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Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Are we all here
Or elsewhere
Treetops Robin birds
What!! Is it only words?
The sky she wore the
blue velvet cry
Whats still here what
will life bring
Afterlife sing before I die?

       *
Why

Headless horseman goodbye
Breadwinner Sportsman
Your worst enemy
The closer he gets knowing
your drama/ Cowboy-comedy

"Whats Here"

The Emmy meeting
another writer
      "Dude"
The Dude Ranch
Meet the "Ghostwriter"
The computer
early bird
Specially rude

The Medieval time of the
"Fable" sword fight
In a fork road, he was
born *English Sterling
The Silver anniversary
Dude piece boring
    
Whats here setting Ms.Dahla
Sweet Magnolia flowers
He's aiming for Azelia
What dudes grow
in her family
table
I'm here and he said
I'm the Dude

We are here Paul Revere rides
Breaks our glassware
Mr. Bigfoot needs to decide

Those Philly steaks "Heinz Ketchup"
Pittsburg tip of the iceberg here-up
Feeling sorry for the "Dude"

I'm right beside you here
Racers mouth racetrack win
More supernatural forces of sin
Rayban Mr. Sun-Ray glare
This was all I could take
in one day
It's important so let's stay
in one place
Where we can see one another
All dudes what eludes in character's

The false eyelashes her
prediction Alice madly
Tea party detention

Dancing in the
spiritual rain
She is the biggest pain

What cheeks swear
with her pinky
The blow dryer the
Big Lebowski stayer
Russian Roulette
Crystal fighter Swarovski
Homewrecker traveler
The dude investigation
*Risky business Dudes in the mansions

Rome cannot be built in one day
What's here your *Mom
is
baking noodle pudding today
You are laughing and both got
Brooklyn fever
Divine hour telling her how
much you love her
Familiar eyes hot dudes
delivery
The best flight activity
Getting you up
Your NativityI'm the dude cup

Always wondering you drift
Whose coming to dinner
*Mystery is it really here
        The Dude of a gift
Happy tears New Years

Darling
White Polar Bears

Days of daydreams dude stamps
All tolls and Polls
Twitter and Trumps
Or coming closer to
your darkest night
*
Forever wherever you are
It's the dark velvet satin

Night in White Satin
The other side of midnight
Humans animals always
the mating watcher's delight

Paper cuts of a paperweight
Feeling like a deadweight dude
The lightheaded most amazing night sky
The bright future warm you up
passionate guy

Whats here names
Don't use me usernames
Such con names, married names
Where each other's equal
Whats here love the sequel
The proud mother
My Bald Eagle

Hairy fluffy so cute beagle
*
He's the Quarter she backs up his note
The pushover Politician we deserve the vote

Writers believers lovers
and givers
Strangers are friends whats here
all depends
Getting mugged in Central Park
Grainy sugar you spark
Enjoying what I have today

The softer Rainy Lover
Whats here we are all here
Not elsewhere or over there
My Godly switch I'm here
Whats here you or me or who we believe to see let it be let it be
There are so many answers and those questions are here so reach don't start to preach show your love its whats here
Eloi Aug 2016
I watch as the heat  on the window from where your hand has been 5 seconds previous to now fades.

Your finger prints linger there, begging for someone to notice them.

I see your blackened silhouette submerge into the forest as you walk away,
I know now, I'll never see you again.


My body will be a deadweight on velveteen,
A carcass full of memories of you,
Pure and true.

If you hadn't have left,
I wouldn't be found dead,
But the time has come to leave and I cannot wait any longer.

Prepare for the news, it will hit you hard,
I'll make you go mad, the way you did me,

Insanity insanity,
What a beautiful thing it is to be insane.
Logan Robertson Jul 2018
Behind the eight ball
she sits.
Resigned.
From her ****'s
leash,
she's lead.
Deadweight, she feels
his ways and ills,
like cattle, that's branded.
Best she hustles,
or be backhanded.
Once molded,
she learns to light up
Big Daddy's cigar
and bring him his pie loaded.
More cabbage to fill his gold baggage.
Sometimes he spares a small leaf for her.
Though times she short, his fist takes sport.
And every night
she plays for the band
of her john's,
singing their song,
while a thousand ****** of light
inches along all wrong.
The nameless, faceless and most relentless
getting their fill.
A flower in her wails loves not fear.
However, Big Daddy's eyes are always near.
She knows better than to run
past the pasture gates
onto verdant fields,
free as a bird,
without a home, money or vocation
and ever so fearful of Big Daddy's gun.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
As she remembers those first tears.
A Big Daddy's indoctrination.
It started off on social media,
a whim
a fantasy went wrong.
Three nights her body violated,
Big Daddy's cavalry,
descending on her picnic,
wax and whips,
a thousand ****** of might,
and the scream of the night.
Coldcocked.
Say hello to the new ******* the block.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
Her youth robbed as the days morph into years.
Like a blur.
The guise, the lure, the drugs, the fear.
The trap.
Eighteen young became twenty-four old.
A lost puppy to her folks back home.
And every lost night
she struts her Prada dress a little higher
Big Daddy has a buyer.

