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Unnoticed Notes Oct 2016
When time comes to a stand still
and terror fills my chest,
when the very air stops
and uncertainty creeps up on us,
I cant help but reach for you.
Our uncertainty smothers the flame we use for warmth, causing you to flinch at my touch for the cold has seeped into my very soul.
To repeat the past means death and
I don't think I can.
S Smoothie Oct 2016
The wind creeps up on me carrying the whisper of your voice
With welcome Warmth Your soul envelops me,
comforting.
You haven't forgotten me in this long breaking of our presence
I miss you too.
You know I won't come,
I'm too stubborn
I know what it means
Though I think of you endlessly
I wish on every star I see it could be different
But time is the ultimate master of its journey
It won't go backwards,
No matter how desperately pleaded
Time has no conscience
And serendipity is a joker
Poking fun while living through disaster
Seducing with flashes of false hope
Oh but love is a greater power
It out lasts and out shines all these trials of destiny
This life is half led
Shhh, I whisper,
Not this life,
The next
I will come for you
With a fanfare of all the colours of love
I feel you gently let go
But know you'll come again
Just as you know
I'll be waiting
Kelly EC May 2015
My head on his chest
Fingers drawing circles around his navel,
"You know how if the moon were any closer
Or any farther away,
Our tides would be outrageous?"
A smile creeps along his lips,
"Mmm-hmm."
"And if this earth were any closer
Or any farther way
From our sun,
We wouldn't have life?"
His "yes" trails off.
"Well, that's like you and I--
If you were any smaller
Or any bigger
We couldn't fit together perfectly like this."
He kisses my forehead
And pulls me closer.
Aggie Fredette Feb 2013
Silence and darkness comfort me
The soft glow of white snow rising through my window
The black silhouettes of the trees against the dark gray skies
The silence like a continuously whispered promise
The steady stillness feeling omnipresent and everlasting
And as the darkness creeps further and further into me
I calm more and more, the quiet enveloping all
The night is a comfort and the quiet is reassurance
That all is well even when it is to be broken by the rising of the sun
Julian Mar 2020
In the most precise terms accessible to the vast repository of considered lexicon, this passage describes the finifugal destiny of infectious myopia that, when dredged through the rabble and bugaboo of sensationalism that outmodes the modular gravity of vogue chicaneries belonging to the catchpole of the watchtowers that sink into a hibernal abyss by the crafty subversive elegance of the magnetic pull predicated on the prolific disposition of the serenity of nature to overpower the lust for civilization and thereby provide the calm equipoise of the confident desert,even when famished, to overtake those inclined to urbane bustle with the eventual drought of a ****** kitsch world inured to pollution reverting because of an exaggerated hubris embalmed by a composite nurture into the freedom of a leveled compass of moral dignity found in nature, ultimately astounds itself because of peremptory pulchritude. This prophesies a tip-toed dance with extravagance that ultimately humbles even upright civilizations with the magnetism of the elementally pristine to bequeath a licentious freedom of extravagation that philanders on maidan territory--beyond the ******* of the reprisal of peevish cavils of recalcitrant cognomens and the despotic inclinations of civilized but brutish incursion upon the warped reversion of priorities that enthrones serenity above bustle of latitude over the prerogative to jostle the crowded quagmire of inventive but abortive spectacles of tributary happenstances of the newfangled ochlocracy--because the immediate convenience of civilization is destined to crumple by clockwork flaws inherent in machination what nature can carve effortlessly through inseminated rejuvenation.
    It is not because of the rantipole revelry of the noisy cacophony that we are starkly indifferent to the hum of the melliferous agency that leads to ecocentric governance, it is rather because the conflagrations of the crowded humdingers of our times have lapsed into the crevasse of unbounded lewdness of wretched ambsace that purports alienation more fundamental than civilization and thereby provokes a cutthroat collapse predicated on the creamy pettifoggery of saccharine sentiment that creates the rot of urbanity and goads participation in the renewal of the bionomic imperative to cherish the serenity and peace and freedom granted by nature that always conquers nurture by axiomatic consequence because to prepone filigrees of cosmopolitan bravery is contrary to the crass nature of the demur of deferred gravitas accorded not just by ceremony but by rehearsed gallantry that outlasts the sardonic reprisals of flayed anticipation.
      To the reader less lettered than enamored, I intend to remark as a pivotal linchpin of my rudimentary model of the universe that the epigenetic configuration of disorder inherent to the entelechy of physically mandated entropy is an overriding force that, through permutations of our sanitized history ,we discover as the direct autarky of the innate to trounce the willful volition of the artificial because the precedence of nature undermines the imperatives of a filipendulous swing of nurture to destroy itself because the clockwork upbraided thorns of society are more evident and incumbent than the circular irony of the circuitous wiredrawn windlass of feral proclivity to overwhelm the devices of one tragically supererogatory species that undercuts its own virility by sterilizing the future with the noisy cacophony of the epiphenomenal excess of profligate carnality accorded by Original Sin and later expounded and exploited into a titanic hubris that might eventually sink the prerogatives of the metropolis and favor the malingering peace of the remote frontier. I wonder often why aliens congregate in insular proximity to Native American tribes and propinquity to their shibboleths rather than abide by an enigmatic skullduggery to infiltrate lucrative metropolitan tracts and, with delicate entryism, seek to propitiate the inane aspects of