Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Candy Flip Mar 2016
When I was a child, there was something mildly special about standing in the garden, late into the minutes leading up to my bed time. It was something about the thrill of disobedience, as if I were already an adult, making my own decisions.

This poem is about my testicles.

A thousand twinkling freckles gazed down at me. Joining the dots with a finger extended high as if gripping an imaginary pen, lines would appear. The celestial wrinkles of an old woman who wears these wrinkles with pride – the imprint left by a lifetime of smiles like how an old arm chair wears the imprint left by a lifetime of back-sides.

A singular eye governs the sky, and through what I interpret as a flirty act of desire, winks at me, through a thirty day cycle. I let out a giggle, and wink back.

On the horizon, trees sway in a purposeful and rhythmic way, as if conducting a symphony meant just for me; the delicate harmony of distant car horn beeps, the melody of crickets and bird tweets, and the gentle percussion of snapped twigs and crushed leaves.

Blades of wet grass become fingers seductively passing between my toes. A gust of wind blows and like a comb, massages out the knots in my hair, whispering through a foreign tongue pros into my ear.

And I can feel it inside, a connection with the night. As passion builds, a bird takes flight, and I let out a confident breath: I am in love with life! I’m in love with the Earth, warm days and clear skies. I’m in love with nature: the birds and mammals, snails, slugs, spiders and flies.

I await a reply.

Which doesn’t come.

Years go by.

And then, half way through my puberty, when the world was not so alien and new to me, I had the sad epiphany that maybe this symphony of car horns and bird tweets was not meant for me.

That, if I were not standing precisely here, or had tragically lost both my ears, the trees would continue to conduct their tune, unstirred by the news that their audience had disappeared.

And with this realisation, came an audible, synchronised plop, as – like a penny – my two ***** simultaneously dropped as if recoiling, paralysed in shock.

Then in the following silence, a tumbleweed drifted by as if to imply some kind of mockery to the thoughts going through my mind.

But of course, it was just a coincidence. The tumbleweed, in its oblivious innocence has no knowledge of the context of my thoughts, like a bolt of lightning can’t appreciate its momentary grasp of dominance over an angry sky. Like an atom doesn’t appreciate the burden of the service it provides, like a poem doesn’t appreciate the metaphors woven purposefully between every line.

And how could I sleep at night knowing that a hurricane could slip into existence, tear its way through a village of innocents then ******* in an instant leaving no form of apology or reason?

This is the dilemma of owning a conscious mind in a world of impartiality.

And if you don’t mind, I’m going to divide this audience into two sides: those who are matured and wise, and when they look at the night sky, see those wrinkles reflected in their own eyes – and those who are young and naïve, to whom this insight may come as a surprise.

To the wise and mature, I assure you that we are all in fact slowly dying. The only reason you’re alive is through generations of successful breeding and surviving. God is dead, and love is a chemical compound produced in your head.

And to the young and naïve, I’ll leave you with this line: despite the pessimistic undertones this poem implies, if you just don’t worry, you’ll turn out just fine.
I will now write all my poetry in pros as I feel like it leaves more freedom for my presentation.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
Hidden within the earthy depth
only emerges with time
only dances in tangent
now slips out with the butterflies.  
Now the nightingales singing aloud!

One has spoken out, one blew
a kiss out off the dark seed.
Ah, what then broke through?
Up from the sky the blue-nymph  
dropped down on the scene!
One that hid blurring that's image
on the mirror is that now been seen?

Pouring rain singing down to primulas
paints it with all the colours of the wind
now the Spring picked up her paintbrush.

Rain some colour blow a kiss of the flower
paint it out of the mirror!
Poetnumber7 Oct 2018
Just when I thought I seen it all we finally had a chance to cross paths.  
No nerves or jitters just good drinks from Superiors and good laughs.
Just being able to talk about the past help make the conversation real cool.
In the back my mind I know that the women in front of me is going to one day be my jewel.
She believed in God and was educated in school.
I was lost in her eyes and beauty which turned me from a scholar to a fool.
I didn’t want i  to leave wished we could’ve stayed all night talking.
The drinks started to get to strong and at her face I couldnt stop gawking.
I was hoping to get another date before the new year started.  
In the back of my mind I told myself we’ll one day become cool before hugging and departing
Cindra Carr Jul 2011
She broke my heart again
It failed as she skipped out of reach
It’s okay
Little things can go unnoticed
How big can a heart really be?
She gave it a kick as she stumbled over it
That paled in comparison when she stepped on it
I gift wrapped my heart
I even sang a little tune as I tied the bow
She had that look though
A little moue of surprise and a stutter
My heart dropped and I leaned back
Bracing myself always feels like it should help
But, then she broke it
Kicked it
Stepped on it
Scuffed it for sure
It got a little blurry
I knew as soon as she said
“We can still be friends right?”

cc062911
kerri Mar 2016
the beginning
You dropped a seed.
I picked it up and gave it a home in myself.