Logan Robertson

7/27/2018
To Desiree sixx  phoenix I read your poem, 304, regarding pimps. What strikes me are the 8.9k views and not one acknowledgment. How odd is that? I see shortly after, you quit writing here. I don't blame you.
The tractor stands frozen - an agony
To think of. All night
Snow packed its open entrails. Now a head-pincering gale,
A spill of molten ice, smoking snow,
Pours into its steel.
At white heat of numbness it stands
In the aimed hosing of ground-level fieriness.

It defied flesh and won't start.
Hands are like wounds already
Inside armour gloves, and feet are unbelievable
As if the toe-nails were all just torn off.
I stare at it in hatred. Beyond it
The copse hisses - capitulates miserably
In the fleeing, failing light. Starlings,
A dirtier sleetier snow, blow smokily, unendingly, over
Towards plantations Eastward.
All the time the tractor is sinking
Through the degrees, deepening
Into its hell of ice.

The starting lever
Cracks its action, like a snapping knuckle.
The battery is alive - but like a lamb
Trying to nudge its solid-frozen mother -
While the seat claims my buttock-bones, bites
With the space-cold of earth, which it has joined
In one solid lump.

I squirt commercial sure-fire
Down the black throat - it just coughs.
It ridicules me - a trap of iron stupidity
I've stepped into. I drive the battery
As if I were hammering and hammering
The frozen arrangement to pieces with a hammer
And it jabbers laughing pain-crying mockingly
Into happy life.

And stands
Shuddering itself full of heat, seeming to enlarge slowly
Like a demon demonstrating
A more-than-usually-complete materialization -
Suddenly it jerks from its solidarity
With the concrete, and lurches towards a stanchion
Bursting with superhuman well-being and abandon
Shouting Where Where?

Worse iron is waiting. Power-lift kneels
Levers awake imprisoned deadweight,
Shackle-pins bedded in cast-iron cow-****.
The blind and vibrating condemned obedience
Of iron to the cruelty of iron,
Wheels screeched out of their night-locks -

Fingers
Among the tormented
Tonnage and burning of iron

Eyes
Weeping in the wind of chloroform

And the tractor, streaming with sweat,
Raging and trembling and rejoicing.
Such small things
Weigh us down in resentment
Complicated, colliding, soon enough
Ensnared
Feeling gravity's pull
Suspended and trapped in a web
Spun with failed expectations
Stuffed to suffocation, the weight of nothing
Almost solid
You could smash it with a hammer
Insignificant things
Tossed away like trash to the side of the road
Littering, contaminating, spoiling
What once claimed a special place
Hearts
A place for spiders