population with the delicate poise of interposition and, when I ponder this deeply lugubrious question, I realize it is probably because the aliens themselves are byproducts of an overpolluted society famished eventually by its own adolescent excesses that eventually redound in the fulminations of subsequent dearth and therefore it cherishes the arid propinquity between the natural balance of nature with the composite symmetry of the evolved soluble valence of recycled treasuries of provincial benedictions rather than a global ploy of takeover and turnover because they fear the ultimate destiny of the thronging clangor and obviously prefer the surreptitious entrenchment in tribal allegiance rather than pushful attempts to proselytize an imperious solidarity geared for heroic redhibitions of human defect for ulterior conquest that vouchsafes a degree of ineradicable dominion. Ironically, in the fitful throes of sickness I have convalesced into a singular desultory equipoise with the serenity of pause rather than the drygulch of overmilked tactless celerity that taxes the limitations of even the petty simplicity of the most rudimentary concepts and, through deliberative subroutines, I conquer the articles of subaudition that lurk in remote corridors waiting for the marauding curiosity of unique proclivity to traverse a bypass of directional contingency and summit the immeasurable lengths of the incalculable by measured and sly blettonisms of profound wealth but dramatic appraisal of the rudimentary vineyard for both a pronounced variegation of hypostasized supersolid vagrancies and a selectively culled culinary harvest of slow piggybacks upon even the simplest countenance of endeavor rather than the unkempt rigid sustenance of the formal inculcation and the liberated bailiwick of how an unsung sorrow can elevate the fanfare of the loudest enchantments above the pother of kitsch debauchery.
  On a more relevant note, instinct is often the realm of finicky depredation and libidinous tabanids to oleaginous gimcracks exerted primarily by the geotaxis of regnant pedigree but fathomed more by imperative glorified brawn rather than a self-aware truculence of unalloyed volition exerted by the primitive kinship to violent boorish self-advancement that debases us because of the lurid savagery inherent to many evolved chicaneries ,that remains hidden to even the most glorified ommateum distorted by the glare of distant tantalization, distorts the invictive goals of the ergasia of intrepid lollops of the enantiodromia of entropy. And, because ambition convolutes and flanges the instinctual into importunate articulations that bypass necessity by gouging consequence into redoubled countenance--upon which we all abide to some degree in the maintenance of labile stature that often gets dredged by external impediments to pushful accomplishment to grace--is the stagecraft by histrionic leverage that is a direct byproduct of the ulterior composite of circumstance and precarious fluctuations of character. Essentially, genius manifests when the gluttony of metaphorical siderism that is sejungible from the seismic jostle of the ordinary outweighs the restraint of the ******* to immediacy to traipse above bamboozled tripwires and surmount the restive jealousy of common noemas of subtle verbigerations to heave from a recessive slumber of foothot dreams into the alchemy of inconspicuous levity beyond the admittedly aggrandized and glazed angular momentum of rhetoric to simmer with radiant efflorescence to pay homage to sedimentary notions rather than truckle to the imperial ambitions of predictable leaps to the great fanfare of the proper sabbatical from celerity for the conventicle of the extraordinary plane of the supersensible entelechy of all creation.
        In profound contemplation, what manifests relatively clearly is that the ruinous hesitation provoked by the incumbent din of uproar leads to the whiplash of warbled subliminal tilts in the axis of the chryselephantine machinations--even of the inquisitive--into the free-for-all of the acerbic displacement of the acquisitive to a scalding shipwreck that defies the cordial gravity of demarches of extenuation and further incites a dislodged frenzy of exacerbated priorities becoming jumbled to such a quizzical extent that the dash for jewels becomes the hegira from either afflicted incarcerations of panic or the conflagration of malignant opportunism. In these uncertain financial times, we henpeck—sometimes with extraordinary dalliance and otherwise with bodged exercises in profane self-sabotage—the surface endeavor by the agitprop that congeals, even in the most strident resourcefulness waged against it, to the folly of fulgurant pride in the fruitful bets against prosperity or the ennobled forbearance of the slumbered toil and toll of the taxation of capitalism upon itself that overhangs every specter or prospect for mammon without the overweening clarity of the disclaimer of labile liability because of lapsed conscientiousness. The spread of wizened ripples of the Jehus that dart with provident alacrity towards the myth of catalyzed proliferation without incidental pollution, endanger themselves by the fumes of their own arrogation of mercantile swoopstakes rather than by the contrary coexistence of debased timidity of the rigid priggishness of reluctance which is by far a greater enemy to the financial ecosystem than the outrecuidance of financial temerity because toxicity through accident leads to windfall by precedent because it is a primary mover rather than a flagitious inertia and therefore we should dwell on the immanent accessible treasury of the composite good for invictive truth. Returning to Isaiah, it is proclaimed that justice will dwell in the desert while the fruits of prosperity lurk both in vineyards of conquest and foreign forests of the unknown fertility of grace..because in a sense the vapid lifeless drawl of the beazed comportment of the husbandry of complacent but arid contentment is fashioned in a manner that relies on provident self-containment rather than the industrious bulldozer of calamity that besets dominions of heralded opportunity even when ripe times are precluded by the zeal of the epicurean demands of harvest that eventually famish rather than appease the diet of profane luxuriousness rather than a balance that leans on the notion of balance itself to predicate sustainability that laments its own dearth but never foments the outrage of volatile fortunes won or lost in the casino of opportunism.
