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Thomas EG Feb 9
I'd always been a little bearcub
Feeling my paws crunch the twigs and mulsh of the forest floor
Seasons are changing, though
I'm finally standing up on my hind legs
Raising my hands high, speaking up for the first time
Hoping that maybe you can hear me now
Letting my growls grow, my echo,
rumbling through the trees
Feeling the breeze in my hair
Knowing that I have made it
and I am home
~Finally started my medical transition and my voice is starting to drop~
the other day
I occupied a chair
at a sidewalk café
watching the vanity fair of the quotidian
float by in quickly changing apparitions

an endless flow of different ages, nations, fashions,
skin colors, miens, ****** expressions, postures & gaits
kept passing through  my field of vision

it made me wonder why
some people get so furious
when they  just hear about
    not even meet
    the ‘others’ different from themselves
that they start dropping  bombs and shooting rockets

I think they rather should be curious
and eager to discover
how the immense variety of humankind
can help expand a locally grown mind

and recognize
that we are all of the same kind
Carla Jul 2018
You miss a meal,
Then it turns to two,
A day passes,
And no one notices you.

Craving nutrition,
There goes a week,
Those many hours,
Longing for something to eat.

Using the same excuse,
"I'm not hungry, I just ate,"
The numbers keep dropping,
Was sixty-three, now fifty-eight.

You can't go back,
People are noticing you,
They say you should eat, and you say,
"You have something better to do."

It's harder than you think,
Just leave me alone!
Stop telling me to eat and drink!
If I need you, I can find my phone.
This poem is about an eating disorder, it’s dangerous and those that have it can be greatly effected. Not only them, but those around them as well.
thunder cackles in the morning
a witch is a woman
with any amount of wisdom
your words are as bland as coffee
and the dandelions are talking
for i am permanently amused
by vicissitudes and antelopes
and aggregates of moods
feelings and isotopes
hanging by psychotropic ropes
firmly financed by our fingertips
lifetimes triangulated in transitions
farm the fallow fields
and try to heal the poppies
dropping numbers
and putting aside our copies
a simulacrum of similes and shortages
as field mice and farmhands
dance on saturn’s rings
despite all of jupiter’s complexities
your complexion is never shallow
and i swallow seawater
to embrace the sweet finality of life
ryn Oct 2014
tell me...

will tomorrow bring,
     all the things
i'm longing...
    stowed upon its elusive wings,
tirelessly beating
    and fighting
to show what's dangling
and hanging...
          ready for the picking...

                          awaiting...
such time so it could begin its need for unloading,
                   delivering
                                      and dropping,
its gleaming
                      treasures
on those who are deserving,
        in no way lacking
so they could be at the receiving
end of this pressurising,
           inking
                      of dwindling
                                        words...

carel­ess thoughts conceived only to
              fuel
           my deranged ramblings...
incessant mutterings of a shattering
                         mind...

           bending backwards, almost breaking,
         risking...
the chance of ever fully
                                          mending...

hopin­g and praying
   for a sentence that's pending
dawn's approval...

allowing
   the rising
of the sun...
                  paving
            ways for thriving
                                          wishes,
unbarr­ing
                  gates for soaring
                                                dreams, unlocking
                   latches,

relieving...
the heightening
                     anxieties of grieving
                                                        ­ hearts.

constantly whispering
                               utterances, promising
good will, happiness
                              and titillating
                                                     ­ sanity.

we're thinking...
     the earth is spinning,
         the moon is setting,
     so the sun must be rising
                         but...

             tell me,
                           tomorrow...

                                *is it coming?
patty m Mar 2016
Dropping flower petals into the water
voices merge, lifting in song and prayer,
I wish that I could join them,
instead I whisper my prayer
very quietly, hoping that God
might hear me.

Brief deceptive gleam of sun on water
that catches the eye,
now hollow as dried driftwood, light as foam,
everything conspires against me even the weather;
Tumultuous sky, the squally wind squeals through wires, rattling flags.
The sea is glaucous with strange phosphorescence;
I sit watching rabbit tail grass flicker and bob palely in the wind,
the insects hum and the grass whispers.
Adrift in tides the
sand beneath my feet
spills centuries of debris,
shells, bones, pieces of fossilized matter,
fragments of unimaginable time.
Fire flies often dance here and the crickets sing in
warm grassy hollows

Somehow we co-exist, men exerting surly independence
trying to climb above the wretchedness.  
I take a loving look backwards
at this seaside town, and the boatloads of wood
brought in to fuel our fires.  
Now the rain pummels in endless drops
forming ever bigger puddles,  
flooding dreams gone to seed.  

Perspectives collide,
this is my way of life
even when it becomes bland and unsettling.  
All the icing on the cake has washed away
why cling to ghosts with their warm persuasive kisses
in the poetry of moonlight?  
Now the fire has burned out, leaving me cold
with only the ghosts who slide through end of day.
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
    of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast      
    has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
     heaving with song

The mystical feathered troubadour's
     swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;

rousing a lonely heart's esprit
     to fly away unfettered
     in constellations of song

How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
     when you wish upon a star  

Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!