I can almost feel the heat of poison
With each drop from steel through skin
With each moment begging more and more
For attention
Melting away unfulfilled
Each moment
Begging
I'm powerless but to close my eyes and deny their petitions
What's a moment worth anyway?
What's it good for in the end?
Something to search for, something to lose
Moments are meant to be forgotten
Pity the fool who doesn't understand this
Death comes as a hard lesson to that man
Enya Costa Feb 2013
Old stale black licorice
Crushed with a rolling pin
Ground into a minuscule mountain of ash
On the kitchen counter
And the tears rolled down my cheeks to wet the ashes
But all remained still in the cold, lonely kitchen
Nothing
Was born again
And again forever
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
how often do I have to return to the comparison
of dogs, when my patience and
social formality is tested...
         and without these piquant passions
I'd... well I wouldn't even try to
become an oriental monk or a
Bangladeshi yogi (if that's what you're
asking)...
            guess it will never be in my heart
to turn my blood blue
and pretend to blush like Vishnu...
then again: maybe there are no monarchs
seated on the stools of cashiers,
at a supermarket?!
       perhaps older women should be
taught not to serve your men buying
alcohol, thinking that they are en route
to the men in their life...
     whatever the story,
          but for god's sake,
   just because I've taken my headphones
off and slipped them into the neck
of my t-shirt doesn't mean I'm: suddenly deaf...
ah faaaa'ck the woman's comments
ruined my afternoon moon which
subsequently ruined this classic pasta
bake I was making...
            because that sort of commentary
from a supermarket cashier isn't on...
PEOPLE DO NOT HAVE BORING JOBS...
THEY HAVE EASY JOBS
    WHICH MAKES THEM BORING...
and I'd love to see a bunch of these
supermarket staff spend one summer
covering the roof of the Scottish Widows
HQ near St. Paul's:
   WORK ON A CONSTRUCTION IS...
    ARBEIT!
            you don't have a chance to
scratch your backside let alone
think about flamingo coloured clouds
to, "pass the time"...
          can't exactly expect a job,
devoid of physical exertion,
and somehow wish for an intelectually
budding focus point to counter...
  people have "boring" jobs because
they don't have as much physical investment
in it... and not every job, made easy,
is guaranteed intellectual prosperity...
albeit there are some "easy" jibs
that nonetheless require a sense of
the other, id est: responsibility -
exemplum gratis: a crane operative...
      roofing is a menial task,
albeit with the meniality of the labour
eased by a physical investment...
all these, menial / "boring" jobs?
   exactly, where once it would be equated
to toiling in the field...
          no intelectual expansion,
added to the missing loss of physical strain...
hey presto, you have kings and queens,
literal ******* monarchs on supermarket
cashier stools!
      MANTRA:
    remember to have the cool of
an alsatian, rather than the bark of
  dachshund (repeat that x3)...
WHY?!
    loose tomatoes, on the vine...
even at the self-checkout the checkout
machines have, a ******* weighing
mashine for the cashier,  
    by her generous graces: to ******* use!
if this sort of cashier is so
******* expendable, why the hell have
supermarket cashiers in the first place?!
people have a knack,
at making them expendable...
    this poem would not have come to life
if the supermarket installed self-checkouts...
because?
******* dinosaur...
    I can understand going to the butcher stall
or the fishmonger stall and receiving
a barcode sticker...
    fresh fruit and veg. in a supermarket?
    does it ******* look like I'm
at Spitalfields?!
    sorry, Poles can't own shops, can't work
in shops, will always return to
shopping during the Marshal Law days
paranoid about the Soviet invasion...
fresh tomatoes, every self-checkout
machine has the option of weighing
loose veg...
    yet there she is, a twitching
a.i. in waiting recyclable with a question
(prior to the suggestion of my deafness...
no, the sound of cars doesn't fill
me with a techno romance, music thank you,
can't summon a ******* sparrow
even if I waned to):
WHY AREN'T THESE TOMATOES WEIGHED?
mantra: remember to have the patience
of an alsatian...
     oh, sorry, could you just put
them to the side?
   the barcode road ended...
     SELF-CHECKOUT MACHINES
HAVE A LIBRA FUNCTION!
YOU CAN DO MORE THAN JUST SCAN
BARCODES! YOU ARE SUPPOSED
TO WEIH LOOSE VEG!
   THE SUPERMARKET HAS HAD A FRESH
DELIVERY! SEASONAL PRODUCE WILL
NOT BE PACKED IN SOME *******
JUST OUTSIDE OF MADRID AND SHIPPED
WHEN LOCAL PRODUCE HAS JUST BEEN
BROUGHT IN, AND IS SOLD LOOSE,
BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN BAUGHT IN BULK,
THE SUPERMARKET HASN'T PAID FOR
BARCODE PACKAGING...
expendeble human being...
     and god, I sometimes wish I could
bark like a duchshund whenever
a mosquito-bite's moment of irritation
      came like that on every
occasion...
          little dogs bark...
I haven't the energy most of the time...
so I have the mantra:
save the barking and go straight
for the bite...
        hence the alsatian...
             currently there's a "debate"
about: disabled people protesting for
almost 20 days about receiving
     an increased living allowance...
and I'm like: you sure a ****** would
have insulted my hearing
     and did a job worse than I would
have done using a self check-out?
        all ******* smiles if they were
given this "menial" task...
   heads full of hot air, smiles all round,
and... on the odd occassion,
a deviation from scanning barcodes...
but I sometimes wish
   I could bark like a little dog
on these mosquito-bite type of scenarios,
as trivial as they are...
   in a supermarket...
    but I can't exactly lunge into
gnarling and biting...
            guess I have to pretend to
be the ever loving, patience of an angel
labrador... type of...
              dog, walking an invisible
blindman...
     hell, the ***** I bought on this
trivial escapade makes the past day
a glitch... and the night:
    open to an endless stream of interpretation...
she was right though,
   I am not the sort of story
behind alcohol that she probably
knows and has moved past
self-pity...
                    all out war of tongue...
well, sure...
    AVE! MENS FACTUS EST ****...
hell, Latin grammar is like
a semitic text,
          right to left...
            doesn't matter if the text
is ancient and was also, once upon
written left to right...
   the grammar might as well be
semitic...
               good that I didn't bark...
           ah...
but to have ended the day and escaped
into the night, with this deadweight
making me bloated?
     the fact that people
can't keep social manners in comment
sections of articles...
           and don't have the capacity
to bash about a pixel blank?
        it's as if these people are so docile
and oblivious to situations
where they could have barked
    but didn't...
    but also: didn't even have
a conflicting argument to not bite...
hence... ha ha...
   the comment sections, those of us
aged 30+... are familiar with.
Aditya Shankar Feb 2014
I sit down in front of this piece of paper, pen in hand, the wind through my hair and a single dim light’s reflection in my glasses. I close my eyes, tired of repeatedly trying and failing to write an article. I wearily rub my eyelids and sit still for a while.
And that’s when I see him.

He stands against the backdrop of a waterfall, the green grass gently caressing his bare feet as he walks slowly towards the calm, turquoise lake. A sudden whiff of tulips assails my sense of smell as he walks into the water, his composed steps mirroring the complacence of the cool blue he walks into. He wades in till he is waist deep; birds chirp in the distance, trees sway in the wind and everything the sunlight touches melts into a golden brilliance.