    On a highly irrelevant note, the checkered figments of otosis are the ironic endearment of the expected to their expectancy and yet because of wrinkles of iterative doubts roaming the widely spelunked cavern of redoubled demerits subsuming self-contempt, the dregs of the self-important eventually sour into a cynicism that barks loudly at the locked corridor of pride but eventually trespass into the coherence of the incidental that spark the volitions of a self-gaslighted endeavor that creeps incumbent upon most scrutiny but less salient to the otiose obtuseness of the rankled hamshackle of perseverance in sublunary clarity.
   In the etiology of reiterative and normative catastrophe, the morale that severs the parturition of spunky audacity in favor of complacent staples of buoyant regimented alacrity vitiate the trim slaver of the luxuriant grovel into the alcoves of restive libido into the hegiras that hurdle over the conflations between necessity and want and transmute the furor of fitful windlass into a transcendent indelible ethos of ineradicable and endangered regalia of the swamp that, with bricolages of vigor, resorts to lopsided scrutiny of outcroppings of the profane rather than the self-aware poise of scacchic prevenance of ulterior action to the proper congruence of action to the composite reaction of the synectically impaired. In this vein, we must concede that a foundering vessel is often scuttled by self-infliction but ultimately salvaged by the modesty of resistance to plenipotentiary fictions of noisome crotaline tabanids and the recognition of the ramshackle facts of tentative triage in a wilderness vitiated by the alarming abundance of careworn exercises in hubris and overstated alacrity to the dimples of regress ultimately scars the geopolitics of specter and prospect to the extent that pernicious anomalies dart into prominence without castigation or that tremendous serendipities sink beneath the RADAR of the otherwise sturdy panopticon
   Thus, the polity of interwoven statesmanship by prospectus leads eventually to a culminated crux that is retrofugal more than finifugal and, in the absenteeism to the precedent that eventually provokes the unprecedented, we witness the folly of irrevocable design that, when sufficiently abridged by compendium, leads to a swift clarity that ponders vague traces of the superficially coherent into a suboptimal engrenage with contingent stipulations that often backfire because of the crude boorishness of statesmanship ratcheting into a vertiginous dance with instinctual donnism rather than appointing dignified salience the proctor of uncertain but sizable dubiety acknowledged and commanded into clairvoyant action rather than resigned acatalepsy.
  In the resulting vacuum of moral conundrum, it is not enough to predicate our bedrock on flourishing jackals in the wild nor the often lambasted sematic entrenchment of fixated designs of the impending perfidy inherent to every quagmire of bugaboo or foofaraw livid by smoldering embers of combustible and often deliberate begrudgement because the thriving industry of constative vacillations of pandered controversy are in itself ribald albatrosses of coarse conformity that derelicts the penumbra of consensus because of the firebrands of invictive bulldozing vigor to solve rather than to acknowledge the unsolvable to the extent that gridlock becomes an ayurnamat. This is why we witness a floundered perspective of slugabed deliberation contending with peremptory decisiveness verging on a saturnalia of syntax of cotqueans borrowing odium from plucky viragos because the snailed uncial crackjaw dynamics of the unfettered cyanotype for the dashpots of brittle absolution of the slowpoke substance of elevated debate provoke the ornery miscegenation of a hyped fluidity that stagnates rather than prolongs the integral linchpins of the maieutic capacity rather than the redress of incontinence only valorous by the ommateum of the owners of folly. So if outpaced by the cyprian flourish of cursory rhetoric carping on melodies of transparent rapture personified in an intellectual composite, I retain the art of flayed delamination clavigerous--only because of the heist of smoldered efflorescence—because the centered pivot of demegorics is a travesty of monument men relaying variable scaldabancos against modish artifice itself (often without even realizing the circular irony of such endeavors) because the fervor of snappy sizzle disembrangles the intorted ego from reckoning the drollery of the obtuse only to the mutiny of superlative acuity by surgical strokes to convalesce on dittology to reprove even the deftest articulations because of the prerogatives of the uncharted game that is never the behest of lifeless taxidermies of regelation.
    Ultimately the summit of the calculus of all human endeavor is outfoxed by the rapacity of erratic successive spurts of upheaval which can be forestalled by degrees of institutional prescience formed by cryptodynamic enigmas lurking in the troves of myth but the financial calamities we are witnessing are but the byproduct  of rabid scavengers feasting on restive panic rather than the inevitable degringolade of swollen tribunes steamy with an upbeat verve becoming vitiated by programmed incontinence. So what should we do with this crafty rejoinder to a variety of modern checkered quandaries and the skeumorphs of speculation? We should inquire to the utmost capacity to outlast the overhang of aleatory vicissitude and await optimal conditions stipulated by the constellation of veridical information rather than lean on inclement windlass of instinctive gambles predicated on specious fatalism or the contingent backfire of the ruinous roulette of exotic fanfare that shepherds the purblind into mundane degrees of perdition while the chary parlay their Ten Minas into a bonanza by decisive grit.
A shiver creeps right through the house
Searching hard for a spine so to tingle
It scuttles and darts around like a mouse
Hunting just for the right soul to single…

