Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lazhar Bouazzi Jun 2018
A mock pack of sea dogs
Lay on the hot, white shore;
Their wrinkles said
They'd been too long
In the sea.
Next to them dozed a tyrian crab
Whose sleep in a foot-trace deep
Commenced to crumble
In the green rumble
Of a lecherous tide.

Then a dark, awkward sound  
(Not too far from the drowsing crab)
Was heard.
He came forth from the mountain
To sun himself on the shore
And send the frightened rocks  
Back to the deep.

(c) LazharBouazzi, 11 June, 2018
V L Bennett Nov 2018
Comma kitty
you syntactical *****
drop your kittens down the well
dreaming a dilaudid nightmare
you word-*****
let go your
cat-gut screeching
I need a song
Evan Stephens Dec 2018
There were
those thickets
of flat
graying trees
and a frozen
skin of lake
out by the
hunched rink
behind Georgian Woods
the terrace apartments
where Dad lived
after he left
the family.

Left to my
own devices
while Dad
delved in books
I slipped out
the sliding door
the frost-grass
and the
snow branch gap
into the
unfolding stillness
of the drowsing park.
my sister
was there
with me
in the woods,
our play
always some form
of running away.

In the early
years Dad
smoked a pipe
his thick
blue rug scented
with Captain Black
**** tobacco,
the white tin
with the rigged
ship logo.
The humming silo
of the air purifier
Dad's concession
to my convulsing
asthmatic chest,
close-gathered lung

like the branch bark
that scraped
my lip
as I ran in
the park wood,
blood slipping
across my face
and down
into the ache.
When streaming rain obscures your window pane
You want to be alone, among your thoughts
And no one knows exactly why that’s so
But yes, you are at peace this afternoon

They say the falling barometric pressure
Makes you sleepy, but the rain knows better
The drowsing rain, it wants to sing to you
And tuck you softly into a dream of love

So close your eyes, and as the little book slips
Onto your lap, the rain sighs with your lips
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Red Mar 31
i feel like i'm dreaming
all the time

like somebody took it upon themselves to throw words at a wall
and turned what stuck into doo-*** scatting nonsense
which was then assembled gracelessly into a scathing neologism
something that scrambles into some semblance of an inner monologue and circles my tongue like treacle or a lab rat's ****

and if this is the scattered fantasy that my brain cells have scraped together from that primordial soup
then i don't think i want to wake up and see the aftermath of what feels like an eternal loop

but it's so scary to live life like a browning dulux colour swatch
businessperson's rolex watch
vignettes of vague consciousness vitally percieved through a time machine of moments and a swelling kind of grief grieved
for the moments inbetween that are lost and i'm pristine in an ocean of dark marine wondering where in my head my emotions and i have been

i can't ******* remember what i had for breakfast but i can recall that i feel like i've come last
in some kind of riddle where the clues are in a language i don't speak but could read with practice and anguish and the rhyming becoming more linear and fluent but i wish i could tell you what i said's congruent
to this fairytale drowsing that makes me feel alone and i think therefore i'm in a state to atone

i can't wake up
i'm going to throw up
similarly i think that i don't want to show up
i'll see you when i'm better or better yet never but it won't last forever
Onoma May 6
the half-drowsing

eyes of

The City Burner

cleanses all

exit points.
Penne Feb 20
Chin up
What are you looking down on for?
I heard you were the winner of this contest
Why down
When you are already in the up

Your life is as high as the clouds
Tiptoeing on the gold
When every floor shines to you
People latch on you like a magnet
Hoping to leech off some basket of your talent
To me and the eyes of the envy, that is not humility
It is nothing but vanity

You have the neatest work
Organized and logical
Most understandable and desirable
You the cheeriest face and smile
You have the coolest of fiercest lies
You have done the impossible
You have the peaceful of memorable
You have the breath freshing life
You have a simple but satisfying affection
You have somebody willing to sacrifice for you
Best of both worlds connection

You do not have a broken brain
That fluctuates on every thought train
To me, I see rain
Instead of the bow's grains
You do not faint
In world's every little madness added with vain

You stay rooted on your spot
Defending yourself even when the fire's hot
Dare playing forget-me-not
I ask myself everyday
Why cannot I be strong?
Why cannot I be independent?
Why cannot I be more talented?
Why cannot I be clean?
Why cannot I be innocent and still loved?
Why do I keep thinking?
Why cannot I just stop?
Why am I surviving?
Why cannot be like them?
Why cannot I be like you

Always never enough
Improves but fails
Told to be yourself but I am tired of doing both the appropriating and the diasappointing
Always hurt
Always inviting pain
Nothing to gain
With my self pitying
With my self degrading
Demotivating this miserably, hopelessly beating, drowsing heart
As I long stare on

Is it me
Is it you
Is it everybody
That I am crying out for this?
Repeating the celebrity thinking
To prevent sinking
You have to keep sailing in everyone's mingling
To forget what you are actually dancing
What you are living
Until you are completely failing
Because we are all missing something
Then blame it on everything

It is hard to maintain the:
"Just sing and soon everyone will respect you."

— The End —