -steal my sentence, voted 'ere to revoke,
Cratering down! Cratering down the steepest *****!

We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...

We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...

White people,
     are raging, against,
           The Machine..

So Welcome, welcome...welcome...
      To The Machine...
            Floyd

I once woke up covered in blood on my parent's steps,
My truck was miles away on the side of the road.

We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...

— The End —