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Nickols Jan 2017
I'm broken beyond repair.

A thinning string, eventually, snapping under extreme force.

A shattered piece of glass under ****** feet.

A crestfallen melody, playing on a skipping record player.

I am nothing.

An empty room, barren of any light.

A dark hole, filled with dirt and worms.

Rust and paint flecking off a dejected car.

It hurts.

Like a back which hides the knife.

An accusation flung towards me,
without any precedence towards the cause.

My rights taken away from me.

My hopes dashed before my very eyes.

I am hurting.
For I am broken.
Because I am nothing.
Feeling rather useless right now *dejected sigh*
Mike Essig Apr 2015
To The Woman**

Yes, you remember,
You certainly remember
The way I listened
Standing at the wall
As you walked to and fro about the chamber
Reproving me
With bitter words and all.

You said
That it was time we"d parted,
And that my reckless life,
For you, was an ordeal,
And it was time a new life you had started
While  I was fated
To go rolling downhill.

My love!
You didn"t care for me, no doubt.
You weren"t aware of the fact that I
Was like a ruined horse, amidst the crowd,
Spurred by a dashing rider, flashing by.

You didn"t know
That I was all a-smoke,
And in my life, turned wholly upside-down ,
I was in misery,   downhearted, broke,
Because I didn"t see which way we were bound.

When face to face
We cannot see the face.
We should step back for better observation.
For when  the ocean boils and wails
The ship is in a sorry situation.

The world is but a ship!
But all at once,
Someone, in search of better  life and glory,
Has  turned it, gracefully,  taking his chance,
Into the hub of storm and flurry.

Well,  which of us
On board a mighty boat
Has never brawled nor barfed nor fallen down?
There are not many of them that will not
Despair when they"re about to drown.


Me,  too,
To loud hue and cry,
But knowing well what I was doing
Went down to the hold where  I
Might keep away from scenes of spewing.

"Hold" was a Russian pub
Where I
Drank,   listening to the loud bicker,
I tried to stop my  worries by
Just drowning myself in liquor.


My love!
I worried you, oh my!
Your tired eyes revealed dejection,
I didn"t hide from you that I
Had spent my life in altercation.

You didn"t know
That I was all a-smoke,
And in my life, turned wholly upside-down,
I was in misery, downhearted, broke,
Because I didn"t see
Which way we were bound.

....................................

Now many years have passed,
I"m not so young today.
I do not  feel the same, and I  have new ideas,
And here at festive table  I will say:
Long live the one who"s at the steers!

Today I,
Seized by tender feelings so,
Recall your  wistfulness,  and I am happy  
To tell you straight, for you to know,
About what I was  
And what has happened!

My love,
I"m glad to tell you that
I have escaped a bad descent, an"
Today I"m in the Soviet land
A staunch supporter and defender.

I"m not the man
I used to be.
I wouldn"t hurt  you now
The way I did.  So silly!
And I would follow Labour, feeling free,
As far as English Channel, really.

Forgive me please,
I know that you have changed.
You live with an intelligent,
Good husband;
You don"t need all this fuss and all this pledge,
And you don"t need me either, such a hazard.

Live as you do
Lead by your lucky star
Under the tent of fern, if there"s any.
My best regards,
You"re always on my mind, you are,
Yours, faithfully,
           S e r g e y   Y e s e n i n.
Excellent Russian poet who hanged himself at age 30. When it comes to angst, no one beats the Russians.
MaryCait Dec 2012
Boy
Get you
I don’t
Burning in the back
Am I

You call
Come
I ensure

You put me
Last on that list,
Busy
From me

I believed

Hopeful
I stayed
Fading
Can only last
prolonged

Soon push
Too far

Fall will I

Catch
You will not
eccentricities Nov 2013
They said high school was a home of learning
Oh I learned alright
They said it would construct my future
All it did was destroy me with the past
They said it would be safe
They have no defense over the demons
They said it would develop me as a person
But I remain who I was... only shattered

They said so many things, yet understood so little

This goes to the pillow-clutchers
to the broken who carry soaked and salty handkerchiefs
to the flesh that thrive for streaks of red dripping out
to the souls that are constantly bombarded by screeches of lies
Lies that overrun every beauty in and out
Lies that lead to masochistic actions
Waiting for the second heartbeat after every punch
Hoping this would free the monsters trapped within
This goes to the insecure
No, we are not emo
How can one contain our being in just three letters?
We are not superficial pain lovers
We are violated, dispirited, downhearted, beaten, unsettled, splintered, forgotten
But we will never be merely emo

A high school is not filled with students
It is filled with labels, rumors, divisions and fake personas
filled with eyes that look straight into your soul
filled with whispers that spread like a virus
Getting worse and worse after every ear it has jumped into
Savages looking for the flaw that can destroy you
Until you break and mindlessly follow their example

High school is where you lose who you are
And be who everyone else wants you to be


Everyone thought I was just being vain
Always staring at the mirror, trying to be cute
Never did it come into their minds that I was already believing the lies
ready to accept the rumors
using FINE as my own maxim
**** I'm Never Enough
But I waited
Waited for someone to drive out the beasts
to heal my scars
to fill my emptiness
Yet until now I remain drenched in loneliness and fear

High school is worse than hell
A quick and small crack in your soul hurts more
Than an eternal burn of your flesh
This is why we're ready to see the light come out of our eyes
But I'm holding on
For you need pain before you're declared strong
For you need darkness before you see the stars
For you need death before you reach heaven
For where there are angels,
*there will always be demons
Extremely personal poem. Forgive the length. - a.b.
Commuter Poet Jan 2016
Do not be downhearted
Though fine weather
May not delight you

Do not be downhearted
Though the daily news
Seems too desperate to comprehend

Do not be downhearted
Though the scale of global challenges
Seem just too global

You
Just as you are
Can make a difference

If you believe
You can
25th Jan 2016
Stages and Ages Nov 2014
Early minds turn to the sunrise
Wandering souls turn to the map
And the downhearted turn to the knife

Everything I hear is a blurred whisper
And everything I see is so distinct
Aurora Feb 2020
R.J Calzonetti


Screaming cross the skyscraper’s windbreaker tapering

Aether vapour- trailblazing ****-sapien wafers

Of machinations psychotropic doppelgängers

Aristotle throttling menagerie’s philosophically hypnotic obelisks

Mind-boggling astronomical chronological esophagus

Antioxidants phosphorus catastrophic mitochondria

Beyond anaconda onomatopoeia

Of hallucinogenic Armageddon biblical umbilical cords

Swarming northern lights of aurora borealis

The chalice a battleground of Evangelion belladonna

Metalica candelabra swallowing the monochrome Hanukkah

Of a cold winter’s eldritch disintegration photosynthesis

Of innocent infinity stretching wretched beckoning requiem

The words that fall upon my page, are really just a shallow grave

Of the dawn of nighttime in my eyes, calm upon the twilight sun

Wrong is done draped on the blood moon wraiths

Skyscraped fields dusk a hollow thud below the dunes

That thumps the consumption of our fate, fumes to glow in darkness loom

Left blind in light of day you cannot see, the little pieces silver sheen

For blinding light may fade to grey, and I will never have my way

Nightfalls on another daybreak, dawning darkness, sundown on another day

Twilight plays with sparkling haze, the sky a wildfire made ablaze in patchwork scarecrows