Out for its attention. Upon which to blow
That cold icy breath; to make shudder and shake
The one that it settled on never will know
Why they felt such a fear when not even awake

For it found them and used them
Wrapped and smothered their skin
Pricked and tickled their body during deep REM
A dream frigid and sharp and as bitter as gin

Oh the terror it gets you however you try
Shoots hard up your back as the strongest of shingle
The worst thing about it is you never know why
With your deep darkest fears it’s determined to mingle

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
What happens in the deepest darkness of the night, during black hard sleep, when "something" touches you...from somewhere
Billy Nov 2017
Come, quiet now
Feel it in the air
Listen to the whisper
Of the stars on the dark sky

Big stars, small stars, all bright
Shine as they do through the endless night
But the way you light up
Make the whole universe stop and stare

You find peace with the sunrays at day
But at night, when the darkness creeps in
Even the stars are jealous
Of the way you find comfort

A whole new galaxy is forming within you
Seems close, yet unreachable
You are way beyond a beautiful constellation
You are a stardust of the dazzling cosmos
phil roberts Jan 2017
These days it seems
I remember my early childhood
Better than the contents of my last meal
Dementia creeps.......

Right now,
I'm remembering one early evening
With four of us small boys
Sitting on a wall
Discussing the realities of the world
As we knew it

The moon was pale but visible
And a subject for discussion
As serious as old men playing chess
We wondered how far away it could be
One lad said it was farther than London
But we knew that was obviously wrong
After all
We could see the moon
No-one had seen London

                                       By Phil Roberts
Megan R Hoogstad Jan 2013
it creeps upon her now,
so cold and unwilling to let down.
mercy is not in its wake,
and i dont know how much of this i can take.

ive hated her as long as i can remember,
and ive awaited this week for two years come December.
but days have passed,
and the time is here,
and right now its for my mother that i fear.

im not so sure how i take this.
i don't know yet if im hurt,
or if i am to be saddened.
ive hated this woman for as long as i can remember...
but that was before death stole her picture.

shes been his target for quite some time,
even been willing to offer a helping hand,
but now shes the victim, now his fight has begun,
and shes to weak, to small, to fragile to ever say she's won.

realization has settled in now,
and im not nearly as cold as i once was,
but do i show care, compassion and love,
to a woman who never showed it to me?

i guess ill wait until her death day,
and see what emotions that brings.



