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ryn Oct 2014
Escape pods*
Ferried fears
  Gaping heart
   Falling tears
    Dishevelled mind
     Emotional unrest
    Watered ground
    Familiar guest
   Questioned answers
  Unanswered questions
  Glassy eyes
   Increased tension
    Dissipating hope
     Chewed confidence
    Broken spirit
   Unwelcomed sentence
  Failing health
Unstable mind
Choked fingers
Flying blind
 Pathetic plea
  Stretched thin
    Battered insides
     Uncomfortable skin
      Eventual stop
       Frightful frights
        Perceived freedom
         Within sight
        Bruised being
     Absent gods
    Relying upon
Escape pods
Don't ask...I don't even know...
jane taylor May 2016
dissipating into the morning mist
through a kaleidoscope-like view
i become every part of you

Emmanuella Nov 2018
"I can’t figure it out.” She said.
“I like cigars,
and pretty dresses and crossing my legs.”
She paused,
then continued,
“And I like smoking cigars in pretty dresses while crossing my legs.”
She uncrossed them,
then crossed them again.
One smooth limb over the other.
Just like that.

“But I never seem to have a lighter on hand.
Could you— sir,
please light my cigar?”
“You see, I have no pockets to hold such things and my purse…
You’ve confiscated that, haven’t you?”

“Thanks.” She breathed,
and inhaled,
and exhaled;
Sluggish wisps of smoke dissipating into the air.
Just. like .that.

“I didn’t know L'homme was into women who smoke cigars in pretty dresses while crossing their legs", She said.
“I mean, how was I to know?
I only noticed him noticing me.
It was probably the way my hair was tousled like so,
Or how my lipstick shone a deep, dangerous rogue,
Or the way I sipped at my champagne…
That made him walk over.”

“But I never asked him to light my cigar
Or comment on my dress…
Or stroke my legs.
So when I whacked him up top over the head with my glass,
I bet he never expected it to shatter and split his skull like so.
He dropped so sudden, sir. I…”
Another ringlet of smoke, a sigh, an uncrossing and crossing of legs again.
“I had no clue,
what else to do,
But to sit still in my pretty dress, with my legs crossed, smoking my cigar trying to figure out...
Just how I'd committed ******.”
"She's a dangerous woman...
Who can ****,
Just with her *** appeal".
Jesse stillwater Sep 2018
The belated summer sky is alive
with a  D r a g o n f l y ballet

Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal

A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering  airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath

Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
    just this side the  
softening sunset backdrop

A synthesis of fluid motion
  – darting kinesis –
    swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
   another summer's
 imminent curtain call;

reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
  of passing  seasons

Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
   coming to know
    we cannot stop
   how life unfolds

The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...

  — hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch

another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
     in the treetops

Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018                                                 .
Notes: Dragonflies can fly at 100 body-lengths per second, and three lengths per second backwards.[20] Wiki   Fossils of very large dragonfly ancestors in the Protodonata are found from 325 million years ago (Mya) in Upper Carboniferous rocks; these had wingspans up to about 750 mm (30 in). There are about 3000 extant species.

Unholdable moments touched out here adrift —

Thanks for reading !
Smoke as elegant as a woman
Dancing around you so gracefully,
But not for long
The blink of an eye and she's gone
Dissipating into the dark gloom
But like all of them, there will be more,
All the same
Dancing around you
But not for long