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

the end**
You left.
The sacred efflorescence shed its petals.
My soil wasn't enough for you.
Pieces of me
thrown away
like trash
Never consulted
Never asked
The direct result
of another’s conviction
or more commonly seen
consequences
from blind ambition

Paranoid
The fix is in
But no invitation
for me,
former me
or forever me
and all of my imitations
beset by my
limitations

Forwardly I lean
step in between
lines upon lines
hidden;
can’t be seen
Falling ill
Now trapped
by its machine
And from my vein;
My blood I spill

A still surface
with sticky sheen
amber tones
from which
I glean
a reason
Thrilled
What it might mean
A hunger
that
can not be filled

Nothing but lies
giving me chills
A shell
with values
not instilled
Instead
it’s dread
Their words
I’m fed
"Nutrients"
to fill my head

My outer skin
Its layer
thin
Not to attacks
No single act
or prayer
could patch
and fill it in
A hole
that’s black
is my first sin

A game
in which
no way to win
and no ending
once it
begins
With opened eyes
commence to see
The dorsal fins
surrounding me

Head starts
to spin
What could have been?
It doesn't matter
in the end
because
there's nothing
here for me
A demon-like reality

Where what you seek
Placed at your feet
The icing; sweet
Choices; not three
Have cake or eat
One choice not two
But want to eat
and have it too

All efforts
to retrieve the treat;
An outcome that
ends in defeat
A princess swept
off of her feat
But this feature
princess;
a creature
Spirit of
a soulless seeker

Deceitful speaker
Flames;
he’ll eat ya
Offers pain
Can’t heal;
life drained
Then reaching out
to use
life-line
but with each ring
hope further wanes

An answered call
done just in time
The chills
running all down my spine
Stand tall
just like Douglas-fir pine
With racing thoughts
filling my mind
I will be saved
Free from it all
God must exist
No time to stall
In battle
warriors
may fall
but no man's ever left behind

Only to find
With said spent dime
A dynamite kind of answer
-
A type
that might
cause strife
Can't plan for
Needed answer
Plight
like cancer
New chance to live
Worldly romancer
On planet Earth
A tiny dancer

A romantic thought
to think
fight fought
Instead a sinking ship
just dropped
This life?
If could
an ‘OUT’
would opt
No more
can take
Just make
it stop
Written: April 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
King Panda Sep 2018
I am born again
this September morning as
each thorn on the rosebush
breaks pink with the sun

the hummingbird buzzes by,
echoes and springs in
the mist of chamomile flower—
a yellow-bodied bloom and
liquid-sugar disco running over
conscious body,
conscious mind

a chord is struck and
pecks the roof twice—
tap…
tap…

and I see god for what she is—
suddenly and always present as
two birds dance their wings
over a cradle of planted flowers
King Panda Oct 2015
found
grounded bird closed in
ribboned-box and buried
underneath a willow snapped back
to finally relax
to decompose and nourish
by the lake in drooping shade
the felled leaves pile
candy wrappers gray snow in
parking lot corners
with pumpkin spice scented candles
with charred letters skirling up
the arm dropped to sizzle and puff out
white beanies
flannels
leather boots and jangly bronze-leafed wind chimes
I sit on the patio and listen to you speak
the chill of your words
perched like a squirrel barking on a fence top
hibernation preparation and breeze
the gospel of your autumn

it’s lovely.
Francie Lynch Jun 2018
The hood won't be the same,
We're out standing in the rain,
To encourage sprouts as we once did our children;
For down the road you see it's as legal,
As a Timmy's and a cream-cheese bagel,
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

On this side of our border,
Starting this October,
We'll bake it, vape it, roll and bowl to take it;
Down the road you see it's now legal,
The price of home grown's dropped to zero,
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

Yes we're all on board to greet it,
Some inhale and some will eat it;
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

I'm awake and it astounds me,
My four plants that surround me;
We've realized what we've long been dreaming;
For there's a store where we can cop some,
Come the fall fresh buds will blossom,
We're good to grow our free green grass at home.