    Rolling like trailing thunder;
        tucked and tumbling ―
             somersaulting,

           celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy

A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
    dreaming of that shapeless  
          w h o  o  o  o  s h ―
         gathering beneath
        ~ uplifting wings ~

  Suddenly ― gliding freely,
       winging gracefully
  upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song

Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle

... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
    if my heart had wings



imagined by:   Jesse Stillwater
22nd  April  2018

Imagination set free ... perhaps rooted in the branches of a tree
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2397540/a-lost-angels-wings/

Luscinia, nightingale -  songbird noted for its melodious nocturnal song
.
Arby Sep 2018
The misty fog outside,
condenses into a speckled bedroom glass.  

Through which,
nestled deep under the blanket,
I hear the orchestra of a rainy 8am life.  

Bothered by the unconducted iso-rhythms
of dripping water droplets,
dropping onto the metal window sill,
I peak my head out from under the duvet
and yawn out the stale air from my lungs.  

I notice the coffee left for me
on the bedside table before she left.  
I grasp the warm little blue cup.  

I hear the birds in the trees somewhere below
warming up their sleepy little lungs.  

I close my eyes and feel the cold air
through the window.  
Hiding under my duvet,
I drift back to sleep.
Finally clear,
The mist is moving
and my thoughts brewin'.
There's a storm in my head.

I'll plan ahead,
on account of that
which hath been said.

The fog congregates, energy generates
as storm-clouds roar the war-cry of profligates.

Thunderous applause
and I'm live now,
as frost-fire falls

I'm electrified with power
when I've got the will to be

and lines to be dropping.
It's live now,
and there's no stopping.
Josh Jul 2015
Like dropping a pink *** of soil
or jumping through a wave.
Breaking.
But unlike the sea rose,
which died on top of the fridge,
I have salty tears I don't know what to do with.
It can only come back as a name,
not a thing,
in the memory of your breaking smile
and not of the shoreline.
Molly Gaschott Nov 2015
Resolution lies in our hands
but these hands are
Dropping bombs
and taking lives

Step back. Look UP.
how senseless it all seems
in my little apartment on main street

But

I feel a crumbling soul beneath me;
an angry mother, a scared caregiver.
trying to tell us something

Shhhh…

Can you hear her?
Can you be silent for just one moment?
two at the most!

And listen

She is sick
She is tired
She is gazing at us
through ocean eyes

glazed with disappointment
yes thats you,
Disappointing.

and she knows
all too well,
she is taking her final breaths
Ju Clear Nov 2016
MS
Multiple Scleriosis
Aka Miserable Self
"Listen to your body"
Says MS nurse
Your mind keeps going
Burning sensations intermittent
Stabing and shooting in arms and legs
Crawling in your head
Numbness in your ***
Forget fullness
Wobbling  stumberling
Fear
Pregablin *****
Dampening your fuesed nerves
Limping dragging
"rest"
Says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
Days are half days
Taken up by sleep
Fear
Weakness
Dropping
Numbness
"pace yourself "
says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
job half done
Delegate
Let go
"Use your alternative technology "
Says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
Stick
Mixer
Steamer
Robotic vacuum cleaner
Hose
Wheelchair
Automatic car
It's challenging Managing Self
Be kinder to yourself
Kindness rules
Challenged by Multiple Sclerisos  ,mother hood ,
MeanAileen Mar 2017
Whispering winds...
beyond breezing-
snow falls down...
blowing, freezing.

Loneliness aids...
tedious crying-
living, hating...
loving, dying.

Pale skies...
winter showing-
devours sunlight...
shadows growing.

Fate it lurks...
quietly calling-
screaming, running...
whispering, falling.

Leaves chasing...
nature stealing-
bitter flurry....
whipping, reeling.

Rain dropping...
falling, streaming-
whims, wishes...
foolishly dreaming.

Nights so cold...
never warming-
nightmares, you...
ever swarming.

Dwindling light...
dying within-
darkness falls...
on a heart of sin.
Just some dark words from my weird brain....
It's also the yang to the yin of another one of my poems called 'Dandelions & Dreams'
M Jun 2018
Greetings audience.
I am off my medication now and I am feeling vastly better. Something just cleared my conscious and vascular blockage so joyously. I will not be posting videos due to my camera and devices breaking. No diatribes nor any vitriolic comments were conferred during my time gone throughout my family and my peers, assuming that is the reason I am now healthy (dropping toxic ties). Unluckily, all of my social media was hacked. Refrain from following anything linked with my name. Indeed, I am not here to bloviate, rather to celebrate. Thank you for your cooperation. I will now go play childishly. Farewell. : )
Sehar Dec 2018
love's a distant relative
dropping in uninvited
murmuring condolences for a girl I thought I buried away
eons ago.
love strikes when you least expect it.
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