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kerri Mar 2016
the beginning
You dropped a seed.
I picked it up and gave it a home in myself.

the middle
It grew in my heart.
I cared so much for it,
Watered it,
As hard as it was, I even changed the soil surrounding it.
Blossomed into such a beautiful floret.

the end**
You left.
The sacred efflorescence shed its petals.
My soil wasn't enough for you.
taylor styles Nov 2018
my sadness comes in cycles,
incomplete and abrupt.
tossing my thoughts around and around,
winding them together until they’re perfectly interlocked
and mangled beyond recognition.
the kind where one point ends,
and another begins had been blurred so beautifully
i no longer try to find a destination for the words that flow so violently through my conscious,
bumping into each and every corner
all to make sure it’s presence is known.

my sadness comes in cycles,
without warning,
baring only validation for its predecessor
taking every disgusting thought and helping them grow together,
offering no consideration for anything other than itself.

my sadness comes in cycles,
where it plants itself so deeply into my mind,
i can feel it’s roots,
draining me of all my life and energy
to makes sure it’s alive
and well.

my sadness comes in cycles,
where it carves anything it deems worthy
in to the bark of the tree
that has been flourishing in my mind for years.

my sadness comes in cycles,
where it wants me to just acknowledge that it’s here,
residing in every room of my body.
shutting off the vacancy signs that once illuminated the empty streets outside,
attempting to welcome somebody new in.
shattering the windows,
tearing down the walls i spent years building up,
stealing every key i made,
ruining every inch of my being in its path,
with no remorse or sympathy,
to look at the ruins of my body,
and feel accomplished.

my sadness comes in cycles,
acting as an innocent toddler,
throwing tantrums,
kicking,
screaming,
for everyone to see.
crying unapologetically
until i give it the attention it so desperately craves.

my sadness comes in cycles,
cycles, i no longer have control over.
Nesma Sep 2018
Dear Omar, my mother taught me to count each of my prayers on my fingers, so here we go...

The first time I fell in love with you was on a spring day. I was lying on the grass and you were lying on the back of my mind.

The second time I fell in love with you was last summer. Your deserted skin glistened a dune in the sunlight, and your hair danced to a breeze that was not yet quite there.

The third time I fell in love with you was this autumn. I unfolded piles and piles of myself trying to connect the weight of the word that is me to this season; each fall I fall for you.

The fourth time I fell in love with you was a couples of winters ago. The snow gave me cold feet, and was up to my frozen tongue; but each time I would look into your eyes I would feel a burn in my chest.

My grandfather thought that we get clarity from the dew of dawn but I have always found my prophecies in my Isha prayers; The fifth time I fall in love with you will be on a spring day. I will be lying on the grass, and you will lie on the back of my mind...
Pauper of Prose Aug 2018
When the moth no longer meditates on the cloth
When the fish fails to flit when it’s caught
When the calling crickets lose the will to whip up noise
When the eagle’s eagerness is evaporated along with poise
When all of nature neglects itself, adrift on its track
You’ll know for sure those feelings aren’t coming back
When that spark flickers feebly before flailing out
Keiya Tasire Jan 17
I stand with roots deep into my mother
With branches out stretching towards my father
And Light from the rising sun reflecting within my eyes.

Machi curing, Machi healing,
I sing your song. I feel your love.
Mi Pachamama
So full of love
Your flow of life, ever flowing
Your river of sound, ever singing
Your stream of light, forever shinning.
How can I ever cry when I am within your arms?

Arising with the warming sun
Flowing through the air on the breath of her winds
So softly the clouds release her love
As they are caressed by the tops of her mountains.

Her waters of love flowing…
Trickling down onto the forest
Gathering into the brooklets,
Streams, riverlets, and rivers
Satisfying the thirst of all her creations.

The sound of pan flutes filling my ears
The dance of chi coursing through
Even this body, this gift, this flesh.
Singing her lullaby
Embracing & soothing this tired soul.
Softly the winds bring the colors
Of her song into my beating heart.

Machi soothing
Machi healing. Machi Curing
Machi, singing me well with Her love
Mi Pacha Mama , so full of love
Your flow of life, ever flowing
Your river of sound, ever singing
Your stream of light, forever shinning.
How can I ever cry when I am within your arms?