Yes we're all on board to greet it,
Some inhale, and some will eat it,
We're good to grow our free green grass at home.
Sung to Tom Jones' "Green Green Grass of Home."
*** becomes legal in Canada on October 17th. We're permitted to grow four plants per household. Finally.
A "Timmy" is a Tim Hortons coffee.
Jordan Rowan Apr 2016
There's a tired old man singing in his boat
He hates his voice but he still likes to vote
Voter registration put him on hold

The value of a thought has steadily dropped
Respect for free speech has stopped
I gave my opinion and someone called the cops  

Pump your fist in anger and tell the world why
Shout to the sky, look in the camera's eye
And say "I don't need a reason, it's my right"

Think of all the change that you will bring
Telling the artists what to paint and sing
Sanitize, commercialize, let freedom ring
David R Jun 2018
Round about is deep black darkness,
Darker than the blackest night,
Whispering deep 'n dreadful murmurs.
Bird dropped dead in midflight.

Blind and weeping, lifeless attle,
What you see is your own soul,
Burnt and weary from the battle.
Disenchanted from its goal.

In the ash, a spark she smoulders,
Crackling, rasping, wounded warrior,
Briars squeeze her neck and shoulders,
Suffocating in smog-fill'd air.

Deep within stagnating water,
Crystal-clear elixir tear,
Rippling movement, life astir,
Phoenix rises from the slaughter.

Still she rises, Golden Daughter,
Fears no longer yonder fright,
Strength within from those who fought Her,
Blackest night turned brightest light.
L B May 2017
“...Your words were found and I ate them.
They became a joy to my heart. In my mouth—
a sweet delight, but in my belly—bitter...”
                                                ­ --Jeremiah


...But that night
by dim background of next-room light
I could not see your face
just feel your hush of shadow words
on spine of shudders

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!

...And I was sure?
that it was right?
because...because....!
Their eyes were slanted!
So they could not see—
the “Good Guys”
VANISH—
WIDE-EYED—!
in its TOO-MUCH-LIGHT

Still your voice insists
in pause and fissioned hiss
that I MUST KNOW
in tender half-life
TRUTH
too pure
too deadly white

I swallow lethal glowing dose
HOW CAN YOU SPEAK
SUCH WORDS SO CLOSE!

EXPOSED!

“...in mouth sweet—in belly bitter…”

Stories? and the Grandma Song
rendered tender—lull of voice
Soul’s cabinet cleared of venial sin
Last of all—the tucking in.....

They say you first get sick....*

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!
And I am invisibly ill—with truth
approaching critical mass

Will angry rads incise their ways?
Will leaden swords of angels drive them back?

In this night—
my bedtime stories fainted at your
whispers...whispers...WHISPERS—

fusing an oblong fear
that I MUST NOT DROP!
but I cannot hold!

Fetal-folded
frail and freezing
under covers— just barely peeking

“Jesus hanging on the cross…Tell me-- was it I?”
Jesus hanging in the cross
TELL ME! IT’S NOT TRUE!

"Tell me, mother
Were you God talking?

I could not see your face
by the next room’s light..."
My mother told me some bad **** sometimes just before bedtime, and I never forgot it.
Written 1995
Hadiy Syakir Mar 2018
Maybe it's for you but not for me, but who knows?

When will the time stop and give way to the paradoxical space that will shove the soul out of its life, eventually?

Tend to think that the archetypal white collar worker is what you should be before you delve into the reality?

Jumped into the ripest chord of a void song, and you found nothing but truth and perplexity?

Threw yourself into the wilderness but you are still deprived of happiness, only peace, filled with emptiness?

Crashed the mental into bi-polarizing set of uncertainty and sanity, driving everything towards the ravine of confusion and misinterpretation?

Dropped the last sweat of joy and contentment before you discover the eventuality, pessimistic value of the whole context?  

Until the ultimate full stop appears, will you understand what is the whole story is all about?
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…
Well,
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".
You broke my wings
You dragged me down
With every word you let me down
Nearly touching the ground
I knew what I had to do
Escape from you
Yet I kept listening to your lies
Staring death right in the eye
You dropped me down a cliff
Down in the water
I couldn't breathe

Still under deep water
I try to find my way out of the dark


On the edge of the cliff I imagine
You watched me fall with a smirk
I can still see the smile on your face
It was my turn to fly
But you cut out my wings and threw me down
Give me back my freedom
I've been drowning for too long,
Release me now
I would do anything to swim back out
A year ago I found my way back out. Tonight I found this poem and realized how far I have come. You didn't destroy me.
Mazen Edlibi Oct 2016
A drop of Tear dropped.... before my steps into the Alter!
A drop of Tear dropped.... before saying my name!
A drop of Tear dropped.... before declaring my hunger!