As he walks in, ripples branch out from his torso, tattooing themselves upon the surface of the water. They move forward with him, each with a colour that merges into a thousand new hues as two of them meet. I stand there watching in stupefaction; he does not acknowledge my presence as he continues to walk forward, his eyes fixed upon the blue-gold sky over us.

All of a sudden, he climbs out of the lake and begins to hurriedly hunt around, muttering to himself
‘It has to be here somewhere.’ He darts off between the trees, with the raw agility of a young impala. As he continues to fly over the many shrubs and roots in his way, I chase behind him panting and puffing as the entire forest falls behind in a blur of green and brown. And then we hear it, the scream tears through the woods and the sky explodes into a whirlpool of colour; he turns back and looks at me, his eyes wide with horror and disbelief. I skid to a halt before him and I realize that we had reached the outcrop of a cliff. I turn to him, my back to the massive drop from the bluff, a quizzical look in my eyes as I find myself unable to articulate the words in my mind. He puts his hands on my shoulders, the fear etched deep in his wide eyes. And he pushes me off the cliff.

The air whistles past my ears as I fall to the ground; it seems like an eternity has passed before I finally rest my head on the hard ground beneath me. Every bone in my body feels like I have walked headfirst into a moving train, I gingerly raise myself off the cold floor to see him standing over me. He raises a finger to his lips, signalling me to follow him. We walk forward cautiously, the fear of an unknown disturbance still hanging heavy over us. We walk through an open field of wild grass, the pale silver stalks dancing in the breeze as the moonlight lit up our path. He doesn’t say anything to me; I walk alongside his shadow as his shadow. We come to a clearing with a single tree standing proud in the middle of a vast expanse of nothing. He gestures to the tree, we make our way there with haste. I walk into the cool shade of a massive oak and collapse under its mighty protection. He walks around the tree and returns with a figure in his arms. Next to my tired form he lays her down, a look of gentle calm upon his hard features. The moonlight dances upon her face and her shallow breath rattles through the night. Her stormy grey eyes lie wide open as she continues to struggle against an unknown force so as to keep breathing. He stands at a distance, silently watching the two of us on the ground; one battling for her life and the other silent and still like the great oak tree above us. Her lips part slightly, a single droplet of light rises upwards into his palm and she falls into a silent stupor. He gazes at the pinpoint of white in his hand, bringing it slowly to his mouth. I watch on as he proceeds to swallow it, confused about the events transpiring before my eyes. He throws his head back and looks up to the pitch black sky and a million tiny lights wink back at him in response. His eyes open wide, his jaw falls low and a burst of brilliant white light breaks through his tall, proud form. I see the mouth move, I hear him speak a few moments later. The voice rings loud in my ears, resonating from everywhere and nowhere and he says to me, “The path you seek is straight ahead. Do not deviate from the road and you should be fine.”

My head falls back against the firm bark of the oak as I witness my guide disappear into thin air with no evidence of him ever having existed. My eyes close of their own will and I embrace the comforting darkness of slumber enveloping my mind.

My eyes fly awake as a sharp ray of light dispels my drowsiness. I wake up to find myself looking towards a convoluted, winding path leading into the woods. Against my will, I find myself rising and walking down the dusty road. I try to hum to myself, no sound greets me. I try to dart into the woods, but something brings me back to the same path no matter which direction I turn. The sun beats down hard upon my head, and in the distance I hear the faraway call of an eagle. Resigned to my current fate, I walk forward taking in all that I see around me. The sunlight dances between the shadows of the twisted trees, the brown floor beneath my feet gradually begins to evolve into a lush green lawn and the air I take deep, calm breaths of is painted with the scent of rain. I brush aside a shrub and stop in my tracks as I take in the view before me.

I stand before an ocean. The sand twinkles against my eyes, giving me a psychedelic glimpse of a million pinpoints of colour every time I blink. The tide rolls against the shore lazily as the sunlight bounces off the surface of the water. The sky lies mirrored before my feet and my toes play with the fine grains as I walk onto the beach. I sit against the onslaught of the slow tide and feel the refreshing spray of water upon my tired form. The sun begins to drop gently from the sky, retiring to his home beneath the vast expanse of water. I watch the sunset, I watch as the sky is painted by the whims and fancies of the final rays of sunlight as they herald the appearance of a single crescent sliver of silver hanging delicately in the sky, casting a dim white light on me. An ethereal breeze gushes past me, and I find myself obsessed by an urge to enter the water. I stand up, the waves breaking around my ankles as I walk into the water with an oddly familiar slow, composed gait. I walk forward calmly, the waves breaking against my torso as I begin to feel the ground sink below me. I let the ocean cradle me; I surrender myself to the mercy of the sea as she carries me in her lap. All emotion begins to wash away from me; I do not feel the familiar wave of fear as wave after wave crashes over my head, pushing me down beneath the surface of the water. I feel no panic as I take in the water in deep gulps, I feel nothing but a calm of certainty as I feel the ocean filling up my lungs. I smile and close my eyes as I begin to plummet down under depths. I embrace the vast nothingness that spreads out before me and fall unconscious.