Healing, Soothing, Curing, Love
I sing your song. I sing your love
Mi Pacha Mama…
We are each born and sustained by elements of the earth. We are born from the earth that gathered within our mother's wombs and sustained by the plants, airs, water, minerals, and the warm life giving rays of the sun. One day we will give our body back to the earth as our spirits soar towards the heavens where our Father in Heaven and Mother Earth reside.
winter's brush
could not blend
the prints left
by your face

at the first
dew of spring
you renewed
dried up roots

with the last
summertime
you were near
as the sun

as I fall
for the ruse
my heart waits
under leaves

in the dark
now I see
that you've gone
til next year
Triple-meter prose, for the elusive
Kafka Joint Oct 10
I'm trying to understand it,
Then I'm trying to forget what I understood,
Awter which I'm trying to understand why I wanted to understand it in the first place.
I'm drinking alcohol.
Listen.
I need to talk.
Had been hoping you would
Walk beside me, hold my hand,
Watch my back as I do yours.
This self destructive cycle
Has me spinning in circles
Madness on a rats wheel
Roller coaster riding
As sanity flits like a flutterby
Just outside my reach
No wonder I don’t remember
Why would I want to?
I am beside myself and
Apart from you
Pleading on deaf ears
For a moments peace
Pressure release before I
Implode. Boom.
Just like that.
Boom boom.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Am I really that uncouth?
Have you lot yet worked out the truth.
The **** I write, it's so contrite.
I know you're dim
but I thought you might.
I've been feeding bananas to you all.
Big bananas, none are small.
All are bent, of course they are.
Enough's enough, it's gone too far.

Dear Voyeurs, to all my fans.
Some ride cycles, some drive vans.
for M&Y, yeah you're the guy.
So I bait my line and continue the lie.
But let's have it right, as well I might.
You wanted to play,
so pretended you're ***.
Now most I know aren't,
but one or two do.

Boiler repair guy with the twinkly eye.
Bent over in two, I spank with a shoe.
And all that he asks is, I call him Sue.
So I have him pegged,
for that's what he begged.
But now he knocks on my door
wanting much more.

******' Big Bent Bananas
by Kaydee.

(slurp, slurp)
Threw some big bananas out today.
Hope you all enjoyed the show.
How many of you busted a nut?
*******, none of you can even walk straight.
M&Y, Regenda, Big time Charlie, and you lot at 4am the taxi rank?
Not understanding what or why I'm doing what you can see, you just drank it all in.
Well here's some more. Only difference is here, just like I do mine, you all know your own truths and what is absolute *****, eh boiler repair guy!
Go on then drink it all up!
Kafka Joint Oct 10
I'm thinking,
I have doubts about my thinking,
I'm thinking about my doubts.
Exhausted, I fall asleep.
Stephen E Yocum Jul 2018
Spring is the awaited child,
seeds to plant, plans to explore,
conjuring promise and renewal,
That awakens our soul.

Summer inspires with long
sunny days basking in the
embrace of green crops growing,
relief from heat under leafy trees,
leisurely nights of clean skies,
bright stars on high to infinity.

Fall comes as a warning beacon,
days of long shadows,
cool nights with chill breeze,
bedecked trees
in reds and yellow.
The report of hunters guns
from the depths of the forest.

Winter's a prelude to gloom,
short days, low sun when it
appears, wind-chills that burn.
Snow to shovel, ice to befuddle.
Conjuring envy and impatience
for the return of Spring.

So the seasons flow
one into another,
while every year lived
the cycles grow shorter,
with no guarantees of
how many more may follow.
Cycles

It’s good
It’s bad
It’s dark
I’m sad
I’m happy
And in love
Heavy raindrops
From above
I feel like dancing
Running and leaping
I can’t stop crying
Dying weeping
I can’t stop laughing
Smoking and drinking
Ignited fire
Sinful desire
A sinner
A saint
One winner
One ain’t
A crazy story
I’ll paint
My Good image
I’ll taint
In hopes that
You’ll see
A genuine me
So I can be free
From who you think I should be.
slay Jul 2018
Show some patience for me please, im sick of all the instant gratification
Pop a chill pill just to breathe, cause all I see is violent recreation, okay then
Bought a necklace then I sneezed, my neck, my heart, my veins they all are frozen, but I’m chosen