Kewayne Wadley Apr 2018
And like incense our scent takes to the air.
Ascending before we fall.
Her and I.
We burst into fire.
Our eyes a gaseous mixture. 
Ignited by the touch of skin.
Kindling the many thoughts we keep of each other.
A crackle blown out.
Accented in desire,
Our yearning ignites.
We hold ourselves unselfish,
Keeping warm.
Separate stems bonded as one. 
Our inner voice visible. 
Bypassing worry, our doubt.
A piece of us both, dissipating in a slow burning.
To give more than we've taken in unspoken communication.
We fell in ash.
Our scent a prayer sent to heaven. 
To always remain this way. 
Even after our extinguishing.
May we linger.
Forever more.
Falling fast asleep in each other's arms.
Leading each other to a place we call love.
Until the last ash drops
when places rid themselves of people they become empty
and when a person rids themselves of the people who fill them up      
they become the empty rooms,
rooms that at some point someone wanders into
and lets out a scream without ever hearing one back.
And if they do stand there long enough, all they really do is hear the fading echo of their own scream slowly dissipating into the void.
looking back at snippets of writing from some years ago. c. 2015
Pagan Paul Aug 2018
Smoke coils up and dissipates,
soon the images will be clear,
as she stares with cold contempt,
into the depths of the Seers Sphere.
And she stands toking her pipe,
watching as the story unfolds,
soon her hate will boil once more,
unleashing her vengeance of old.

Smoke coils up and dissipates,
a thousand lifetime's away,
blackened stone and charred bodies,
the remains of a village destroyed.
The flames still licking at the flesh
and melting mortar of cottage walls.
Raiding horsemen ride off cheering,
with swords, shields and firebrands,
carrying amidst them a prisoner,
their prize and sport for the victory feast.
Savages are these violent men,
barbaric in their wanton lust for war,
the red mist and the ****** fury,
it's all they really have a care for.

She waits with patient seething,
her moments will arrive so soon,
the spilling of her black arts,
witnessed by a Woman's Moon.

The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

But the leader here was not a man,
she was the daughter of this warrior clan.
Fierce, cold, she barked out her orders;
build a fire, make food, secure the borders.
Her status unquestioned by her riders,
they would all fight and die beside her,
and as the camp grew out much wider,
her boot casually crushes a hated spider.

Manacles held her ankle fast,
shackled as she was to a tree.
Withdrawn, shivering with cold,
still seeing her burning family.
Images scorch her private intimacy,
awaiting the moment of her epiphany,
eyes watching with careless vacancy,
preparations for the nights ceremony.
But she would not co-operate,
would not give her jailers pleasure,
as she knows these last few hours
would seem to her like forever …

and Nature weeps with a prelude to grieve,
as the Maiden pulls a dagger from her sleeve.

… deny them their sport she will,
placing the dagger 'neath her breast,
a sharp tug towards her heart,
a thousand nightmares laid to rest.

A thousand lifetime's away,
smoke coils up and dissipates,
a cackle rents the air like ice,
the time her Woman's Moon anticipates.
And the instant arrives with joy,
as the Seers Sphere is thrown,
shattering and cackling hold hands,
as the glass touches solid stone.
At that moment of contact with rock,
time slips into a reverberating shock.

The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

And the earth heaved and tremored,
shaking the Vales languid peace,
uprooting trees with tremendous urge,
rending the loamy soil from beneath.
Frenzied horses scatter with fright,
and men are thrown up high,
screams and shouts of piercing pain,
and the stream suddenly runs dry.
The quake unsettles the warriors camp,
leaving many broken bones and blood.
Then an ominous deafening roar
heralds the arrival of the coming flood.
And water coursed fast into the Vale,
no longer pretending to be calmer.
All living men drowned and dead,
encumbered by their heavy armour.
But she was much fleeter of foot
and ran hard as the waters rose.
Tripped by a treacherous branch,
head banged, stunned, her eyes closed.

Sunrise saw many things.
Smoke coiling up and dissipating,
over the ruins of a village,
crows and dogs feasting well.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
squatting on top a new grave,
smoke coiling up from her pipe,
cackling …

She awoke in darkness.
It didn't take long to panic and scream.
It took no time to realise,
she was sealed naked in a coffin.
And she screamed and screamed.
Pushing at the sides, the lid.
The air was heavy, stifling, stifling, stifling.
Precious oxygen running out.
The coffin moved, and she screamed,
desperately scratching and scratching.
And in the box she heard … cackling.
Her frantic screams turn to sobs of pleading
to be let out, to breathe, to live.
She felt something touch her inner thigh,
she screamed, as it touched again feint.
Brushing it away as the voice cackled on,
more tickles on her thighs, she screamed.
And something landed on her face.
The feel of a large spider on her mouth,
and she screamed and screamed.
But the cackling persisted
as she scratched at the wood,
her fingernails shredding to pieces,
but the wooden prison gave no quarter,
the skin raw and bloodied,
scratching, scratching, scratching.
And in her tomb she screams,
she screams and screams and screams.