Who etch rainbows black as a heart of coal, sold flatlining railroads

Gold wraithlike halos of stained-glass cathedrals unreal in the fever-dream of human beings

Bleeding Elysium from the seabed of dead worlds, gourds of incorporeal cornucopias

Born orchestra morsels of sorrowful oracles predicting crucifixion of ellipsis’ antithesis


(MC) Aurora


Absonant  as my pen writes the twilight, the red swallowed on horizon and bright

As through a sea of blood under my feet and shrinking mast of my mighty ship

A shadow I make on that red snow and peep into my heart’s hollow

It’s deep as much as my pen spake of grief.

I blinded in that last light and hurled like a beast dreading the songs of holy lies

That have just pained in bright and made me grieve.

They dragged me on my wings and deplumate  me as so fallen humans

They wrenched my limbs and rive my heart out and flinger me in air and I laid forever

On the stones that dank my blood.

I wait for the troth  of  demise but betrayed as it didn’t come to detract,

I laid when the horizon grinned red on my face and poured the last ale

And brutally drank the last sip of me.



R.J Calzonetti


People are sleeping under the blankets of a tranquil streetlamp

A sunflower in the damp bed of concrete

Soon they’ll be pushing up daisies

Underneath the foundation of what I stand for

Nip the bud of the flower pedalling the root of all evil like fallen leaves

Breeding paraplegic freedom from the pollen melancholic

Anarchistic polycrystalline shapeshifters drifting vilified

Buried alive like asphalt constellations crowning metallic gallows alcoholic in my solitude

See the clouds bury the ground in half a heaven’s heartbeat

Limbo’s limitless abyss the photosynthesis of the sepulchral diablo

Revenants of redemption dancing with death

Evanescent in its bioluminescent crescent moon spooning illuminated illustrations

Of Himalayan mayhem cremated avarice of ethereal onomatopoeia unravelling catacombs in God’s palindromes

Homeopathic saplings decapitated in the dismembered September wastelands defibrillator

Invigorating the nightshade white wraiths plane-walkers of Apocrypha documenting entropy

Pent up sentience avenging the endless demigods of discombobulated proclamations nocturne graceless, octaves eldritch, evangelic

Elegant elevators to flights of staircases where the air is fragrant with the fragments of stagnant stained glass asterisks

Written gospels to masquerade hostage to the faith the man misplaced the sacred hate, the passageways of apathy apostrophe

Apartheid of serpentine survivors carving smiles on the sidewalks

Farming diamonds and their detox

Arming giants like a phoenix

Carnal nihilists with their secrets

Stardust quiet as the bleachers

Start defiant still a reject

Art discipled to our freedom

Shattered hearts pick up the pieces

Jigsaw puzzles, smothered treasons

Sow the seeds and **** the reaper

Even legions rhyme and reason

Tattered flags without a penance

Good men do not go to heaven

Buy your burden at 7-11

Your exit is the only the next entrance

Resurrection prepubescent

Asymmetric biomechanics

Anguish to be reprimanded

Megalomaniac in our sabbath

Living life is just a sentence

Psalms of seance death’s senescence

Baptize vengeance lest it ventures into heaven

Ventriloquist omniscience of rhythmic equilibrium

Earthly hurricanes reemerging insurgent as the sugarcane purgatory

Primordials metamorphosis contorting rigour Mortis oracles horoscope cloaked in cloaca hallucinations

Induced irradiated amalgamated retaliatory incorporeal chlorophyll

Born from the sorcerers' spell, the cathedral of doubt

The only darkness is within oneself, light shed within a holy shell

Isolation is a lonely hell, scythes of moonlight blight of bells

Nightingales fail to halo word of mouth

Enveloped in the clouds cast shadows hex

But resurrection cannot hide from the eyes of death

Fresh as babies breath

Rank as the body festers effigies

Bless the Nephilim the questions beck

And call for some god to collect the rest

Is there any answer?

Even growth can be a cancer

Lifeless corpses once were dancers

Devils waltz on top of canopies

Heaven’s hands have touched serenity

****** brands that crushed His enemies

Stained glass sanguine dismantled entropy

Calamity ran dry insanity dabbling in humanity

Unravelling the candy wrapper saplings of happiness

Pitch black irradiant dull edges sharpening archangels, darkness reincarnating

Blinding bioluminescent glistening abyssal rakshasa sarcophagus parting monarchies

Metamorphosis coruscating fornication immortalization Tartarean

Reverberating ****-sapien scintillating hurricanes palpitation circulating ricocheting oblivion

Shining crepuscular homunculus dully illustrious

Sunless avatars, mannequins of Abaddon stygian as fallen leaves on the breeze of Avalon Evangelion

Incarceration breeding Elysium’s jailors in the cathedral of double helixes

Bethlehem's’ new genesis of Lucifer’s crucifixion

Brighter than a fallen star

Mourning in the dark

Doppelganger apostles night stalkers of phosphorous

Pockmarked arcanum bloodstained in gravestone Salem

Where the braves’ halos dined on maelstroms alone

Heirs succeeding failures of the empty throne

Filled with nothings’ own

Brimming bound by Babylonian poems

Deus ex Machina's apocalypse coughing prophets of Samsara blossoming diabolic

Life is but a Holocaust

Death the moment God forgot

Breath the only psalm we sought

Kept within a hollow box

Shedding devils, angelic, lost

Finding metamorphosis


(MC) Aurora


A world often synonymous with beauty on the horizon,

Meet my eyes you mourned demon load the strength on thee.

Crestfallen light on your wrist burns down your girth

And you can plead, just plead your twilight sun.

Watch the dead sea swallow you in the salts of agony

And drown in the anguish, hundreds of angelic bloodsheds,

Press hold of the thumbprints on your throat, you can't roar.

Sore lugubrious melancholy aired atmosphere,

And downhearted souls dispirited dragons dragged along.

The sob grim hiding in a blue funk rusty smog choking wind,

The nyctophilliac animals howl long the cold-blooded love song

In your lungs and burn.

It's the twilight sun,

Just that twilight sun.
By Aurora & R.J.Calzonetti
I try to tell myself that I am in control this time
Hoping that you will feel some kind of wonderment or downhearted, one second thought about me
I will not call you
I will not give in
I will not get my heart broken again
I want to use you to show you how I felt
But I can't
Because despite all the disappointment and letdown I could never hurt you
I could never ignore you

Although while I am over here over analyzing and nearly overloading my cranium with what if's and thoughts
You have the air of nonchalance and disinterestedness while you pop into my life again without warning
Can you tell that you get me all frazzled?
Is this purely for your own amusement?