I’m coastin ,
Now for the moment
Sip mimosas, with my feet up
She roll the **** up
My little Nina
Shorty got me drinking just to stay up
I feel messed up
Get fed up
Always gotta hold my money closer

But I miss her
She was like a soulmate and a sister
Then she dissed me, I dissed her
But she came back around like I had kissed her

I walk a line so ****** thin, sometimes I think I’m on a one way track to heaven
Never busted on a lick, because my mind is already a prison, I’m Satan
Hit the break so hard and skid, I can’t believe I’m even here to say this, but when you’re famous

You stay blameless
Blinded by the limelight and the danger
I’m no stranger to her pain, though
She holds on to me and never lets go
Baby, let’s go
She tried to tell me no
Put her hands on me but I enjoyed it

All of Her frustration, I endure it
She cycles back to me, another boredom
Can’t replace me and she knows it
But that doesn’t stop her from searching

Please don’t make this complicated, I just need some time alone to fix this
I keep going cause it hurts so bad to look back the past really got me trippin, from a distance
I’m so sorry Didn’t see you standing there my thoughts are cloudy, tunnel vision

Bae, mind your business
We aren’t there yet
And I’m gonna pretend like you ain’t say that
But you hurt me, can’t forget that
I said I forgave you and I meant that

She blew me over
I’m never sober
I think I’m in love, I never told her
So how come I’m not with her?
She’s my twin flame mirror
I can, I can’t fix her

Never mind, I might just try anyway
Give the world to her, she’s my Francis Bean
Why’d they give a heart to me anyway?
I’m gonna break it just to see what’s on the inside
And if I can, just to see how many times
If I can empathize
Make me second guess myself, I won't fight
I've got so much living left inside this life, but
This life's in my head eating myself alive
If I push the pain aside,

I know I hesitated once, but just know that I will never be mistaken.
Once I learn to trust my gut, these ******* won't even know that it was me who hit them, I'm just playing, and
Maybe by the time I'm done, I'll be a person who even I, myself can live with.
Luis Valencia Apr 23
As we weep
The flowers grow
From the pain
We rise
But when anger strikes us
We burn
We turn to ash
Once we are ash
We stay ash

We were told by our mothers
That the spirits
That the winds that blow against our skin
Will one day move through us
And take what little of us remains
The wind will soar and carry us
Across fields and streams and mountains

But the winds have died
There are no more tears
No fire burns
And the flowers don't grow

We've killed ourselves
We've killed ourselves
Mary May 24
Excitement - attraction, ***, love
Happiness - money, marriage, family
Contentment - bbq's, vacations, friends
Boredom - schedules, chores, commitments
Apathy - distant, separate, divorce
Loneliness - heartbreak, regret, resolve
Renewal - freedom, flexibility, growth
Excitement...
Senor Negativo Sep 2012
No sirens are heard the morning is still,
Hope awakens, a vibrant animal
It was never dead, only hiding.
Modern individuals, can reveal
The root of their plight, let old wounds heal
Daughters, allowed to make their own decisions,
Mothers, remembered for loving care,
Fathers, passing wisdom to their children,
The hibernation of falsehood.
But what of those who never found these things?
To them we must give our fullest kindness,
We all were children once, and we all deserve love.
With forgiveness, justice, and harmony.
Let no further judgements be passed,
Let lovers rejoice,
Let shots ring out in celebration
Not as signals of termination.
These cycles never end,
But what festered yesterday,
Today can be healed.
Let lovers lie together in bliss,
Absorbed in communion of affections,
On this day let us heal each other,
As we heal our world,
One individual at a time.
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~


<•>
while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
perhaps,
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

We,
the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
outed,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?*

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
nightly,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a
now*

<>
oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere
unheard

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
for the one we call mr.moon
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.


^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
Kyara Robinson Nov 2018
Round and round up and down here we go again coming back to play the same game over and over again

I hurt you you hurt me oh my god when will this end

I’m tired of us being sore while we constantly play this game of tug of war

I love you I hate you you don’t do nothing for me but please don’t touch the door
that door is the only thing stopping us from freedom stopping us from feeling this pain if we serious what is there more to gain

we get the strength to touch the door but here We come wanting more
have we had enough have we suffered enough who we thought we were is starting to lose touch

why is this so hard to give this up We get the courage to leave I’m free turn to say bye and there you are at the door so

          We give it a try once more
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