… sunrise saw many things.
It saw a new river,
wending its way to the sea,
caressing the contoured land,
it saw horses running wild,
across the lush grass on plains.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
standing beside a new grave,
as she places the flame dagger
upon the Maiden's final resting place,
it saw
ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence.

© Pagan Paul (02/08/18)
3rd poem in Judderwitch series.

Today, Aug 2nd, marks two years on hp for me.
Thankyou to all those who have supported and helped me over these last 2 years. You are all greatly appreciated :) PPx xox
John Prophet Dec 2018
Humans talk,
Been doing
so since the
first grunts.
For millennia
human sounds
have filled
the airways.
in the wind.
Humanity expanded,
Spoken words,
written words,
flying furiously
around the globe.
information, most
lost to time.
Some stuck
in the minds
of man
and moved
Engrams tweaked,
thinking altered.
More people
more words.
endless thoughts.
Ideas, thoughts
flying around
the globe at
light speed.
social media.
Most dissipates
some sticks
gets passed
Such is the
civilization is
John Prophet Mar 9
Time, it
moves into
at all.
Tomorrow is
touch it,
smell it,
or see it.
just a
not tangible.
once past
fading images,
smells of
what past.
losing resonance.
Fading away.
Now, an
moving from
nothing to
vapor in
its wake.
Walking up the stairs, it was quiet
Feeling that old **** carpet, like pillows beneath my toes
The house smelled the same, of dust and wood, sometimes
a hint of clean laundry and vanilla candles
Approaching the room - hit like a stroke - or a baseball
to the left eye in 1998

A museum of furniture, clothing, trophies, memories-
Notes whose meanings no longer could be immediately recalled,
And some we wouldn't want to remember
A slip of paper, under my mattress, it read "Please
just let me say I'm sorry one more time, I can't lose you"
Signed, The First Girl I Thought I Loved
She now has three children and goes on vacations to Lake Tahoe
To see the sunset, to breathe again and again

I searched everywhere for the box, the one where we
keep sentimental **** because it feels wrong to throw it away
Then I remembered the day she threw it in the street, saying
"You think they care about you? You think any of these people know what you really are? Nobody will ever love you like your mother loves you"
The screen door cracked that day and my memories
Oh, they flew away like paper airplanes, flying so high

I sighed to release myself, to be free of it
Grabbed the bright red canister and began
Drowning the time capsule, the mausoleum, familiarity dissipating
I lit the match, paused for a brief moment of silence
Then watched as it was devoured, chemically altered

You both preserved this room, just the way it was
Locked me in that room, throwing away the key
Safeguarding these memories, only the ones easier to swallow
Maybe if it never changed, then I would not have
Maybe if it all stayed in place, it would be ready for my return
Let this serve as a reminder
That room killed me, and now it dies with you.
I'm writing a series about control. The ways in which people manipulate time, memories, feelings etc. as a means of determining and predicting what free-thinking individuals do/feel/say... All, supposedly, in the name of love or as a means to preemptively protect themselves from being subjected to the uncontrollable.
Arianna Dec 2018
Breathing deeply
Of the coolness
In rushes of air,
From the beating
Of wings
And within


This great boulder
Of pulsing flesh
From my breast,
Still beating


With the swooping
Of white birds
And angels;
The body
Counting its moments
Breath by breath and
Measure by measure


Cometh Death,
Died with patience,
By perfect stillness,
By assuaging breaths
Of Blue


Into the chasm
Of my Being,


Into mystery,


In upward movement
Of stillness,
White sunbeams
My leaden heart
With unbearable Light;
White fingers
Great and terrible,
In the lightness and
Of their