Why can't I figure you out.
Why do you interest me so?
Why do I feel like my connection to you is the strongest thing I have ever felt.
No I must be naive and disillusioned

Till the day I completely cease sparing my time and thoughts to you
You will be the winner
Even if it is a bad thought you are still consuming my mind
Confusion and Love
Spite and Wonder
They all are the same
Same being you
Gail Littlefair Sep 2015
Refuge

***** soaked mattress holes in the door
This drunken behavior I can't take much more
My children are at risk in his drunken state
My son packs my bags he is only eight
Under police escort we are taken away
The children are stressed they don't want to play
What keeps you going when life falls apart
Encourages you to take each day as it comes
No one to love you've broken your heart
The strength of your love for a daughter and son
Living within the four walls of your home
Anxious depressed and frightened for them
Downhearted despairing facing life on your own
There's no silver lining not even a hem
I hope when they're older they're old enough to see
The reasons behind why I did what I did
Nothing was for gain nothing was for me
I did what I did for the love of my kids
This was written in 1988 and is copyrighted by the author Gail Littlefair
Shay Dec 2015
Hello you, I have a few things to say,
and although you are downhearted, I hope they make your day.
Your life took a turn and you fell so hard,
but I promise you're not broken but merely scarred.
Soon things will get better and you'll wake each morning with light in your heart,
with a smile that lives forever within your eyes, moulded like fine art.

I want you to know that you're the most beautiful creation I've ever come across,
you are the beacon of light for so many and if we didn't have you, we'd be at a great loss.
You are the one who can go ahead and actually change the world -
a precious soul who can break the mould and change the ideals that have been furled.
Reading an anthology of
Classic poems
On quiet a night
With wings of
Enlightenment and delight
My soul took flight
To far-off lands bright
Rife with musical poems
Some brain racking,
While some savory but light.

When I saw celebrated poets
From my dream plane
I decided to alight
So that the messages
Encoded on their poems,
To me they further explain.
Cognizant that
Hearing things from
The horse’s mouth
Like Antarctica
Will not make things
As far south.

I saw Helen Steiner Rice
Reading whose works
Like  ‘Christmas Guest’
Is nice.
When she me behold
This to me she told
“Till your corporeal being’s
Turn come to be a sod
Never desist to
Put your hope in God,
Who foresees and shapes
That will unfold.
Always dwell
In the vineyard of
The Lord. ”
Drew close James Stephens
With Helen
You are right nod.
“Chap, if you look around
You will behold
On everything
The hallmark of
Creation stamped by God!
Also excellent, from
The ordinary extra,
Your will hear
Nature’s God praising
Orchestra! ”
Willian Henery Davis
Courteously came by
To say <<Hi!>>.
“Be content with
What you have
You will be happy
When that you learn to love.
See you not why
The example set
By the butterfly,
On a rough rock
That sleeps content
Without a blanket! ”

Soon I met
Enda St. Vincent Millay
Whose fame
Surfing the tide of time
To date that does resonate.
“As the saying goes
‘The world is lovely
And the loveliest is enough!’
To be happy
Try to nurture the culture
Of admiring nature.
Waste not time
Go to the mountain
The secret of happiness
To you it will explain.”

After seconds walk
William Ernest Henely
Approached me for a hard talk
“When beset by challenges
Never give in
That is a great sin!
As for me, whenever
I fall
Soon I get up as the
Captain of my soul.
Though in the darkness
God seems far,
For the downhearted
He is a lodestar.”
I saw Elenor Frajeon
By a roadside
With a book in her hand.
“Love to books
Is a launching pad
To a wonderland,
Where readers meet authors
Of different brand
Hence, a window to their
Soul they will stand.
Also read my poem
That draws attention
To mother-to-child affection
That defies description.”

I met anon
Austin Dobson
“A rose
To itself
A question
Opted to pose.
‘I wonder why
This hoary-headed
Gardner refuses to die?’
But soon
A wind blew up
Its sun-withered
Petals to the sky.
The analogy teach
On the timeline
Brief, beauty to a grind
Will screech.

Patted me on the back
My son,
Ben Johnson
“Like a Lele
Being short and brief
Could render life
Ease and relief! ”

Sat on a rock
Samuel  Taylor Coleridge
To me a secret he broke.
With bitter smile
Waving his
Pen as a tool,
“Those who think
A poet is a fool
They will realize
Who is rather the fool
If they think with
A head cool!”
I saw Walter De la Mare
Exactly the way towards
Old Susan he used to stare.
“Susan taken away by
A romantic fiction
Past midnight
Sat on chair
Engrossed in a monologue
‘Breeching
Culture rules
Is not fair! ’
After
One’s age
Did advance
Reading fiction
One stands
For reliving
The past
A chance.  ”

Soon, came William Blake
Me to the graveyard
To take
Pointing to
A headstone
“Now, my enemy,
Object of my anger,
Is dead.
Subject to a
Conscious pang
It is divested of a soft pillow
I go to bed!
You must not yourself find
An axe to grind
Otherwise, to a reason
You will become blind.”
For supper
Volunteered to be
My host
Robert Frost.
He stressed
“To settle
Punitive price
As lethal
As fire is ice!”
Came an invited guest
Edmund Spencer
To tell us
The mystery
That put
His phlegmatic dream object
And he, her
Ardent lover, asunder.
“When fire and ice
Are locked in a love’s dorm
Out of the norm,
One may not change
The other’s form! ”
Via the window,
I saw a graveyard
Past the meadow.
When my eye caught sight
Of Julia Caroline
I took steps
To sit by her side
The meaning of eternal love
To understand.

“A kiss on the lips
From a lover
Is a keepsake stamp
That transcends
An earthly map.”

There in the graveyard
I met Sara Teasdale
“Like a low hanging ripe fruit
In the gray time
When a lass
Is off guard
To ****** her
A chance a lad
May stand.
Also from affection
For conjugal felicity
Many a lass
Could give added attention.”
I posed
Why should you show bent
To profanity?
“My friend
A *** could not be taken naughty
For expressing man’s sexuality!
For the answer try to meet
                Anne Bradstreet.”

Before I asked
Her why she
Committed a suicide
She got clear
From my side.

Anne Bradstreet
I met
“It is tragic
To have at home
A child with
A down syndrome!

What lurks
In the subconscious
Of an author or a poet
Through his/her pen
S/he may seek an outlet
So to date,
Regretting
“Why did I
Write this a taboo-seen
Thing!”
Seems some author’s fate.


I saw Thomas Hood
Amidst his harvest
That fares good
He told me
“From a perfumed
And well attired lady
Who belongs
To the top brass,
It is by far better
To tie a knot
With a provincial lass,
In her hair
With a fresh flower
Plucked out of the grass
She shines bright
Bathed by sunlight!”