her death day has come and passed,
and emotions i felt at last.
July 21, 2007
tears filled my eyes as she entered into heaven.

a lifetime wasted,
for the last few years of her life
it was my hate she had tasted.

saddened my heart is now,
that i didn't try to forgive her somehow.

listen to this and take heed,
a life full of hate is not what you need.
find some way to forgive,
and you'll have found a new way to live.



don't harbor hate,
once they're gone
you'll only end up
hating yourself
for your ignorance.
Leila Sep 2024
Time aways I remember you tangled in the crook of my neck
Your half lidded eyes
such a gentle boy
Accursed it may seem
Agonized inside these walls
You were desperate for my touch
as I am for yours now

Cruelty bespeaks me
how many dead lay in your path
how many lay in mine
Exhausted I would feel
Your hand lazily cupped over my breast
Squeezed and pumped through

Even now my skin burns
this lust only awakes for you
How pathetic that must be
Wanting so desperately
I would tear my teeth out just for another taste

Instead I lay numb in my bed
Trying hard to forget
Trying hard not to care
Trying hard not to want
Failure creeps in on me
You pound through my head
In the most unexpected places I catch your glimpse
I wonder if I could turn back time
My salty tears dripping on your chest
Your arms reluctantly holding me
How could I forget?

I tainted what good came my way
Come to me again
Forgive me
I begged for you not to let me go
I turn to ash and crumble
My skin has already been picked at
I forgot how to breathe

The overwhelm has beaten me to a pulp
Do I breathe heavy
my limbs feel limp against my sides
Wave crash over my chest
My words fail me
Any critiques and comments are welcome!
Serena Audley Oct 2014
An artist sketches people passing by,
stopping now and then to take in the scene
of a crowded urban market, the carts and shops
full of trinkets, souvenirs, useless items.

The buildings are *****, years of pollution
painted over storefronts. A cable runs
along the street, weaving in and out
of the tops of the pollution-painted buildings.

A woman puts her cigarette out on the litter-strewn
sidewalk, already plastered with scraps of paper,
bits of garbage. The sun creeps slowly behind
the clouds, shining dully over the street market.

The artist takes this in, captures the dirt,
the decay, and the beauty on paper.
She listens, the sound of sellers
and shoppers fading into a steady hum.

A college student on a bike weaves
in, around, and through the crowd,
braking when he reaches the intersection,
then continuing down the avenue.

The artist flips to a new page,
trying to perfect the emotions of
tourists passing through shops, nervously
buying souvenirs from a foreign vendor.

When she’s finished with this sketch,
she packs up carefully, folding
her notepad shot and then into a bag,
and blends into the street scene.
badwords May 12
Emaciated creatures
pace their pens
Erasable features
begin and end

locked in hand
locked by key
Just demand
Dreamless sea

The miasma shrieks
An impulse creeps
Floorboards creak
to disturb your sleep

Now rest well
Empty, undefined
heaven or hell
you decide
Where do i go,
Send to the sun to kiss the moon,
Mornings and evenings coming to soon,
The splash of the spring with rustling leaves,
A gentle cascade of sun through trees,
Trickle down to wash over me,
Brilliant streams that float with debris,
Those simple truths astonish me,
A crippling wound a dying fiend,
The blood that creeps down,
Flows inside the tree,
And back we go to the birds and the leaves,
Around again to circle back,
Yet every time is new again.
Madisen Kuhn Jan 2015
i hate that i’m lying in bed
with a cup of tea
and can see myself in the future
in our bed
with a cup of tea
and you lying next to me

and i hate that i can see myself turning out the light
and laying my head to rest
on your chest

i hate that i can see us sitting at a little round kitchen table
next to the window
you in your black rimmed glasses
scrolling through your phone
me with my hair ******* and one knee draw up to my chest,
eating a bowl of oatmeal as the sun creeps its way
into the middle of the sky

i hate that i can see us side by side
brushing our teeth in a cramped bathroom
in front of a foggy mirror,
listening to music as we get ready for the day

i hate that i can see us walking out the front door,
i hate that i can see us kissing goodbye

because i’m lying in bed
with a cup of tea
thinking about all of this,
thinking about you

yet i’ve already kissed you
goodbye.
The Broken Poet May 2016
I dream of running into the night sky
No one to see me
Or where I've gone
No traceable footprints
No way to feel me
When night creeps along.
I dream of disappearing
No one to know me
Or my name.
I dream of never looking back
to familiar faces
of the past.
I just want to run away and be free
Like the night wind.
andy fardell Jul 2012
Silence creeps across the room as his anger raged to a reddened face
A look that brought a chill formed from the face furnace that dared you a why
Lines drawn with a flair to pass or fall
And still the rage formed
And still the rage formed