The veil
From my head,
And replacing its


With the


Of cloud-spun
My eyes,
White tinged with gold,
And once more
These burdens,
Deep within my bones
Rush forth,


Into Nothingness


Away amidst the swirling
Of incense,
Tendrils of smoke
Grasping, effortlessly
Ghosts of prayers
As soon I too shall


Watching in awe
Their transcendence
On those pounding wings,
In the palm
Of those lily-pure hands
Now reaching


With the most painful
And perfect
With incense and oil,
Chanting the
Over my limbs,


The threads
Of physicality
With all-encompassing
Of healing;
Replacing mortal breath
With canticles of


The dust of
My soul
Within those fingers of
As though I too
Were but a tendril of


And fading
In the luster of evening.
Hildegard von Bingen - "Canticles of Ecstasy":
You're the one who killed the sun. You're the one who's killing everyone. If light can not enter, there will be no colour. We're all going to disappear.

Eating the babies.
Plucking the daisies.
Preserving their organs,
Saving them for later.

Artificial clouds are where the sun used to be!
You choked the sky and now you're choking me!

Drowning in every drop of water.
Eaten alive by every human flower.
Devouring every son and daughter.
Sprayed by the punctured capillaries of a sick mother.

Beware the carnivorous fruit. It's killing us softly.

Who knew dying would taste so **** good today.
Every bite I take I am slowly eating myself away.
The only way I feel alive is by eating what will **** me one day.
Who cares about that we're all gonna die someday.

Breathing through the holes in her lungs.
Flowing through her ever thinning blood.  
Stored inside her dissipating muscles.
She's sick, and we're all sick like her.

This is the post-human era.
s 5d
lately i have been dissipating,
trying to vanish.
not die,
but not live.
there are clouds of smoke where my brain used to reside,
now you could classify me as a shell of a human.
this is my own fault,
i became vulnerable
i handed him my heart.
i expected him to do the same,
but he deceived me.
he let my heart shatter on the floor.
i set his beating soul down next to me as i was picking up the pieces of mine that he had carelessly dropped.
turns out he picked up his heart from beside me without me noticing.
when i stood up i handed him the shards of my soul because that’s what you do in a relationship,
you trust that person with those delicate pieces of yourself.
he then continued to grind the fragments of my heart into a fine powder
put it in pill capsules,
and took them as he walked away to a better option.
now he takes a daily dose of me.
he has his heart and mine and a piece of whatever girl he decides to make, no fake, whatever girl he decides to fake love to that night.
what do i have left?
absolutely nothing.
he has left me completely hollow.
heartless sleepless alone
and all i can do is keep waking up and wandering this empty life.
i am so utterly numb
i honestly can not feel right now.
i wish he would have at least given me some of my heart back,
even just half of a prescription.
i have lost myself
to his sick soul,
and it makes me feel absolutely nothing.
but hey,
at least i am making him feel better.
at least the prescription is working for him.
i would hate to see it go to waste,
like the rest of myself.
being divorced at 21 was not my plan
Valsa George Dec 2018
Make me a flower delicate and sweet,
spewing fragrance into the blowing breeze .
Make me a violin from whose strings
melody flows to soothe the ailing nerves .
Make me a rain cloud, sailing over
the breadth and length of skies
showering cooling droplets on to the thirsting Earth.
Make me a lamp shedding beams of light
dissipating darkness from the mazy depths of gloom .
Make me a vessel full with love to pour out
into all empty pitchers.

Let every atom of my being throb with Thy filling love
Let it spring forth in jets to form the gushing stream
Let the Earth wear a celestial charm
Let the plants celebrate the carnival of colors

In my basket, I shall gather many a fragrant bloom
to be offered at your feet with love
and remain squatted in Thy presence ,
not losing in the pageant of this transient life.

I wait for

The PEACE to dawn upon in a world where violence rules
where hate like worms eat into the core
and the air rent with fears – illusory and real

I wait for

The LIGHT to break into me to see myself bare!
to hear the music of your heart, over the cacophony around
and to sing songs of spontaneous praise!