I danced my signature...
I cast my charm...

I saw their eyes glowing and through receiving me...
I saw their smiles inviting me to rest...
I saw their tears and I'm happy in trusting them!

I cried in silence saying to myself... "Where have you been?!"
I saw their eyes and I fall in love for them...
I am finally in my Place!
I am in my Tribe!!
7-9-2016
Racquel Davis Jul 2014
In a dream,
Or a nightmare,
Everything seems            out           of                           place.
Things start out right,
And then,
                                    You’re dropped into an ocean.
               You’re naked and drowning,
          Sleeping and awake.
        Slipping away into a panic,
     Floating on a wave of  d i s c o n n e c t.
Grasping for anything,
     You hold on to thin air.
Feeling good with just that,
                                     The darkness grabs your s
                                                               ­                          e
                                     ­                                                     n
                                                               ­                             s
                                                               ­                              e
                                 ­                                                              s.
­Gaining visual on your position,
You swim a short mile.
      Lost with no vision,
You look outside yourself a while.
Your view from up above,
     The ocean seemed to move.
      God knows how long it has been
Below,
       The water blackens.
               You lose faith,    
                                                                ­    The darkness wins again.

©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
edited 11/23/16
Men
At Chick-fil-A the other day,
dropped a soda and
saw four flies,
-descended...


Looks like flies
are attracted to
sugar,
...but they
also eat ****.


Women hate flies...
...think they're unnecessary.


They are unnecessary.

Yes,

-you are.
Lydia May 2018
"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love

We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands

She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up

I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't

She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly
The support on this poem has been unbelievably incredible. I am so grateful for this community with all of these lovely people :)

Please comment :)
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
Once were two young maidens who both wore smiles,
but they were sadly separated.
Years later they became friends once again, but life had shaped their names.
Anxiety and Trauma both very much alike.
Anxiety bit her nails and Trauma did as well.
Trauma rocked back and forth, and Anxiety did too.
Over time they both dropped subtle hints saying they were not okay.
Anxiety went to therapy, and so did Trauma.
Trauma had a breakdown, Anxiety also did.
The difference lays within their fears.

"I'm so very terrified of the future..." Anxiety began, "You get it though, right?"

Trauma shrugged, "I guess I do," she paused, "but it's the past that makes me break."

The two girls looked at each other, realizing they knew nothing about one another.
In regards to my friend who is so similar to me, but with such a different past, and future.
ethan gaskill Jul 2018
to the girl
still picking up
pieces of her heart
like books dropped
in a hallway

"hi, my name is ethan
i'd like to love you
if that's okay with you"

your heart can be kintsukuroi
we'll fill in the fractures
left by some past fool
with gold

because what better material
to rebuild a broken heart?
than the material from which
knock on wood
our rings will be made?
Is it wrong for me to hate you?
Its so hard not to love you.
Everytime I try to move on with my life..
You just have to go and make things all right.
Just know I don't need you.
Do note how bad I want you.
Because when I'm gone.
Thats the end of our song.

Is it wrong for me to say this?
Why is it so hard to move on?
If I  said none of this.
Would you still play along?
As if we're still in love.
Like we never even stopped.
Maybe I should've stop.
Forget what I said, its dropped.

There is something that we love about us.
Its a shame that we both mask it with lust.
Guess we were never meant to be.
That future will stay a mystery.

I remember how we were.
Just years ago.
The world was our own.
And i held you so high.
Stars in your eyes.
How I fantasized.
Until you ****** it up for us.
So now, I'm gone.
Can't take this pain no more.
So tonight I'll give my loving.
But tomorrow I leave with yours.

Is it wrong for me to say this?
Why is it so hard to move on?
If I had not said any of this.
Would you still play along?
As if we're still in love.
Like we never even stopped.
Maybe I should stop.
Forget what I said, its dropped.

There is something that we love about us.
Its a shame that we both mask it with lust.
Guess we were never meant to be.
That future will stay a mystery.
I feel really good about this one! haven't written in months...enjoy all! Thoughts opinions?!?! Im just hoping no one forgot About me. I fell into a bad state of depression but it inspired me to write through my struggles and aftef waiting so long to write something i finally found enough courage to do just that. Thank you all again.
Next page