Anger eyes a ****** red
Waiting
Wanting
Needing fire to quell the fire within
Those anger eyes staring a ready grin

Another day to come as the coolness of the night sooths the strain of sight
Coldness gone to a warm glow with smiling eyes and a temper swoon
Breath in breath out its not your fault
Breath in the fresh
Breath in the fresh

Anger eyes cooled through a tear
Waiting
Wanting
Tempting love through the hate
Those tears of love do sooth the fire
the sun sets
the moon will rise
the dark creeps up
silence

everyone sleeps
they dream
of better places
and
smiling faces

Hush baby
and don't you cry
I won't leave you
till I die

the sun starts to rise
the moon slips away
light moves in
laughter
Saturday Jones Feb 2014
A heart like wintertime -
And it gets dark early.
And it's very cold.

A heart like wintertime -
So all the leaves fall from my trees.
And it's very cold.

A heart like wintertime -
So  my animals run and hibernate.
And it gets dark early.

A heart like wintertime -
So circles of ice float on the surface of my ponds.
Spinning, spinning....

A heart like wintertime -
So I hear the crunch of my frozen pine needles beneath feet.
And the falling snow masks the footprints.

A heart like wintertime -
So long icicles hang from me.
And lips crack and split.

A heart like wintertime -
So heavy snow breaks my branches.
Freezing, freezing...

A heart like wintertime -
So my labored breaths rise as a fog.
And it gets dark early.

A heart like wintertime -
So spider-web frost creeps across my windows.
And it's very cold.

A heart like wintertime,
And it gets dark early.
A heart like wintertime,
And its very cold.
Fey Jul 2022
The summer light does not touch me.
It shines in delicate rivers on the brightly polished stairs,
where the gelatieri stroll with sweet iced coffee,
unimagined, oblivious.

The summer light does not touch me.
It brushes the children, who - in growing flocks -
chime their laughter atop neighbor's doors with delicate knocks;
bell-bright bicycle bells ringing.

The summer light does not touch me.
Twenty-three forty-four; peripheral car brake light coming forth.
The first leaf sonorously breathes “Goodbye; I'll leave”
and at last it creeps up, a swift cold touch -
the autumnal welcoming committee for my July melancholy.

© fey (24/07/22)
Daniel Ospina Oct 2015
The starless night was lit by a blood red moon.
Tendrils of fog invade the air in pursuit
Of the living dead who walk among us.
Door by door it creeps.
From every crevice it seeps.
Hungry for souls drenched in evil
Conjurers of suffering and upheaval.
The hour has come for retribution --
Iniquity will face its execution.
Gravestones tremble at the passing of the fog,
Awakening the dead from their slumber, years long.
Skeletal hands tear up the earth,
Groping for those who revel in hurt.  
Wolves howl in unison as the army of death
Marches forth to gather the wicked in bed.
Help us! Scream the vile vermin
While being dragged across the coals,  
We plead forgiveness for our sin,
Have mercy on our souls.
Deaf to their cries, the dead carry on
To bury the evil so that it may forever be gone.
The dead return to their graves at morning’s call
To sleep with the wicked once and for all.
Rigmarole Aug 2016
Close your eyes
staring at the sun
it’s dropping fast
burnt umber runs

Mountain auras
dividing shadows
lights the purple line
between day and night

Dark silhouettes
sinking deep
illuminates behind
the promise of sleep

Night stars cascading
emu peeps
between milky light
eternally creeps

Shooting stars bright
inner eye sees
cacophonies of colour
shapes our very lives

It’s dreams, it’s time
it’s endless and divine
this half way place
all here, sublime

It’s spirals, it’s dots
it’s country, it’s us
explaining the universe
simple yet complex
Brian Oarr Aug 2014
Time alone is the ultimate conqueror.
It wears down great men and empires alike.
So too it withers the wildflower;
all break before Aggressor-Time.

The hot sun burns into my turned back.
I thought I'd taste the asphalt for a while.
A begging thumb moves faster than a running fool,
but the sun has baked the asphalt to my feet.

Every northern town worn down by Aggressor-Time
awaits the final blown of urban renewal;
and pop-art will decorate the city streets,
where Aggressor-Time has chosen to leave a slum.

Still, the taste of asphalt and the smell of gasoline
carry me beyond these thoughts
and I run from Time, that sadist,
a shimmering mirage just down the highway.

