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I was listening to Novello and
Flo'ella
had her head across my pillow
talking to some fellow
from somewhere down in Arkansas.

I saw at once the discrepancy
of her and me
and where our interests lay.
mine somewhere in 'Frisco or maybe even Monterey
and hers in some Southern lawless place
I turned her face to face me
quietly I explained
that I'd be leaving on a plane
and that she should do the same.

She took a knife
Screamed,
'if you don't take me for your wife
I'll take your life and put it in a crystal ball'
Guess I'm not going after all.
drownitout Jun 2014
Illegal answers require psychic invasion,
Personal opinion poses dangerous hobbies.
Thought police outlaw; evasion,
Applauds fourth-dimensional bodies.

If lifespan be as a labyrinth,
And garish men of magicians,
Are blessed with luck and wisdom.
If we bloom as imperialists,
And abandon our traditions,
Then it backfired, teaching us to think independently but listen.

Some advice screams truth aloud.
Too poor, for this is the minority,
Now the scene of this ****** thing is crowned.

Dim lit street lamps; slow dancing silhouettes.
A kingdom falls and it kills the sound.
Where we question lies here and there,
Here, then there, cancer coated lessons-
And long conversation that only wonder of more, hollowing an aged box of danger.

It has only taken every single descendants chances,
and we've trophied our lack of community.
So we've taken up advances, and embraced our anonymity.
More secure in loneliness and his companions,
Because fear is a world built for lost men with a common trait.
Their demeanor cheers:
"Abandoned, Abandoned."

-Traversing dust-riddled attics,
Discovering volumes, the journals of addicts.
We make the vices so dramatic,
Pray sweet no sinner, leaving gods post-traumatic.

Paperback letters,
Another waiting for the weekend.
Another fix, and I'm complacent.
Another deafening regret.
Screaming in my ears,
My pulse excites, vacation.
Animus gone racing.
You can't see it, but I swear it's there,
I don't know what you see in material things.
It doesn't hurt, but it bleeds.

Ghost towns, we,
The apparitions,
have minds so twisted,
It's Cataclysmic commonplace,
And these are some sadistic statistics.

What is the damage?
The telephone whispers, almost dead.
Another crippling harlot,
Internal bleeding,
And a few scars left.
A question lingers in the atmosphere.
Will I die like this?

The grass is green, and you can hide in your lies,
But know there's not much luck on the other side

Now?
I don't ******* care,
I don't...care.
Because all I consist of is a lost cause,
A lost cause with burdens to bear.

All of this conversation piece casts,
Yet I plant enlarging gardens.
Mother warns and Father mourns;
You'll reap what you sew, and finish what you've started.

Household horror story,
moaning and groaning and talks of hell.
Award-winning wintered heart
Burned the millionth ironic degree colder.


All-american, classical religion; a cult's worried storybook.
Gears grinding within a machine fit to sell.
The saint stays sinning while I rust nigh twin decades,.
Along the way,
Cemetery silence and  vesper's nine raised my entity centuries older.

Salt-water sea folds offer flooring,
Riverbed full-house cathedral; blasphemy.
I stand and mimic a missionary, touring.
Nostalgia.
This all reminds me of home, though now it's not we who sit in
permanent pews snoring.


Forgive my old identity and it's abuse of me.
Forgive me and my use of we,
That I don't seem dull for my mind's eye's sight strayed... For a few thoughts.

Retrospect depicts life lived selfishly in leisure.
Mocking, spitting in the kindest face still surrendering, and...
I'm lost and content, drowning in thought again.


Thought...
An infinite, sacred journal.
A closet, save a doorknob, because no key is needed inside the bedroom's housing our souls.
Where god's children fellowship among the angels.
Or those like us fall for demonic hypnosis, with no need to say farewell.

Thought.

A trap, a gravesite, a laboratory.
A map of your life, or the origin of our own self-inflicted boring.

Our thoughts are forever ours, under any circumstance.
Even those of us that greet the sun on a grim crossway sidewalk, shaking with violence,
Internal, external,
Cold and wet.

To compliment the poetic beaten bones,
holding in place sentences scribbled across worn cardboard that whimpers...
That whimpers something so human.
To regular passerby's this is meaningless and mediocre.
To the youth, a sick humor for spoiled wannabe's and jokers.

Personally, and with whole heart my pen exposes sorrow, empty of any patience left on a fabled morning for that imagined intersection, or that city.
I saw humanity in broken cursive ink,
Cursing under sighs I saw what connects it all in my eyes.

It will seem radical, and hollow in meaning but I feel there exists substance behind this being's...
Expression.
I say there is depth.
I spoke the universe in my interpretation of the cardboard sermon that read,
"I don't want your pity, I want your pennies".

Consider with I, 'thoughts', again.
I consider, that if anyone were to remember the phrase connecting both, with distaste or sympathy.

No war hero, no slave to addiction;
The most ancient ideas of enemies, but neither side fate favored on what's given.
Be witness to our ignorance,
Where one another we could give our petty...nothings.
To save a life, or many.
To save our world.

We submit no rag the value of one single rich,
Gift no population with hope to survive and forgive.

Millionaire beggars scatter 'round plenty,
And their wealth will stay fictional,
But don't you agree their thoughts have stayed many.
Their pockets are empty, save their thoughts, which are infinite, and continue.
Endlessly.
This is about the god ****** human race and the disease we bear.
And other stuff along those lines.
Kewayne Wadley Dec 2017
My attraction towards her was fatal.
For the realest things to come from her lips affected me in more ways than one.
You see truth speaks volume.
And the beauty that comes from her lips was more than I anticipated.