Out on the street again
I met Lithuanian Salomejia Neris
I became happy
As I never wanted her to miss.

I asked her
About the heard-renting fate
She, her father, her mother, siblings
Neighbors and her age mate
Underwent.
“During the  World War II
Children, who
Otherwise were
Considered
Unfit for themselves
To fend,
Were forced
The brutal ****
To defend!”
Soon I met
Richard Lovelace
And John Scott
Locked in an argument hot.
The former
“I want to head to the front
It is a source of pride
To fight on
Nation’s side.”
The latter
“Paying a price grand
I cannot understand!”

Edwin Arlington Robison came
To tell me the story
About Richard Cory
“Measure not
Your life by
The success of your object
Of admiration,
The one a role- model
You hold or held,
I am afraid
Off guard
He can lodge
A bullet in
His head.”


I saw William Butler Yeats
, an Irish poet
Who raised an issue hot.
“How an
Angel helped out
A tired priest
A snap who
Could not resist
While a laity
In his parish
Was Ceasing to exist.”
Robert Herrick approached
Me this to speak
“I am smote
By grief,
To see a Daffodil,
Like human beings ,is brief.”

Said Emily Dickinson
“It is when you ere to hit
A target heart felt
You’ll understand
The meaning of
Having something desired
Under your belt.”
At last
I saw
Edgar Allan Poe
To make this to me
He made haste.
Though a pauper
“From my soul mate
No earthly or heavenly power
Is capable to asunder me
Top date.
After reading this much
I realized why
Poets never die”//////
Give me a feedback on this poem about  famous poets  and the themes of their poems.Google and read about their history and read some of their poems.I have trans
Livia Aug 2015
Upon the clouds the figures stood
Clad in milky white, airy robes
They were both in jovial moods and nothing
Could make them downhearted
Staring into each other’s eyes, all problems in the world seemed to fade
But that was their job; they were angels after all
They were supposed to make things easier on the living
To make it as good as they had it
Or so they thought.
The two lovers had been unaware
Of two gleaming red eyes glaring at them
And the tip of a scarlet trident pointing at them
More specifically, the woman angel
With a wicked grin, the Devil struck
With a bolt of lightning shooting out of the trident,
The angel woman dropped, her magnificent white wings covering her
She fell threw the clouds before her partner could react
Becoming a fallen angel.
Tears spilled out of her ex-lover’s eyes
But the Devil’s smile got wider
She strutted out of her hiding place
And stood next to the grieving angel
He took one look at her, and he knew she was the murderer
Two scarlet horns on the top of her head, and her matching red trident
Her fair skin was adorned in a wine-colored dress
His anger overpowering him, he grabbed the trident the woman held so dear
And impaled her in the back.
He dropped the trident on the cloud and walked away feeling accomplished
But as he was almost to the Gates, the trident reappeared in his hand
Terrified, he tentatively reached a hand to his head
Where it came across two pointed lumps.
He looked down at his previously white clothes; they had become blood-red
A new devil was born.
I wrote this poem when I was a little bit younger...... man was I dark.....
Joe Butler Feb 2011
Oh, could dreams come true
And wash away the blue
How glad my heart would be
If only it could see
It's one desire manifest.

Then, should mountains crumble
And from the heights I tumble
All else could fade away
And though melancholy I'd still feel gay
And could e'en die content.

Alas, the sky remains to be parted
So I remain downhearted
Longing for the dawn to break
For my soul to cease to ache
And bask in the glorious light of a dream come true.
I may add more to this later, but this works for now.
kirk Apr 2018
Why don't people want you,
who loved you once before
Broken heart's beyond repair,
are lost forevermore
Feelings hurt through emptiness,
they always feel so raw
Severed hearts forever torn,
the one true lovers flaw

A heart that is so delicate,
a life you can forsake
It only causes upset,
when heart's begin to brake
Chains of love have rusted,
links to your own heart ache
Severed hearts are locked away,
within a lovers wake

Sincere hearts are hard to find,  
it's why lovers get downhearted
After all loves riches gained,
why are they disregarded
A lovers pain it never dies,
true hearts are not *******
Severed hearts are bled dry,
when a rejected souls bombarded

If I could mend our Severed hearts,
if I could seal the crack
I'd hold my lover close again,
and get our hearts on track
No one needs a broken heart,
or the absence of love's lack
Severed hearts can be repaired,
if you take lost lovers back

Flights of poison arrows,
the infection of love's darts
Hearts shattered in the fallout,
into a thousand parts
The lose of a true lover,
due to loves cruel arts
All True lovers should remain,
instead of severed hearts
Marylou Narducci Jan 2013
There's a snapshot of you in my heart.
It never grows old or goes gray.
It sees you the way you're remembered
Forever a child at play

I know you have had your trials.
I know you have had your pain
But my heart wants to keep you protected
So you, a small child remain.

And now I finally understand
My Saviors love for me
For nwhenever I feel downhearted
I picture me on His knee

He wraps His arms around me
And protects me from my pain
A child of God forever
I always will remain

I had to share this thought with you
in hopes that you will see
When lifes road gives you hardship
seek God's love..Then seek me.
In the sunlight the copse seemed fine
there had been tales.
Of ghostly sightings within its fencing
this was hard to believe.
Shadows cast as the sun shone down
leaves turning brown.

I had come on a field work investigation
requiring no equipment.
But observation of the sights and sounds
it was so natural in daylight.
Altering as darkness  took over at sunset
and that sense of threat

The copse began to feel cold and sinister
we had worked out a route.
With areas for each session to be held
many natural sounds filtered.
At least for several hours it was good
then before me a figure stood!


Now we felt confused nothing was the same
our planned route not there!
It became dense the dark solid and thick
wandering around in circles.
Ending back in the same spot we started
sad and downhearted!

Each thinking they saw shadows darting
as torches were aimed.
It was like the beams had hit a solid wall
trapped in another reality.
Spiritually our essence was draining away
we were here to stay!

Then within an instance it had disappeared
in the copse the air clear.
Shocked and unsure of what had happened
we just had to leave.
Back to normality of a starry clear night
shouting out with delight.

What each of us had experienced I have no idea
but in the copse an unnatural atmosphere!

The Foureyed Poet.
The field work paranormal investigation turned out far more sinister than we had predicted! The Foureyed Poet.
Moncef mzoughi Nov 2015
‪#‎Alexithymia‬
I'm not hellish i'm driven by a Mephistophelean relish
To reach an introspection to understand the inception
The ontological Manichaeism turned to be an existential absurdism .
And i'm drown in my own nihilism
Oh...what an owlish reality !!! i'm squeamish about this absurdity
I rely on self-revulsion to resist this daily delusion
...
What an exasperation !!! we live in the premeditation
This nature carries a lot of humiliation !!!
I'm sick of this fornication
Could the end of the road at least fetch a salvation ?
What a downhearted metamorphosis
I'm lost and i feel astonished
...
With conviction that this existence is only a deception
Oh...Oh...Oh....what a corruption !!!
This reality is based on a false deduction
That leads to a fatal destruction
Just where is the dysfunction ???
Is it in my creation ...
‪#‎Mzoughi_Moncef‬ Le 06/09/2013
ShirleyB Jan 2016
The ugliest woman that ever was born
was called Margery Pilkington-Brown.
If a monkey was born half as ugly as that
they would certainly have it put down.