Give me Light, Oh Lord! Clear brilliant Light,
not to enjoy the wayside scenes
but that I shall not stumble and fall.
With a severe constraint of time, I have to take a break from HP, may not be posting fresh poems for sometime. Thanks to all my friends from the bottom of my heart for all the love and encouragement you generously gave me and for your guidance and support in my poetic journey!
In the cusp between the current year and the dawning year, may I wish all my dear friends a New Year of Peace, Joy and all of God's Blessings!
Janelle M Rivera Sep 2018
Pumapatak ang ulan sa semento.
Coloring it darker than it was before.
As the intensity increases,
I peek my hand outside my umbrella.
Allowing water to kiss my skin.
Eventually lowering the divide,
I allow it to engulf me.

Memories of home flood my mind.
Murky waters seeping into my belongings.
Cold droplets suddenly become
Warm welcome embraces.
Swift winds turn stagnant and sticky
As rain mixes with sweat.

I hear the roaring of motors,
Whispered chatters of tsismis,
A symphony of honking horns,
Bells of sorbeteros,
And Kuya yelling “TAHOOO!”

I smell the grease of fried fishballs in the air,
Swirling around with the scents
Of fresh pandesal and isaw-isaw.
My mouth begins to water,
Until stifling smog hits me.

I see the tiny tin houses crowded together.
Colorful clothes hung up high.
I feel the rough, callous hands of kapwa,
Who have had to work everyday of their lives.
I hear the laughs of those who remain resilient
After many typhoons have torn them down.
I smell the piles of trash; its stench diluted by the rain.

As the Pacific Ocean connects our coasts,
The rain connects our hearts.
Rainfall never fully dissipating
Between home and homeland.
Our stories unfold.
Hangang sa muli
If buying time is a waste of money
Then meretricious attorneys
Bleed you of your dignity (and alimony)
Currently it is only in dying
That we see no need to speak
While our currency is evolving
We are solely imitations
Of our inimical engines
Of dissipating digestion
As sedentary wives
Remain tied to triumphant spines
Shining like a pestilence
Atrophying like elephants at a circus
Their bodies and minds imprisoned
And bound by imaginary stakes in the dirt
Young prisoners in solitary confinement
Are hiding mental gems
And emotional diamonds
In lonely shipping containers
For you to polish and find
Like two lovers intertwined
She said, I can guide myself
Despite the immensity of your lies
Wyatt Sep 2018
Weaponizing my mind
to fight off another night,
but another part of me strategized
to make it to the other side early.
I'm sorry for saying.
Something about a mysterious death
at an early age has always fascinated me,
to be honest.
Like a Curt Kobain or a Robin Williams,
what did their lives consist of compared to mine?
As a youth never understood,
decorated with stereotypes
my peers draped over me
I grew bitter and confused as a pre-teen,
concerned with how I
was going to handle all of these
responsibilities suddenly thrown upon me.
Little things made me wanna die, so how do I
deal with these serious subjects which currently
share space in my mind?
I was childish, I had trouble forming the sentences
that could have saved my life from going down this
path I'm currently cursed to walk.
I took nothing seriously,
I just wanted to rot my brain away
staring at the TV which played every cartoon
that added fire to the fantasy burning within me.
I wanted to be a prodigy, I wanted to be special,
I wanted to help others realize their own greatness as-well
which backfired once I accepted my mediocrity.
The proof was in the pudding, so they say.
I jumped to levitate and my face met the ground,
I wanted to sing and produced an **** sound.
I wanted to get a head-start in the race
and always found myself waking up late,
running to the classroom
to avoid embarrassment
from these peers already seated
with their assignments.
You're out here deciding life-goals and majors
and I'm just sitting here scribbling in a notebook
trying to find words that rhyme with others.
Writing poetry before I even knew the word,
I just called them cool sentences.
That was bliss, that was disappearing for me
in a world that seemingly didn't match my DNA.
If you made it this far in the poem, I wonder why
because these are just the
ponderings of my troubled mind.