Feeling my attraction begin to rise.
I attempted to switch the subject.

Finding that we both shared the same amount of pain.
Adding value to each subject that rose.


I began to feel that there was more for me.
My self consciousness reacting before I could gather myself completely.

I felt a sense of liberation.
No longer the day I had at work, what I was planning to eat on the way home.

More instead how every other thought included her.
The respect held eye to eye.
The avenues of how her day went, the ins and outs.

The evidence that I found what I was missing.
And I didn't understand one bit.

 

I suppose it's better that way.
Stepping outside of myself into the crossway leading off into the street.
A dark backdrop highlighted by a white light of a bald man walking before it turns
A reddish orange.
Though nothing is as harmless as it seems.
I felt at ease staring into her eyes.

 

Stepping inside of her mind was like walking into an art gallery.
Her interests, technological advances all highlighted in bright and violet hue.
All in the span of 10 minutes walking in.
Mutually we both spoke with our hands.
We'd throw fits with our laughs, indulging in the philosophy of smile.

 

With morality aroused I instantly began questioning myself.
Wanting to know more I asked question, after question.
Anything as a means to have kept her talking. Feeling an everlasting peace.
Walking downtown in an abundance of space, I felt I could breathe.

But I couldn't shake that she felt that I was like most guys.
That at any moment, as comfortable as she was, she was still waiting on me
to give any indication that I was no different than the faces pointed down scrolling down their phone.

 

And we,
Like separate thumbs.
Belonged to different people
Trouble
Marie-Niege Mar 2015
Cliché Walking-
His hands jittered
Struggled to zip his
khaki colored jacket
Her eyes remained
On his pained face
Observing through contacted
Magnifying lenses
Somehow their eyes met
Past the jammed crossway
The cluttered New York street
Through the busy cars
And zesty pedestrians
With spill-able coffees
And steamy attitudes
Somehow their eyes met
And the air froze
Still as the desert
Although the air doesn’t freeze
‘Least not in the middle of spring
Although the desert is attacked by constant wind
The silence was like a pin drop
Or something to that effect
Although with the zooming cars
And obnoxious New Yorkers’
It couldn’t have been like so.
And they knew
They just knew
Love at first sight
And all that jazz
Without even knowing
They knew.
He was her Humphrey Bogart
Whoever in heaven’s name that is
And she was his Audrey Hepburn
‘Cause he seemed like the kind that’d know her
And so this, the cockyspaniel
And the chickyhuahua
Crossed the street
And met each other
Halfway…
Right there
In the middle of it all
Cars honking, women screaming
And they swore to the depths of hell
That people clapped and whooped
Because the STD filled kiss
Was Shakespeare inspired
Cosigned, even
And the love was tragic as ever
But hey
What did he say again?
All is fair in love and war and all that hooplah
one of my very first poems when I first started. Happy World Poetry Day.
Sirenes Sep 2016
It hit me almost like a car would
But a lot more softly.
I was walking down the street
To the ump-teenth job interview
As I noticed where I was standing.

I was on the other side of the street
Of where you intercepted me
About 6 years ago.
Vaguely I remembered
Having played around with you
We worked hard, we gamed hard.

"Where do I put this pallet?"
"Just there, in front of the computer"
I raised my eyebrows
and pushed the pallet
Right up against the computer.
"Here?"
"Yeah"

I smirked at you and released the switch
As to leave the pallet right up against the computer
"No! I meant with a gap so I can still work"
"I know what you meant!"
I turned on my tracks and ran off laughing.

It was high season
You could not have gotten your hands
On a transpallet with the best will of the world.
"Woman, I'm going to get you for this!"
Put your game face on sweetpants

You started driving me home
I was nervous and you could tell.
I waited for you that night
But you never came out
So I took the bus home.
okay maybe he's done playing
I thought to myself
As I crossed the road.

A blue Volkswagen Golf
Stopped on the crossway
It was green for me
What's your problem dude?
The lights turned on inside
It was you
"You need a ride?"
"I thought you went home"
"No but I chased the bus until here so I could drive you home from here on"

Thanks for getting my point
Thanks for all the years after
Thanks for your current commitment
Even though we broke up.
And thank you for always getting the message,
Even though you never listened.

Thank you for all the years you gave me
As a result of a game we used to play at work.
I love you, like good friends love each other.
With the same loyalty and commitment.
You haven't lost anything
It just changed.
You healed me more than you know :)
Timon chukwuonu Dec 2017
A walking soul
Oh walking man without a journey
Where as your legs is gone to the Sea
Because the pathway is craved in stones and ropes
As the memories on the sand as lost his origin
Oh walking Man
Your heart is full with stones and you legs is too heavy
His eye is big and could not hold a stone
The journey of your land has destroyed you and the sky could not feel is breath
And his morning is dark as the night
The crossway is like a rainbow above the skies and your experience's
of the land has faded away
Oh walking Man
The earth has become your heart
And your heart has beget his history
No , none has you
Mistress remember you
Oh walking Man
The sun and moon has change it's image
Like the skin of human race
The perfection of the sunset has forgotten his Time and the shadow of the moon has increases worries in his
walks
The beautiful tree as turn to clothes And your clothes as forget it's color
The pretty of life is gone and animals are dying again and again as
The shadow of the world is gone but the footsteps of his claims and disclaim could never WASH away.
Life experience, determination.

— The End —