Resting at night, there's always a bar
and a girl upon a stool, who'll listen for a drink.
Kiss her, love her, then run with the dawning sun.
Beware!  For Time creeps up on you at night.

Broad expanses are diminished by the asphalt,
so too your memories lurking in the forests.
But that which you left behind awaits you,
Time, like the rings of Saturn, has no end.

Savor your victory Aggressor-Time!
Your pestle has ground down mind and body,
only calcified bone left in the mortar,
that futilely defied your crushing weight.
Drunk poet Jul 2016
The cheerleader,
Hearts goes to the highest bidder,
An encapsulation of beauty,
She has the license of beauty,
She elucidated my vague and indistinct dreams,
Her voice is mellifluous in my dreams.

Cheerleader is unaccustomed to mundane.
Her admiration full of gains,
Bloomleader is unprofane damsel,
She is immaculate even in tunnels.

Cheerleader is like an epiphany,
Enternity with her? Not still many,
The charm in her face us very potent,
My reasons are arrantly cogent,
Her presence chastise dolor,
Laughter with charismatic colour,
And as the emotion creeps on me,
Making me a sycophants to her knee,

The Cheerleader,
Her love is not a treacherous swine,
Her lips is exquisite than any wine,
Though is infatuation sound very lame,
My heart adores her with fame,
A pragmatic way to study her frangipani face,
I want to be the first in this race,

The cheerleader,
She with crystal teeth
And blue eye *****,
I see her climbing on walls,
Auspicious love without any wit,
I realize I was only in a dream.
Pink Halverson Feb 2011
It's been a while
from when the bright sun first
rose into my heart
Replacing my thirst

But night soon creeps
And loneliness does wrap
It's hands round my neck
and sinks claws in my lap

My need for blood comes
As waterfalls fly
Deep down in my pillow
My concience it cries

I silence them all
Monsters neath my bed
Monsters in the corner
Monsters in my head
2005, 7th grade
Damocles Sep 2
Mirrors broken,
Fractions splitting,
Ever finely,
Watching secrets,
Flowing through me,
Ever asking,
Who am I?

When I can’t even see—
Me anymore
I don’t even dream—
Anymore.

Falling headfirst into the light
So bright it burnt my eyes,
In a dream or was it life?
Embattled with the ruse,
I could abscond with all the rules
A ravaging abuse obtusely used
As I drained away my youth.

Barreling though what I knew,
A misery of sorts,
Traumatic tendrils grip like anchors
The pills were my only resource
A numbness to pick up my sword
Dangled over head, Damocles
Striking down my enemies.

But bridges burnt,
Was a double edged blade
Because even the ones I loved
I could no longer save
As this anger exploded
Like a sun above us shining
Nuclear and blinding
I scorched ties and dried out salves
Until healing was impossible—
Lest you cauterized the wound.

Now as embers cool
And coals burn off to ash
Brittle like aching bones,
Brutal as hindsight,
Where loneliness creeps
And the current of thoughts
Flow like rapids concordantly
Drifting through the steepest fog
Where the mind divides,
I care only for clarity and intimacy
To feed this malnourishment.

It’s been so hard looking through time,
With eyes of a fly,
As these mirror shards remind,
I have never been sure.

Am I an artist?
                  Am I a poet?
                                     Am I a photographer?
            A philosopher?
                              Am I a fighter?
          A vigilante?
                             Am I human?
                   Am I a demon?
      Am I a lover?
                                   Am I anti life?

I stare blankly into a deep black emptiness.
Singing a forced fed lyric.:
Who am I?
Intentionally disjointed. The title is a computer command. When entered in command prompt it tells you what user id you’re using…thus telling you who you are. ©️ Dominick B
A fawn - limbs uncertain
Innocence of mind
A mind so trusting
A mind so pure
A mind so naive
Would it endure?

Danger lurks, creeps under
Fawn senses it
And returns on its own
Into safety.

So naive, so naive
With fear it has been borne
Yet it trusts it's own

When the armor falls
The swords strike
The one you thought
would protect you
Is the one
You seek protection from.


Michaela Ferris Apr 2016
Who am I to ask you for the time of day?
When you look at me as if I am a wall of grey.
My insecurities are fuelled by that devastating look in your eyes
That rips my very being from existents.
For you see, I am not like you
I am the nothingness that creeps inside your head
And haunts your once pleasant dreams
Until you plead for death to take you in its icy grip.

Who am I to ask if you will stay by my side?
For I am one of those many lost souls
And my abandonment issues how I wish to blame you.
You deserted me but I know I am the one to blame.
For you see my mind does not work like yours
It corrupts even the purest of thoughts
Impales them with the purest of impurities
Suffocating them like the vines around the necks of the flowers.