Her head was as bald as a billiard ball,
yet the hair on her chin was quite long.
For a girl to be cursed with a whiskery beard
was, in anyone’s thinking, quite wrong

Mrs Pilkington cried, “Nurse, please take it away.
It’s a miniature monster from hell.”
“Put a bag on its head,” said the nurse, with a wave,
“If you need a supply, ring the bell.”

So Mrs P stayed for a month and a day
‘Till they told her, quite firmly, to go.
The nurse sympathised with a rolling of eyes
as she packaged the Lady-Shave Pro.

“Oh, what a disgrace when they look at her face
and they see she’s a hideous brute?”
“We’ll give you a bag with a hole in the top.
You can hide her away in the boot.”

So Mrs P left with a feeling of dread
planning what she could do with the sprog.
She drove to a wood at the edge of the park
and left Margery under a log.

“That’s a terrible thing that you’re doing,” he growled.
Mrs P jumped a mile or two.
The Park-Keeper peered at the face in the bag.
“Can’t you find it a home at the zoo?”

Downhearted, she took little Margery home
to a cupboard, until it was night.
She couldn’t risk anyone catching a glance
of poor Margery’s face in the light.

When Mr P saw his new daughter he scowled,
“God Almighty, my dear, what is that?
Has it crawled from a stone in the corner of hell,
or been dragged from a hole by the cat?”

“It’s our baby, dear heart,” cried a hurt Mrs P,
in a trice, feeling rather endeared.
“She may not be nice, but she’s our flesh and blood
with my feet and your belly and beard.”

“Well, yes, I suppose with her seventeen toes
and a nose that could open a tin,
she is rather unique in a curious way
and we’re blessed that she isn’t a twin.

She’s ours, as you say. We can’t give her away
So she’ll stay as a Pilkington – Brown.
We’ll  give her a shave and a hat with a brim
And avoid going into the town.”
For Martin
Arlene Corwin Sep 2018
No Man is A Victim

Can it be, and do I mean it?

It’s a phrase that came to mind,

And so I looked it up.  

One harmed or killed by so-called fluke;

One duped or tricked;

One who feels helpless faced with setback:

So I  chose the last to help.



There’s truth in fate that causes earthquake,

And one’s sole concern’s escape.  

That is a victim.

Then again,

One is alive, glad to survive.

Grounds to begin

Because one can!



But what about

The ones who feel useless in the face of sense,

Interpreting all happenings

With sadness, negativity and impotence,

Downhearted from the very start?

You’ve known a few. Me too.

Perhaps it’s you,

And what to do –

The problem philosophical, pragmatic, existential.

And, if one’s inclined, then spiritual.



Start a something, anything, for life’s a skill.

Good comes from bad, calm follows ruin;

Results come from what’s had or been;

And nothing lasts forever.

One’s endeavour is to strive,

For one’s alive.  

Remember that you’re clever!



Act as if you have a choice

And make one – with your tiny voice.

Summon up your forces,

For of course, they’re many.

Do not hurry.

Lives are scurrying around you.

Do not worry,

For the ‘musts’ and ‘oughts’

Are values of society,

Not boo-choo, cry

Or future you.

No Man Is A Victim 9.30.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;Nature In & Of Reality;Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Arlene Corwin Poetry.com
Jackie Mead Mar 2020
If you are reading chapter 9 you will be familiar with the characters of mine.

There is Mouse, of course, he has a house on the River Louse, his Wife Hilda and 11 Sons and a Daughter.

Frog and Bee, they live on a log in the middle of a bog, happy and free.

The Fly with one eye and his friend dear, that is, of course, the Elf with one Ear.

The Horse and his Master, from the town of Cry.

A Dolly called Molly and her dear friends Ferret the Cat, and a Dog named Mouse, who all live nearby.

In the nearby town of Cry there live a Mayor and Mayoress, a pair of beautiful, graceful Swans.

Mr Mayor has such an air of authority, when he talked people listened, what he was saying took priority.

The Mayoress walked around with such a hypnotising grace, people would stare at her, stuck , unable to move, paralysed in one place.

Together they held people’s attention, lest the Mayor or Mayoress would think to give them a mention.

One day,  it was a warm sunny day on the River Louse and the Mouse with a house on the River Louse was sunning himself in his pretty garden, whilst Bee was buzzing closely by.

The mouse with a house on the River Louse would soon need to go indoors and get ready, he was expecting to see not only Frog and Bee but also his other friends; the Elf with one ear and the Fly with one eye.

They saw each other most days especially now the sun was in the sky and it was warm outside.

They were free to wander wherever they chose; sometimes swimming in the river, sometimes lazing on the bank, closing their eyes, having a doze.

The days passed swiftly when they were all together, no need for advice on social distancing or where to travel or indeed no need for a bellwether.

One fateful day this would all change the dear friends were soon to become estranged.

The Mouse with a house on the River Louse noticed it first; he had seen it on the news, he didn’t believe it affected him, surely he would not be affected by something started in Wan-hu.

That day the Mayor and Mayoress were visiting house to house when they came upon the house that was home to the Mouse with a house on the River Louse.

“Come in, come in” the mouse began to say but the Mayor interrupted him “I have something important to say!”

“Today we have been advised by the Prime Minister that we are no longer to have parties in the sun, a measure called social distancing has begun”

The Mayor continued to say “there is to be no more socialising with your friends until I announce these measures have come to an end”

“Most importantly he continued to say “ “you must wash your hands regularly each day with soap and hot water, pass that on to anyone within your home, your Wife your Sons and Daughter”

“now I must hasten on my way and wish you and your family a good day”

Mouse was beside himself, for once he did not know what to say, he wouldn’t see his friends anymore and the Mayor had implored him to stay indoors.

What was he now to do; who would he pass the time with if not his friends, his whole world was coming to an end.

Hilda his Wife was not so downhearted

“There are tasks indoors you could complete if you don’t want to spend the time downbeat.”

“First there is painting to be done, starting in the boys' bedrooms I was thinking wheatsheaf yellow, you know the colour of the Sun!”

“Next I am sure your Daughter would like you to take her for a ride on her new bike,  around the living room, I think the size of that room is the best.”
“by the time restrictions are lifted she will be ready for her cycle proficiency test”

“We could play a game of chess, monopoly or trivial pursuit, drink grapefruit juice or a glass of wine made from arrowroot.