A blinding pain flashes behind my eyes, as I gasp and sputter to find myself on a jet black rock, sprawled out like an empty carcass. I look around, unable to find my bearings, and my eyes fall upon a massive, emerald green pillar. It stands on the shore, firm and unmoving even as the ocean tries desperately to push it off its pedestal. I lift myself off the rock with difficulty and force my sore feet to stumble towards the pillar. I fall at its base, every bone in my body feeling like a deadweight. I rest my head against my arm, panting and coughing when I feel a hand upon my shoulder. I look up to see a small boy smiling down at me with an odd benevolence, the light of ages of wisdom alive in his eyes. He puts his hand to the pillar, and I watch in awe as it begins to crumble to a vibrant green ash. I look at him in plain bewilderment, and though he chuckles silently, I hear his deep, rumbling voice in my head. “You have nothing to fear from me, I am merely here to deliver to you what you have been looking for all this time.” I hear his voice tell me. He walks over to the shimmering green pile of dust and pulls out a piece of paper. He places his hand on my head, clasps the paper in my hand and smiles. I see his small head throw my face into shadow as he blocks the sunlight falling on my face, and I sit still, relishing the cool shade.

I open my eyes in front of this piece of paper, pen in hand, the wind through my hair and a single dim light’s reflection in my glasses. And on the paper, I see this article.
Well, this is my first post here. And I know that its "Hello POETRY" and this is not a poem, but whatever floats my boat, right? :P
Patrick Kennon Jun 2012
How is it three years, and I still have the same dreams?
Can you explain that to me, lovely sparrow?
Clutching olive branch and yew bark
Grabbing in the dark for cold water, sweating down the glass
Bitter chlorine and calcium built up on the face
Mineral finger-paints, broken down with linseed oil and worn palms
Your eyes behind those old glasses, working clay on the wheel
Such pride in glazed pots collecting rain on the patio
Paving stones laid in sand, the last few crooked on account of the cervesa
Dry in the mouth like panting dogs, deadweight collapsed on threadbare carpet
How do we convince ourselves that it is desirable to be alone?
I hold you in my arms in a dream, whoever you are
Pulling all the strands out of a wicker basket, creating uselessness
Chattering keys on a laptop like shivering teeth
Coughing, faceless, men, the embodiment of misery in this night
The most beautiful pair of eyes I've ever seen, what other secrets lie beneath
that hijab?
Just a passing glance, most of the people we see, we will never see again
How is it some make such a profound impression with nothing more than a
smile?
Lying under the Joshua tree, surrounded by dirt roads leading nowhere in particular
Warm water mingles with the sweat on your lip
A sigh that send chills through me
The restless wind, nothing more
Vidya Oct 2012
what I got was
a january smile
from a milkblooded boy.
if only the pearl of your teeth were
white as my eyes

deertail flash in the dark
and nowhere else to hide but
five a.m. sheets and the smell of
sunrise mumbles

toofast weightloss:
a late spring heart
is drenched with its
ripeness but
rots if you leave it to
the bees

then the summer desiccation becomes
winter starvation—
in between, autumn comes to
stay. purples, mostly
maroons moth
-eaten by the greengrass deadweight of
so many depetalled flowers. Midnight never strikes
soon enough.

there have been no doves for
weeks &
maybe longer than
that i haven’t
kept count
on you to teach me where they go when
the seasons change

but given time and
tide rips the
stains from your whites
so i with
patience await the
first frosts;
you are never far behind the
snow.

meanwhile your
jewel-studded eyes & corsair heart
glint in the moonlit touchmenot of your
faraway skin
keep your hair
shirt on.
Skypath Dec 2014
I
When I look for inspiration
I dig through bedrock of heartbreak poems
So you but so not us

II
You are my inspiration
Not enough to put in words but too much to say
I fall asleep with poem scraps floating in my empty skull
As if all I could ever know was words for you

III
Sometimes my mouth gets tired of smiling
The things I don't tell you hang as deadweight on each of my ribs
Even your dove-wing voice can't pull me
From the black sea I lurk in
But you smile for me anyway

IV
Mid afternoon and I'm sleeping with the light on
You're a brewing thunderstorm that promises
Never to drought my dusty ribs

