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nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Folded into this numb-husk of unknowing,
undeveloped eyes, wrapped by distressed skin,
continue to peer, unseeing, accustomed
as they now are, to a feed of distant

Telegenically Dead. These short lives have been
socially shared and mocked,
as morgues overflow to floor;
impromptu fans recirculating mournings hot air.

There is little chance for grief on Day 13;
rage has to be spent like a brass cartridge
or slung stone, or drowned in red pools
mixed with the water of collective driblets.

Meanwhile a politician says something else.
July 2014
Terrin Leigh Apr 2015
mimicking my tears, rain plummets to earth
driblets escaping, a plashet appears
caressing the window and kissing the street
elusively pleasant, ambiguously received
beads race down my windowpane
showers of comfort, salient skies of gray

mere melody of drizzle or drops soothes my soul in ways you cannot

perspective is important here
clouded minds find solace
whilst sunny cerebrums, unable to associate
ideas of positivity in days so gray
in one corner: better than resorting to a pill
the other: worse than spouse found unfaithful
opinions pitted, popular pins eccentric
one, two, three, four... will rain redeem their rapport?

mere melody of drizzle or drops soothes my soul in ways you cannot

rain, rain, go away
dark and dreary, "shame you!"
a lesson taught, not genetic
sheets of rain, stale excuse to stay
but I, but I - bid the day hello
when rolling clouds greet my morning breath

mere melody of drizzle or drops soothes my soul in ways you cannot
Mohd Arshad Aug 2014
Look at my branches,
full of blossoms of comfy
respite for bleary bones beneath!

Look at my showers
that descend in driblets on the dry
grass and palms praying to providence!

Look at my pious light
that lits the pathways around
where walkers walk on nocturnal errand!

Look at me,
I am present on the earth;
dare to see me and keep to spread me!
Maria Mitea Sep 2020
Burned by the sun,
Waiting,
In the middle of the day,
Waiting,
Nowhere to go,
It has been dry for a while
and I pray “Rainy rain
fall on me, and fall on him,
fall, fall, fall ... if not
I’ll be the rain,
and he'll be the earth,
falling into each other secrets”

I’ll be his fresh rainfall,
His clime and his
Every season to come,
when burned by the sun,
earthy earth,
sip me all
when runoff on
sharp-bright
crispy skin.

Drink me,
deeper, and deeper
into his colourful roots
where dryness cheers
humusy kisses,
shower his face with
tender driblets of
sweet promises and
roses will never fade away
on his chest, 
in the midday,

Burn the rain down where the secrets are,
where the trees and large bushes survive,
and high winds have only one way.

I’ll take rainy droplets away
and fall over again when his
Burned by the sun,
Waiting in the middle of the day,
Nowhere to go,
But hiding in the rain when
Burned by the sun.
Robert Gretczko Dec 2016
winter's breath
froze the last driblets
the slate gray mist
  soon covered the once green field
chirpings waning concert
  fell silent to the leafless winds
darkness hastens to days end
as cerulean skies fired magenta
  the painter's lush palette
now earthen mahogany and umber
children chant for
fluffy white mornings
  houses puffing chimneys
and frosted window panes
  time twisted tight
awaiting the flourishes
of the springtime symphonies
tuning up beneath
our feet and beyond the stars
Jade Feb 2020
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm ⚠
~

"These violent delights have violent ends."
~William Shakespeare

~

When the crevices
on my wrists
solder themselves together
and the rich, crimson stanzas
become illegible,
I unsheathe my quill--

melancholy's scribe.

The ink clots,
driblets of red
bleeding through these pages

but I keep writing

until
this parchment lies
sweetly torn

and

I smile.

Now,
that's what I call

poetry.

**
How violently delightful.
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Darsh Feb 2019
Deep in it goes
Slowly...everything grows..

Eyes deluge in tears
Thoughts flushed with fears
Palpitations,
my heart hammering
Pondering...
What on ****** earth is happening ?!

And there it was...

The Turbid aroma of iron
And there goes the siren
“Why do you do it?”
“Why do you slit?”

Driblets of..
Thick blood
Tinted with scarlet mellow
“Why you ask again?”
Because my pain
Rambles me in hollow

Or...

“You’re useless”
“You’re such a curse”
“You’re choked with bitterness”
“Worst...you’re the worse”

“Who’s saying it?”
The hideous side of me
Stuck in a...
Dim..
Chasmic pit

“So...”
“Where is the pit?”

“....settled in me”

~This is what I call Depression
Robert Gretczko Apr 2021
winter's breath
froze the last driblets
the slate gray mist
  soon covered the once green field
chirpings waning concert
  fell silent to the leafless winds
darkness hastens to days end
as cerulean skies fired magenta
  the painter's lush palette
now earthen mahogany and umber
children chant for
fluffy white mornings
  houses puffing chimneys
and frosted window panes
  time twisted tight
awaiting the flourishes
of the springtime symphonies
tuning up beneath
our feet and beyond the stars
Jill Tait Sep 2020
Bubbly bubbles all flimsy and flouncy..globules of globoids so blithe and bouncy..fluttering along like flippant butterflies..floating through the air, colourful crystallize

Blowing bubbles all adhering together, sticking like glue and as light as a feather..such pretty little puffs of perfection, all ready to go pop amidst an interconnection..driblets and droplets of translucent beads, wandering amongst an atmosphere as the wind supercedes

Oh how I love to see a tiny tot blowing bubbles..lost within their loveliest of carefree troubles, puffing and panting on the plastic bubble stick..in short, sharp breathes, fast fleeting and quick..An eagerness of enthusiasm follows them around, bursting their bubbles betwixt a frenzied sound...

— The End —