“There are TV shows that have got the boys excited; like Marvel revisited and Iron Man and Hulk reunited”.

“as for you and me, we can put the children to bed, have a romantic meal, soup of carrot and a main meal of chickpea”

“Does any of this sound appealing to you?”

“Have a think and let us know what you want to do”

The Mouse didn’t have to think or take up with an alcoholic drink, he knew what he wanted to say.

“My dear wife, Hilda, you are quite right, we have each other and that’s alright”  
“if when restrictions come to an end, I will, of course, love to see all my friends, they seem like family too at times”

“For now, though I just need you, my sons and daughters and plenty of soap to wash my feet together with hot water!”

His wife and children began to laugh, they had thought the world had come to an end when Mouse was told not to see his friends.

Instead, now life had just begun, a different life to one he had once known but that was alright because he had his health, children, and wife and that meant he was not alone.

A pandemic had caused the social distancing now in place, travel had been stopped to places far and wide.  

It seemed Humans were the worse affected, but the illness had transcended from animals in the first place, the restrictions, therefore, were needed to protect all animals nationwide.

Restrictions would be in place for the foreseeable time but when lifted the whole village would celebrate with a posh ball and dance to the music of Five in a Pen.  

A posh ball so big, it would include mouse, frog and bee, molly the dolly, elf with one ear, fly with one eye , butterfly and Mayor and Mayoress, ducks of all names, squirrels and snakes, badgers and moles and all manner of creatures would attend this very posh ball.

Creatures would come from far and wide and mouse would have his children and wife by his side and would puff out his chest showing his pride.

As long as his family and friends made it out of restrictions without illness then the plan the Mayor had put in place would seem flawless.

The Mouse with a house on the River Louse knew that times were changing, the after-effects of the pandemic would be long-ranging.

That was a choice he was willing to make for his wife and his children’s sake.
If you are in isolation then my thoughts are with you and I hope you get well soon.
I wrote this to go alongside my other Poems of the Mouse with a house on the River Louse and his friends>
You are the first to read it, I hope you enjoy it and take it for what it is a light relief at this time.
Please I have not mistyped WU-Han, it is an intended difference.
Bob B Dec 2018
Holiday cheer and hustle and bustle
From Thanksgiving until Christmas Day.
Running somewhat on autopilot…
Sometimes longing to get away…
Embracing the spirit of the holiday season,
I hoped good tidings would stifle bad news.
But now that Christmas is over, I am
Stuck with the after-Christmas blues.

Days have been for the most part sunny;
Winters are mild in southern Cal.
Holiday baking would have to be fruitful:
Cookies and candy would boost my morale.
The holiday sweets have all disappeared now.
I didn't gain and I didn't lose.
Fugacious pleasures have left, and now I'm
Feeling the after-Christmas blues.

Caught up in the holiday spirit,
For a brief moment I thought there would be
And end to lies, injustice, and hate…
An end to all this insanity.
But no, decorations merely
Hide the truths that we can't excuse,
And once again we hear the sounds
That linger: the after-Christmas blues.

Ah, but all things must pass, no?
That is what I find myself saying.
People will open their eyes and they
Will see what the deeper truths are conveying.
Change will come, so let's be hopeful.
Let us all together refuse
To be downhearted. Then we can say
Goodbye to the after-Christmas blues.

-by Bob B (12-30-18)
dean evans Jan 2015
I am but a lonely soul, my time now not recalled
Somewhere in the morning mist, I stand unseen, unknown at all
Just shadows on your memory, as nightmares in the day
I search for some safe haven from myself, though I have lost my way

Existence hides it’s face from me, I cannot see her eyes
I fear to look too closely, as I gaze into the distant skies
And so as such, I close my own, I cannot see the blinding bright
I fear that I may see those things I’ve dreaded in the darkened night

I may see that I am somewhere lost in time and space
The answers to my questions still elude me, although I give chase
Wandering alone, and far beyond, within the void of time
A Shadow man, downhearted, and departed from myself I find

Within the dark and empty places, dreams cannot survive
I search for one warm ray of light, to know that I am still alive
One soft quenching drop of rain, reminding me of blue
One unlocked and open door, as respite from the avenue

The avenue of broken hope, betrayal and regret
I wish someday to see the sun, although I haven’t seen it yet
I must believe it waits for me, out somewhere in my past
I retain no memories, no thoughts of any kind, that last

Imagined have I, what the world may look like with the dawn
Though swift I ride through mornings dusk, death, the horse I ride upon
Running from or running to, decisions ply uncertain fate
Behind me all forgotten, and the future finds me much too late

At times there is no other, but the one who lived once long ago
Days, are endless nights without the tenderness I used to know
Love is now unknown to be, Hell is watching, patiently
And I have seen the Shadow man,
in the mirror looking back at me...

Dean Evans
12-16-13
kirk Oct 2017
What the hell has happened to the adverts on our TV screens?
When Our teeth shined with Sensodine, Colgate and Mccleans
Kinder made surprising eggs and Heinz Meanz tinned Baked Beans
Fairy Liquid lasted longer, houses cleaned with Mr Sheens
Daz Automatic, Surf and Ariel washed clothes in our machines
Which brings me to that buff hunky guy washing Levi jeans

Winalot and Pedagree where good food for our dogs
Robinson's Jam old icon was mascot Golly wogs
Fudge fingers where just enough to give our kids a treat
Not even a Black Hole could eat three Shredded Wheat
Gillette was the best shave, that a man could get
Happiness was achieved, with a cigar called Hamlet
Surfing was the mark of a man, the fragrance of Old Spice
Brut had an unbeatable smell even Henry Cooper smelt quite nice
You know when where Tangoed when your slapped in the chop
Magic begun when we heard the fun of Snap Crackle and Pop
"Hey I'd love a Babycham" in that cool smooth cocktail pub
Biscuits had a lot of chocolate when you joined their Club
The Honey Monster told his mummy to tell us about the Honey
Taking it easy with a Caramel from that **** Cadburys Bunny
Leonard Rossiter and Joan Collins had Cinzano on a plane
The secret lemonade drinker sneaked downstairs for R Whites again
If you know what's good for you, you would eat Weetabix
Chimpanzees did all kinds things for the taste of PG tips
Turkish Delight had eastern promise her hair he had to stroke
You where in love for the very first time when you drank a Coke
If you had a Mars a day we where helped to work, rest and play
A secret agent risked everything because the lady loved Milk Tray

The quest of a silent messenger in case you had forgot
Seeking for the timeless taste of the larger of Lamot
Carling had the three in one with the cowboy in the west
From love songs to soap powder Black Label was the best
Searching for Fly Fishing  J R Hartley got downhearted
Good old Yellow Pages is where he should have started
Garath Hunt had Nescafe he shook the coffee bean
With Una Stubbs and Sarah Green and even Diane Keen
The cute Kid with the glasses he was strong and tough
The Milky Bars are on him, the best where good enough