V
Late night and I'm not a poet
But you're the shallow river
Where I can sit naked and you won't hurt me
Your waters are warm and make me want to write
I'm not a poet but you're poetry
Jonny Angel Jun 2014
I'm on East Coast time
& they the West
& I hear the music
& the laughter
& Ibsmell the beer
& I gotta get up
& help myself
to a cup
& kick this fatigue
in the ***.
annie Sep 2014
thoughts
fears
aspirations
goals
hopes
dreams

reflections
interactions
misinterpretations
observations

i read this list
the list you started
so many years before
back in the beginning

i sit in your shadow
and read it
with swollen eyelids
and a heavy heart
but not nearly as heavy
as the silence
that now fills the room
your room

the space
you can no longer fill
and will never
be able to fill again

i trace your letters
with my finger
and hear your voice
dictating the scribble
on the page
as I try to follow along
through thick tears

i don't know
which is worse
being forced to
let you go
or being haunted
by the memories
taking your place
Kacie Lynn Jul 2015
The same Cricket has been outside my window for 5 endless nights.
I stay awake and think about all of the dark ones I stayed up until 4am trying to find some sort of light.
I never found the light.
If I recall, you were the one who searched for it.
And now this has got my ever disquieting mind reeling-
Did you find me light?
Or was it false hope?A flashlight with dead batteries?
That's how I feel now-
Like a car with no engine,
Empty under the hood.
I don't know why I trusted anyone anyhow.
My heart feels like lead,
A deadweight in my chest,
Broken from the drop off the cliff.
Of course you advised it to jump.
This same cricket has been here making the same ******* noise -
almost like how my mind tells me consistently how naive I was to trust.
It hasn't shut up in 6 hellish nights.I can't stand these ******* fights.
But you told me I must believe in the lies.
Not in so many words-
I was supposed to trust the "truth"
I guess it was a part of my demise.
Leave me to think I had the light,
But when I went to use the power it is mysteriously out of service
Right?
You obviously don't realize how far you push me down into the water.
How close I've been to drowning over-
Over and over again,
only to barely claw my way back to shore.
The cricket is still outside and I have tried to smother his sound with the conflation of sad songs,
But that's just not fair.
He sings of his sorrows just as well as I.
The cricket is outside my window and I let him stay now
For we both know this feeling


























Update: I killed the cricket- he knew too much.
Based on a true story. Actually this is the real story, but I didn't **** him. He left me actually. I'm still bitter about it.
WendyStarry Eyes Nov 2015
Farther along we'll know all about it
Farther along we'll understand why
Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We'll understand this, all by and by

Tempted and tried, I wondered why
The good man died, the bad man thrives
And Jesus cries because he loves em' both
We're all cast-aways in need of ropes
Hangin' on by the last threads of our hope
In a house of mirrors full of smoke
Confusing illusions I've seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along
To every chorus of the song
That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates
Leading mice and men down to their fates
But some will courageously escape
The seductive voice with a heart of faith
While walkin' that line back home

So much more to life than we've been told
It's full of beauty that will unfold
And shine like you struck gold my wayward son
That deadweight burden weighs a ton
Go down into the river and let it run
And wash away all the things you've done
Forgiveness alright

Farther along we'll know all about it
Farther along we'll understand why
Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We'll understand this, all by and by

Still I get hard pressed on every side
Between the rock and a compromise
Like the truth and pack of lies fightin' for my soul
And I've got no place left go
Cause I got changed by what I've been shown
More glory than the world has known
Keeps me ramblin' on

Skipping like a calf loosed from it's stall
I'm free to love once and for all
And even when I fall I'll get back up
For the joy that overflows my cup
Heaven filled me with more than enough
Broke down my levee and my bluff
Let the flood wash me

And one day when the sky rolls back on us
Some rejoice and the others fuss
Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess
That the son of god is forever blessed
His is the kingdom, we're the guests
So put your voice up to the test
Sing Lord, come soon

Farther along we'll know all about it
Farther along we'll understand why
Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We'll understand this, all by and by
JOSH GARRELS
voodoo Jan 2018
this is my introduction to something i never wanted to make up

something that needs makeup

to hide all the rust it built up

in the winds of an apocalyptic sky

see, there i go again, with the same jargon, the same death-comes-for-all

i’m so sick of my own talk

i’m so thirsty for new words that don’t sound like mine

for words that don’t find ****** rhymes

for voices that don’t herald the end of days

because my eyes don’t see what’s really real

they’re seeing only what is metaphorical

what is above is not a stalagtite sky

and what is between my toes isn’t the smell of rot

and my flesh is not actually decaying

the way i feel my soul has been

see, i started out trying not to be me

to conjure something that changes me

but this identity comes down like a deadweight

tied around my straining neck

screaming in my ears, words

words in my head, it’s all too much

it’s all too real

get out
fisharedrowning Dec 2013
Ups, and downs.
I see us through liquid smiles,
you saw us with regretful frowns;
We stand on opposite ends of the isle.
You are high when I am low,
we are but deadweight to hold onto for control.