I'm late to the game, late to the pen.
I'm late to the door, late to the end.
I'm late to the party, late to the trends
so an early death would be my first time
making it to whatever comes next on time.

Wanted spotlight, but not for my own selfishness.
Wanted to fight for you, not what I'll indulge in
but that hope was already small as it was.
Now the few people that existed in my life
started straying, dissipating into the blur of life.
They got cars, got jobs, they
got depressed and I got sorta shy.
I shut myself into my mind,
creating different ways of this occurring.
I made myself a sports-star, a musician,
a politician that actually brought us peace,
or a magician that made happiness grow on trees.
God, I tried to let you soak into me
when I cried myself to sleep.
but these days I meet with doubts
and slowly I feel further away from you.
I know you've healed sicknesses
that would've killed me early,
I know you gave me opportunity.
I wasted that potential you gave me,
I just wanted to do something
that meant something.

Ever since I first learned
about depression I was never the same,
I remember my brother telling me
how much he wanted to **** himself
and I think some of that self-hate reflected onto myself.
I started hating those talks, those dreadful walks
to an empty room to talk him off the ledge.
I started avoiding him to give myself false-peace,
I started finding distractions to divert me
from suicide that was mentioned to me
by bullies that said I'd be better off dead
and now I think I understand what they meant.
After twenty one years
I haven't passed ten years old.
I still think like a kid, I ain't no adult.
I still get panic attacks when I
think about driving in traffic,
that ticket to leave is locked
behind fears I can't assess.
All I wanted was someone to notice me,
I didn't want to become
another face in a monotone society
that teaches us to blend in,
I always stood out.
Even now, my shifty eyes
get weird glares from their eyes.
"Avoid confrontation to avoid lies",
so I keep to myself until my demise.
That time feels sooner than most think,
my fear will be the death of me.
I don't fear death, I fear living life
under microscopes that won't get my life.
You, you and you.
You couldn't handle my truth.
Just a glance on this page
and you'll go "****".
Once my parents die ashamed of me,
once my siblings fully abandon me,
once I have to move myself to the streets,
what will this world think of me
when I have nothing left to hide behind?
Now I'm weaponizing myself.

Weaponizing my mind
to fight off another night,
but another part of me strategized
to make it to the other side early.
I'm sorry for saying.

All my life I wonder what comes next,
but now I've lived long enough to know
that nothing changes for the better.
Hospital bills **** me,
depression pills depress me.
Prescription pain-killers only
shows weakness in me.
I hate these stereotypes we are forced to live under.
The defenseless girl and the muscle men,
even though I've met many strong girls
living lonely lives raising kids
they never asked to raise alone.
I've looked at myself in the mirror
and without fail I notice all the fat
that hangs off my body, it's disgusting.
To lose it would be to find motivation
which is hard to grasp when I don't see
myself in a happier picture regardless.
**** face, eyes confined to glasses,
personality disorders that prevent me
from going out and actively
embracing every facet of society.
Bipolar, my heart gets colder.
I think bad things on good days
and on bad days I die inside.
So what the hell is a real man?
What is confidence?
What is bagging women
like a box of chocolates?
What is smoking your life away
to look cool in front of people
who will look the other way
when you abandon these constructs
that got you that far today?
I guess I'm not a man, I guess I'm a kid
or maybe an alien that has no place
in a world that critiques long before they listen?
I'm weaponizing myself in mind, not in person.
Because a guy with a gun can still die in a knife-fight.
I can't trust what you say,
I'll sleep with both eyes open.
Loveable nice-guy who is quiet,
that's all I've ever been.
I'm such a coward, it's evident.
I've let my family, my friends,
these strangers all in my life step over me.
And now I'm alone, bruised ego and all
preparing for the night.
I'm ready to die, so
will this be the last thing I write?
It's long. It's detailed. It's honest. This is me.
For doubters of me, which includes myself.
I'm weaponized, but now time is running short.
Life has been a hell I'll never forget,
so forgive me for wishing myself death.

— The End —