Who am I to ask if love is a shout into the void?
I still tear out my heart with my bare hands.
I am lost inside a world where no one can see the truth
It’s always them, it’s always suffer you sufferings in silence.
For you see they do not understand what it’s like
To be lost inside your own rotting head
Scared of the monsters under your bed, now they are inside your head.
No one cares if you ended up dead.

So please answer me, who am I to ask for your hand?
When you do not see me they way you should.
You see a feeble, weak, broken girl
Who’s too far gone to be saved.
For you see I am none of your concern
But that is where you are wrong.
I am a mother, a daughter, a farther, a son, a friend, family
I am everywhere, so please don’t turn your back on me!
Together:

Your warm embrace wraps around my torso,
warmth creeps through my heart and soul,
and my arms immediately wrap around yours.
This ever so perfect moment, will never be forgotten.

It was the first time we hugged.

As we took in each other's embrace once more,
our lips collided passionately,
though instantaneously we pulled back.
Our gaze met, and we closed in slowly... and blissfully.

As of this day, we are officially, and graciously,

*Together.
Something I wanted to write, on behalf of one of my closest friends.
Deyer Jul 2017
in crowding. the air swells, too
big to fit the most developed lungs.
Isolation creeps between the living,
making any movement seem
well beyond possible. Here,
I, and likely you, feel both
alone and smothered, helpless and
aware
that sometimes no effort is too
great. Soon, but not too
soon, hopefully, we
will be enveloped.
Spooky Babe Feb 2015
It feels like a sin
To crave you this much
It comes from deep in
Beyond where'd you touch
It hides in my bones
And creeps in my heart
It takes me to zones
I don't know where to start
Your presence is a mess
But something's clear
The tug in my chest
Means I need you here
February 5th 2014 1:46am
I wrote this when I was high
Thushena Jun 2015
1) When her boyfriend sticks his tongue down your throat, do not kiss back. Push him away, then swallow down the bile that's threatening to spill out of your soft lips. Take off, run, and never look back. Some boys like to play dangerous games; but darling, you are not a toy.

2) The boy next door with the tanned skin and earthy brown eyes will whisper beautiful things to you. Sad things, loving things, things that will make the blood rush to your cheeks in raging streams. Don't believe the words that tumble out of his mouth baby; most people never really mean what they say. But that's life, and it'll be okay.

3) Be strong, be bold, be unafraid of the world and all the people in it. Always, always speak your mind and pounce to action when injustice creeps up on you. Challenge him when he questions you, hurl facts and opinions like darts until he recedes with shame. Whenever you feel rage and anger spreading like wildfire through your heart, speak up. Your words matter. You matter.

4) You are beautiful. You have always been beautiful, and you need to believe that you are. Even if the magazines don't appreciate your wide hips or your glowing brown skin; dark and soft like honey, learn how to love yourself. This body is the only home you'll have in this lifetime, so my darling, learn how to embrace every scar, freckle and mole. You are made out of the same atoms that formed Frida Kahlo and Picasso. You are art and you need to have faith in that.

5) It's okay to eat dinner on your own. Or lunch. Or breakfast for that matter. There is no shame in solitude. Go to a quaint cafe; and observe the sights and sounds around you. Take note of the smell of fresh coffee hanging hot and heavy in the air. You are by yourself and free to be who you really are.  It is a lovely feeling. Revel in it, my love. When you finally leave, you will realize that you've just learned how to be okay on your own.

6) If someday you wake up and start to see the world in greys, please, please come to me first. I will hold you and we'll take a long drive to nowhere with your favourite mix-tape playing in the car. I will remind you that the only way out is through, and that the demons in your mind are most definitely not stronger than you. I will tell you how much this world needs you so it can heal, how staying alive is a much better deal. I will tell you that I love you, then kiss your forehead, and promise to do everything I can, until your universe stops playing out in shades of blue.
Sara Feb 2021
I could stare at myself in the  mirror for hours.

It starts in my extremities.
a chill creeps its way into my abdomen,
and cements my joints.

The bacteria residing in my intestines
dine on my organs for supper,
they blow up my stomach until I'm
pregnant with air, my non-existent baby
forcing thick liquid out every orifice.

It tickles,
when the flies visit my rotted skin.
Their steps light and playful,
turn sinister, and force their way into my
open mouth to lay their eggs.
I wait, as the larvae devour
my brain tissue.

When I have nothing left to give,
I'll pull down my lower eyelid
and let the maggots slide out.

— The End —