What matters is past and present:
I still keep the photos of us,
while your heart's still not shaken.
I still see us in my dreams,
and as for you, you are not keen.
Lydia Apr 2017
But it's not.
Most of it is in my muscles that refuse to move anymore
Deadweight, simple pain pulling like gravity is its mother
Some of it is in my burning lungs that don't understand how much I want to keep going
I don't want to die here
I don't want them to find my collapsed body with a stopwatch marking a nine minute mile
Some of it is in my broken sneakers and ripped clothes because this isn't my first show
I've been here before
I fully understand the heavyheartedness of sweat stains that scream longevity and socks that I might as well throw away
But I will see that gym tomorrow
My body will burn and burn and I will burn with it
But there's a fireproof lining around my head
Of course it's not all in my head
My head is the one thing keeping my feet hitting the ground every beat of the music
Or picking up the weights at 6 am
Just a little exercise motivation. Please comment :)
Deana Luna Dec 2013
honeysuckle sunset
(glass pun/ch/ed/)
melodramatic melodies
always singing the same tune
(one s-h-o-t---> deadweight)

we are not quite adults and not quite children
on our own

uncontrolled and untamed
flipped the coin and lost willpower
empty useless bombshell

dumb blonde turned red
what are you hiding from

book smart
street stupid
tied and tethered to the wall
up against it
up against the wall
Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having. -Ezra Pound*

Today, there are no words on my lips.
Love has no surprises and life no pain.
The faces before me refuse
to invoke grief or any whisper of hope.

The dying oak tree in the front yard creaks
and whimpers and begs for peace.
It has witnessed the years and taken
them in indifferent solitude.
I do not think it wants to live
this solitary life any longer.

Under its rotting armor a fragile sign of life.
And just beneath that thin layer of green vitality
lies years and years of death.
I should hope that it heals or falls to the ground.
I do not think it wants to live
this ailed life any longer.
I know it will. I have not the benevolence
to chop it down.

I stare at the flora of branches,
the sun tries to emerge from the clouds:
it cannot. It sheds a tear of futility.
No one hears it, though.

I think of the days of childhood past,
where the laughter was abundant
and the smiles genuine
and the tears flowed without any hesitation.
That was a long time ago.
An innocent version of myself climbed
the branches and appreciated the
tree's fortitude.

I wonder,
can this dying oak support my weight?
Have I grown too much or has it died too much
to climb it?
Have I died too much to climb it?

I disregard these thoughts and continue:
Deadweight swings on a lowly branch.
I fear it will snap but I continue to hang.

It does.

I fall to the ground and appreciate the skinned knee.
The only pain available
on such a lifeless day.
Willa Kong Nov 2016
I struggle to grasp the remains of Denmark’s warmth
As silent tears of grief run down my porcelain cheeks.
Each night grows colder in the emptiness of my bed,
The crown a deadweight.

Black fabric cloaks the kingdom,
Blending in with the grey clouds that gather in the sky,
Weighing down the crown,
Drowning everyone in a dark sea.

But I saw the face of my husband--
No, the face of a brother.
Yet he shares the same slanting eyes
The peaks on his forehead
And the curves of his lips.

That face washes away the pain in my heart
As he smiles with kindness that reflects that of the old King.
He warms the silk sheets of my barren bed
And shares the weight of the crown.

Now, white silk touches the hearts of Denmark,
A contrast to the grey clouds looming in the sky,
Lightening the gold of the crown,
Lifting everyone onto a bright cloud.

I close my eyes and my thoughts drift to dear Hamlet.
What a tragedy for him to lose a father
And it is my duty to give him one.

All that lives must die,
But my husband is not one life that must.
An eleventh year poetry assignment based on the play Hamlet by William Shakespeare. This is told through Queen Gertrude's POV and why she might've married Claudius.
typhany Oct 2013
pick up the pieces
from my favorite vinyl,
the one you smashed
over my head
like a drunk would
with a bottle of whiskey

pick up the pieces
from my beating heart
the one you tore into
with your rage
like a rabid wolf would
with his sharpened teeth

pick up my needle
filled with my favorite
the ****** i bought
with the money
in your wallet
stolen, like my emotions

pick up my body,
deadweight
wrists bleeding, eyes shut
shatter the windows
with your screams,
as i fade
Music, a double edge sword.
It aggravates gaping wounds;
It mends optimistic spirits.

A magic that can ascend one to
A higher plane of existence,
Or a boulder that can send one hurling
To the bottom of Dante's inferno.

A cupid that gives repose to distressed spirits,
Or a scythe that leaves a furrow in the heart of a cynical soul.

They say time heals, I say music aligns the stars,
Fuels the flare, unclouds the gloom of the skies;
Brings spirits closer to enlightenment.

I chose to embrace her, drop the deadweight,
And unlock the shackles of my heart.
Daniel Mashburn Sep 2014
Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Say good bye to heart break because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So when your mom comes home, you don't have to lie.

I saw a dead stare in your eyes. Shot in hand and a beer can littered life now.
A dull laugh etched upon your face. Seems you've left without a single trace now.

You thought you had it figured out.
    You had no idea what we're about.
Can you even recall what I'm saying?

Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Say good bye to heart break because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So when I come by, you don't have to lie.

You spilled your guts, I couldn't care. You thought that I would always be there waiting.
It's such a shame to call you friend. I always thought that this would have a bitter end.

You were nowhere to be found
    No one picked you up when you fell down.
Can you even remember what I was saying?

Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Cigarettes and ******* because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So when the cops come by, you don't have to lie.