What do we get on our screens in our modern time
All of the ads are terrible their broadcast is a crime
All you are providing is the same old ******* grime
Ramming the same thing down our throat like an hourly chime
Its the same as TV programming there's nothing that is prime
With all the cheap reality shows there boring and just slime

What is it with the crap Go Compare to many in this set
The PPI's and Clear Score there all a public social threat
Too many online Bingo sites it seems they took all they could get
All these loans and gambling its no wonder people are in debt

Cillit Bang it sounded good when used by Barry Scott
Boy that stuff can't really work cos he had a ****** lot
I don't think it was all that good and not so very hot
If its in the cheep shop I may give it a small shot

The Gtech cordless vacuum it simply has no class
With its 40 minuet run time I think id rather pass
It doesn't seem that powerful I know this may seem harsh
Break free from the Gtech Air Ram and ram it up your ****

And all those crap insurance ads I really do despair
Especially that ******* opera singer singing Go Compare
With his stupid ****** false moustache, Tuxedo and black hair
Get rid of this obnoxious guy and nobody cares where

All those ****** ******* adverts they have on nowadays
nothing like the larger ads or the man with the milk trays.
all you get is insurance ads none of which that pays
or loans that you don't ******* want or any of their strays

Get rid of all these ****** ads put them on the shelf
I don't mean to appear arrogant, I could do better myself
Stop melting our minds, we cant shield our minds in stealth
To many poor folks sat at home with messed up mental health
All you execs make millions your only interested in wealth
And reinstate some proper ads stop thinking of yourself

So bring back all the old ads they where more amusing
Inventive and informative more things for the choosing
Not like they are today all boring, some confusing
Monotonous and self obsessed you only end up snoozing
Always going with the flow with all the same ads cruising
Come on all you ad execs its the public that your losing
Denis Barter Aug 2020
I’ve a coat with many pockets,
that’s special in its ways,
Although young when I first donned it,
still fits me well these days.
With a host of special reasons
for wearing it today,
It's  gifted to my chidren,
when I reach my final day.

It’s got pockets full of memories
and others full of dreams,
from my ninety years of living,
with more to come it seems.
there’s a pocket for the future,
into which I hope to add,
all the moments I’ll enjoy,
be they jubilant or sad.

Should I feel downhearted:
an occasion that is rare,
I’ll recall a favoured happening:
or a moment I can share
with anyone that’s listening,
that has befriended me.
With a moment that I treasure,
I deem a priceless memory.


When friends have come together,
a common human trait,
we’ll reminisce on our early years,
and how we faced ill Fate,
We talk of our successes
and times of yesterday,
as for achieving the impossible?
We’ll brag the livelong day.

But there is a pocket hidden,
it’s one embedded deep.
Within it, lie my broken dreams:,
that have hurt me rather deep.
They rest with irksome memories:
that make me sad and blue.
as do my angry thoughts,
that I'll not disclose to you.

There’s memories that are cheerful:
there’s others that are sad.
Whilst others make me wistful,
for the better times I’ve had.
When I think the world’s against me,
I’m alone and feeling bored,
I’ll rummage through my pockets,
for the memories I have stored.

In its pockets by the number,
there’s many treasured dreams.
Amongst memories I cherish,
there’s a host of madcap schemes.
Despite pockets overflowing,
and others fully filled,
there’s plenty more to fill,
before my life is stilled.

Yes, my coat of many pockets,
is a cherished one I wear.
Though somewhat worn and tattered,
about it I really care.
It may not look inviting,
when hanging on a hook,
but Memories therein stored,
invite your second look.

Rhymer. August 10th, 2020.
Justa little thought I've had as the year progresses and life gets a tad tougher due to the pandemic.
J May 2018
Brown, peeling rubber soles on big feet
Crunch crunch, the gravel and glass goes underfoot
The overcast gloom of the early morning.
Depressed and downhearted buildings lining the streets.
Weeds encircling the gardens like a dragon looming over its prey.
Flowers hanging their heads, gravely.

Smudged faces, dark purple eyes, gaunt complexion, another restless night for these children.
Bruises up and down each leg.
Trodden, broken. “Not good enough” ringing in their ears.
Dreary faces, ripped uniforms.

The school building silhouetted against the grey, emotionless sky.
“Line up in rows, nice and neat”
They would hear this repeated for the rest of their lives.
A zebra crossing worn and battered.

Cigarettes passed from frail, wrinkled, hopeless hands.
Hooked on 4 a day at the age of 13
The wind groaned through the yard.
Somber faces, with wide eyes awaiting an education.

Pale arms and legs bristling in the playground.
Teachers thinking the sun has set on their dreams.
The corporations rubbing their hands, stamping their boots.
Another day at school now, but do they have a future?
dean evans Jan 2015
Angels wings come fly this soul
to better places far from cold
and warm my poor impassioned heart
That grief has caused to fall apart
and ended with the loss of love, sublime
I pray Thee Lord deliver me
before cruel time has swallowed me
falling into sad disgrace
the longing, once to see her face
but ended with the wasted , wasted time
Gather round this tortured being
open eyes to clear, through seeing
what mistakes were placed upon
the Lovely lonely, only one
that was my love, though now is lost to me
To show forgiveness, so that I
may know the reasons, disclose why
these walls that close upon me now
may open heart, and sky somehow
I know no truth, the willingness, to be
Stop the broken heart now bleeding
ease the pain, harsh pain of needing
what now lost through greed, and lust
forever gone, sweet seed of trust
and left alone here, fighting all these tears
Hope not placed back into hands,
all washed out with the tide, and sands
that soothes reality's embrace
reality now shows its face
to one who's blinded by the glare of years
The saddest sight of never seeing
thoughts of being, without being
within the loss of dreams, or dreaming
visions gleam, and nightmares streaming
all throughout the purple faded night
Leads me to the sacred mountain
climbing from the golden fountain,
though the thirst as yet un-quenched
and love and heart has been so wrenched
weary mind too weak to stand and fight

To meet my fate, that lies ahead
for one who's tattered soul lies dead
upon the rocks now fallen to
to Her, to she the calling's to
from I, the lost and dying, sees the One
The one who brought all things to be
now death can only bring to me
relief of all I've known as true
the truth of being one, not two
frightful, dreadful now is all existence
But exist as now I am
no love, but loneliness of man
to rise and fall, each step I take
reveals each new and cruel mistake
accept I must, I offer no resistance
Though to resist, may live again
to feel a heartbeat once, and then
find myself again downhearted
dearly loved, and dear departed
Impossible to live in agony
Pain born deep in dark regret
Far too long to now forget
Phrases said in love, and kind
sentiment now left behind
left behind what once I knew as me
Where does despairs headstone lie
I know not me, I am not I
without the Lovely only one
that sees me now, the lonely one
time and circumstance will turn, and bend
So that now, once closely guarded
love has died, love I had started
thinking that forever found me
now the never flashes 'round me
and as such, it leaves these rhymes to send
For the Lovely only one
I, the lost and lonely one
Now my days, days almost done
Leaving me to run
run to my end....

Dean Evans
9-29-09
Rickey Someone Oct 2020
2/15/20

You’re everything that I need,
But are you all that I need?
I question if I even trust you anymore…
Oh Lord! I’ve been here before.

So I’m back where nothing’s new,
Reflecting on how much I believe You.
Last time I argued – put up resistance.
Yet You don’t punish my insolence.

I can be confused and frustrated with You,
So You have to be real and true.
You are not able to be defined,
So you must not be my own design.

God, You engineered my systems,
To pump life through me like pistons.
And I stand before You shaking my fists,
When You control whether my body exists.

But You love me! You tolerate my witlessness.
And I respond – as if taking my first steps –
With downhearted repentance. Lord, I’m sorry,
Without Your blessings, I’d be left in sorrow.
susan Jan 2016
i'm not that person
who feels happiness
when others are happy
    instead
i relish in their misery
and pain

the downhearted and defeated?
   i am drawn to them
like flies to ****

i look to the deflated
secretly giddy
knowing they have lost
all hope

come to me
so i could feed your fire
of despair
because the more desperate you are
the more content
i become.
After Rain

The audacious sun finally showed up, and green was
the winter landscape, I also saw the sun set just behind
the carob tree, where the almond tree first blossom,
asleep under a carpet of wild flowers and snoozed till dawn.
Over the easterly range, which is the first defence against
Spanish Marauders and the rain on its plane, the clouds
were dark blue, perhaps more rain tomorrow?
In fading light, a musical note danced down the phone line,
the first flirt of spring? And should it rain tomorrow I will
not be downhearted, this day will keep me warm for
weeks to come.
Michael Mar 2018
Brothers and sisters of ink and blood.
Storytellers, poets, connoisseurs of love.
The downhearted, broken. Betrothed and betrayed.
Lend me your ear, your heart, and your page.

My quill has run dry, but yours still runs free.
My imagination is dim, though you still believe.
I said hello, poetry. Goodbye tainted thoughts.
But it takes more than words to break such locks.

So, write me a sonnet, haiku, or a ballad.
A lymeric, lyric, even elegies are valid.
Deliver your song of keyboard clicks,
Tell of your lover, your pain, politics.

Grant me this wish,
Fulfill this desire.
I am freezing cold,
and your words are on fire.
Leave a verse in the comments!
giofuellos Dec 2016
tiny droplets of light
moving in measure with the drum
unnoticeable yet striving to become
rousing the forsaken utterance
of the somber and downhearted

coloring every inch with sanguine dust
shedding the blooming indigo that blues
removing pain with a sweet embrace
the limbs that falter regain its radiance
with every movement and pause of our lips

swaying in the heat of the moment
as odd timed beats metered
every rise and fall of your hips
we lay staring at each other naked
caressing the aftermath in our heads
niann smith Apr 2021
Born  in an overloaded place called “earth?”
The first sight caused a carved in my right-eyed
Doctors name it being a narrowminded child!

I become what mother couldn’t bear “ troglodyte”
Father went flying to starsmost,
Leaving me with a pocket full of invisible spectators.
  

Left my walls painted in red
In Whos lesion that shall be unknown
My doppelganger downhearted my mother duties
Which left a burst vessel in my heart.

So now we go around playing catch fire with a wooden fork
Thomas W Case Sep 30
I can't count how many times
I've been to D-Tox.
she was always
there by my side.
I turned her on to
the cheesecake and
yogurt berry parfait.
It was a plain yogurt with
fresh blackberries, raspberries,
strawberries and blueberries.
It was amazing- it still is.
We'd stir up the parfait and
pour it on the cheesecake.
It was divine.

I sit here and eat
it alone tonight.
The berries explode when I
put them in my mouth and
chew on them, it's like a
food that the Greek gods
would eat- an ambrosia for
the brokenhearted.
I think of you as the little
blueberries roll around on
my tongue.
It's all so creamy and succulent.

But, I sit here forlorn and eat our
yogurt berry poetry and cheesecake.
And each berry stores a memory in
every luscious bite.
I feel downhearted that you
aren't here with that juicy
purple fluid running down your chin.
Here is a repost because I can't scroll to see if/when I lat put it up.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry and document my fishing adventures in the shorts lol.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hP285EP-bo
Bob B Nov 2016
I met a turkey the other day
While on my daily walk.
Strange to say, his name was Tom;
And stranger, he could talk!

He wasn't in the greatest mood;
In fact, he looked downhearted.
"Feeling the holiday blues?" I asked.
He said, "Don't get me started.

"You would also be depressed
If you were a turkey
And people saw you as a meal
Or turned you into jerky."

He paused; "By any chance are you
A butcher or a grocer?
For if you are, you are NOT
Getting any closer."

I said, "No way!" to ease his mind.
"You don't have to worry."
When he tried to walk away,
I asked, "Now what's your hurry?"

"You know," he answered, "I'm in hiding--
At least until Thanksgiving.
To have to spend your days like this
Is not what I call living.

"Why are we the chosen ones
To grace your silly table?
It turns us into basket cases--
Neurotic and unstable.

"And don't say 'But your sacrifice:
Consider it an honor.'
I would rather live out my dreams
Instead of being a goner.

"Why not switch to tofu turkey?
They say it's not so bad.
You'd save a lot of lives and make
Many turkeys glad."

Giving him a chance to vent
Seemed to lift his mood.
I tried to be empathetic
And not see him as food.

Then he said, "You're going to think
That I'm a nasty fella,
But I think that it's super cool
When folks get salmonella.

"Sorry, but that happens to be
The only method that
We can use to get back at you;
I call it *** for tat.

But really, I must dash," he said,
And so I wished him well.
He waddled off to some safe place
As far as I could tell.

It really made me stop and think--
This unexpected meeting--
Whether I fully appreciate
The many things I'm eating.

My hope this year is simple: May
This one bird at least,
NOT be on the table when
I eat my holiday feast.

- by Bob B
Michael Demian Feb 2020
In the evening having inked his feather
He engenders beauty line by line,
Writes a manuscript that joins together
Ice and fire, darkness and sunshine.

He is looking for his lot no longer,
But he strikes the lyre on the stage,
Showing humankind that love is stronger
Than injustice, enmity and rage;

It is more than life and nonexistence,
It can give downhearted people wings,
Neither flow of time nor any distance
Can destroy love’s harp and tear its strings.

He narrates that standards and traditions
Put sometimes a lot of lives at stake,
And that human honor and ambitions
Should exist for other people’s sake.

Every moment of his life he's ready
To amaze his audience and thrill.
Many centuries have passed already,
But he still creates and always will.

— The End —