Baby, you're a deadweight
And you only bring me down. Say hello to good byes cause this time we're not messing around.
And when we wake up, we'll wish you'd stayed home last night. The medics came. We're swear you almost died.

Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Say good bye to heart break because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So won't you please come home? Please come home tonight.

Baby, you're a lightweight.
And you've been gone for far too long. And you never came home.

So I guess I'll say so long.
Andrew McElroy Nov 2011
I stumble in the path that leads
To all of the wrong roads chosen
Maybe I should wake up from this dream
And worry about my heart that has been broken
I can’t remember what it is to be content with life
Or the light that once shown
In my black eyes
I remember a feeling that was once a flame
It consumed the very being of my better side
Now all I can feel is the dark side
From these dark eyes that seek to know the truth
Or struggle to find you
They fell short under the wing that shades
That fed me waves when I needed calm seas
I can feel the deadweight
The boat is drifting away
Out past the reaches of my aching limbs
I may drown if I don’t remember
The way that you moved me
Pushing out from the hollow hole in my hollow chest
Peaking out through these hollow lenses that think they know best
Or the empty eyes that look over my body as it waits
Burning skies seek to warm the wicked and sick
The wretched and weak will **** for a sense of love
Look at the eyes of the worried and stuck
They wonder about the name of this beautiful thing
Unknown member of the underworld
They call me out from the other side of the stained glass
I’ve been cast out from the badlands
Does that make you love me anymore?
Or will I begin to hate the very thing that makes me, me
Her heart that ate me in the light of the stage
My heart won’t fail me
It will rise again
Alyssa Yu Apr 2016
you'd think loneliness would feel empty
but it is actually an immovable deadweight that lives right atop my sternum
crushing me into the bed until the numbness creeps into my torso.
it paralyzes my limbs,
shrinking my ribcage until my imprisoned heart isn't strong enough to keep time with the clock anymore

it is violent stillness
my fingers clutching my throat and
wanting to scream so loudly that my timid vocal chords,
so accustomed to mumbling and trying not to be heard,
simply can't accommodate the request
the desperation doesn't rip through my chest like sobs
but silently leaks out the corner of my eye

it is staring at the ceiling and dozing off and waking up and immediately closing my eyes again because i am so tired of remembering that i'm alone

and it is cold, so cold
shivering under three blankets
curling into myself and waiting for the day i am finally strong enough to turn off the vacancy sign on my front door
frankie Jun 2018
nights i used to spend lying awake are now spent in a slumber i never want to arise from
the detriment of sleeping for more than eight hours has since vanished, that's what sadness can do to a body
the exhaustion that comes from factors of my brain that i cannot control and a pain so deep rooted in the cavities of my heart propel me into a twelve hour slumber that feels like twelve minutes
dragging my feet on the ground like deadweight, my god i am deadweight
deprivation of serotonin can **** ones strength and energy, i have never been so tired
heartbreak throws a body into a boxing ring and tells it to fight the champ, while the body has been starved of all life
exhaustion has become my new state of being, someone save me please.
i don't know where i was going with this
Poetria Mar 2016
My stomach feels like deadweight.
My arms are about to fall off.
My lungs feel like they're paper frail.
My teeth hurt from smiling.
My mind has gone on overdrive.
    My heart's functioning automatic.
Lately I haven't felt anything but
the air that I'm breathing.
Theres a whole world revolving right now and I'm just sitting here wasting water.
People want a taste of death but
I want to feel alive again.
There are things I have to do
but I lie awake unnmoving for hours.
I lie to everyone I make contact with,
every ******* day.
Deep down I feel the tremors of an earthquake that may never surface.
**I'm waiting.
Shula E Nov 2011
So weary of waging battles for the sunshine, this armor unbearably heavy now, this noose a garland of roses triumphantly paced around my neck. I can embrace a Lover as loyal as the devil, come walk me head on into the deep end of the river, I will surrender to the poison u will force down into my person, intoxicating me forever. Like deadweight I will crash, But a fall after every bone is broken must not feel like much. My casket must be of wicker and roses and I want melodic screams of outrage and wails of horror before and after my eulogy. It shall be marvelously tragic. A light squashed so cruelly so early before it had a chance to light others. And when it is learned of why it had been extinguished, even the faithless will be squirming with a deep shame and irrepairable sense of guilt. And the eternally youthful spirit will settle finally in ways she never could while living, smiling in deep satisfaction and revelling in the hell she has now forever cast upon these mortals.
We're five from the bomb
I guess this is adios
so long.

and yet,
all you seem to care is
should you wear your hair loose.

When your head's in the noose
I think you will find
that whatever you've done with your hair
I won't mind.

We're five from the final.
Played live on blue-ray
'cause DVD's are old hat
and vinyl's
passe.

I suppose the bomb is the krap in the fan
that hits us full on
but we still have a chance
we can quit
we're ahead.
Never fancied being deadweight
or 'what a state'
don't want to wait
for the final kaboom.
I just need some more living room
don't plan on dying soon.
Just one more shot at the moon
while you do your hair.

— The End —