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Christian Ek Jul 2014
It will no longer be a cycle, you going back to him and me coming back to you.
The chances I gave you were plenty, you’ve drained the last one.
You’ve done everything I told you, you were. You’ve dug your grave and I’m not going with you.
I’m not your stepping stone, your therapist, or the bounce back for your self-esteem.
I wont go back into a tug of war for you, it's worthless now.
Since in return I get only blisters and not some healing hands.
There is someone waiting for me, waiting to receive what you couldn’t see.
and if you come crawling back; I will not let you splinter me again.
Joel A Doetsch Mar 2012
Joel's mole dug a hole
in a grassy knoll....
the mole hit a pole
and started to roll....
he hit a troll
and they smoked the whole bowl
of mind control.  

The troll asked for a toll,
but the mole was on parole.  
Joel's mole has no soul.
This was not written by me...it was written for me on my 20th birthday by my classmates (and professor) during class.   I claimed that "Joel" was not a good rhyming word, and thus this was born.
eF Jul 2017
You dug your own grave.
Now you're upset because it's
Too deep to get out.
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
      overwhelms  unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge


A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace


Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed


The ***** truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
     unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind


An emotionally enslaved  heart
tarries,  marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
     lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless


Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate;  vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake


It's getting harder and harder
   for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
   climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree


  Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp


A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“  
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil


Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas



Jesse Stillwater
June     2018
Notes:                                                                                                          
a friend sent  a link to a deeply thought provoking modern classic 70's song about Vincent Van Gogh and the complexities of imperfection some of us relate .... i'd listened to the words prior but never heard before now.

  Title is last final lyric line from:  "Vincent" (Starry, Starry night) 1971
Writer(s): DON MCLEAN, ENRICO NASCIMBENI,
ROBERTO VECCHIONI
Amy Leigh Nov 2013
Last night I dreamt I dug
a tunnel through the moon
and as she spun around the earth
I used it as my room

I'd sit upon the edge
dangling my feet out over the stars
tossing pebble stones and such
in aim of hitting mars.

© A. Leigh
Advent Oct 2014
i only write in the middle of the night
while the stars watch me
waste ink of blood
dripping from the veins of my brain

i only write in the middle of the night
while the moon guards me
as i write the message of my soul to the universe
solely dug from my heart

and suddenly everything comes back to reality
the sun sets high
illuminating the pitched black sky
and i wonder,
will i ever enjoy the daylight
while carrying the burdens i hold inside



a.t.
King Panda May 2016
rain
mud and grass
common prayer
good weather
good people
art
and umbrella bags
because who wants to
get wet?
unless it’s with you
I could
I would
jump into the lake
for that rock
sew
cleanse
initials made in sharpie
and unclamp
we run
around the park
the afternoon surrounds us
the woman in the bikini
passes
and we laugh
iced tea
decaf coffee
cake without teeth
and that airstream camper
you always wanted
I could live in your
backyard
I could live somewhere
not here
in silver
prostrated
with my back to the
moon
like dead
like a mummy
like a mirror
and life would make sense
life would be beautiful
like this run
with perfect amounts of sweat
and conversation that runs
waves in the sand
and tells the squirrels
goodnight, tractor
see you tomorrow

and the land that billows
is dug up
and chewed
like a goodnight poem
this run with you
takes rest
on my soul
and I ***** my ribs
to take the spring’s
twilight
aroma
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Feeling the box I work in closing in on me during winter’s last gasp,
She has dug in her heals refusing to yield to warmth.
Unmerciful and unrepentant in her bitterness,
she taunts and tortures us all.

Yet, spring birds sing of spring as a lover sings of her man.
The sun struggles to break through the dark grey,
melting away the dim cold
and drabness that surrounds all.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
atptla Mar 2018
Fallen leaves sleep on a lake, sealed with a long forgotten tale.
The heady wind that doesn't let the trees to sleep rules the desolate vale.
Yet, lily-white blossoms, much shinier than arrogant moonlight,
Held their breaths, blinking the shyness, wait on blue philomels' flight.

A poor voice shivers, under the calm water and firm ground,
As to be known by the faltering stars and not to lose his only bound.
Once offered his heart to her white hands hurting with each caress,
But dug it into a fair melody as he was afraid to confess.

In dancing delicacy of a raindrop, his disowned words are hidden,
Has to stay awake, but night is endless and the morning is forbidden.
Wraps around his neck with cold fingers, bereavement fed by devious dismay,
Bereft of remedy, he watches his asunder soul's draining away.
Be it Song, or Bile, or Predicament
The Way you carry your Fortunes are Good
Try to Lend some Hands; Then you would relent
How many you missed in your Neighbourhood
Photos alone do not Memories make;
Nor Lone Medals hung to promote your Fame
But that - within YOU - which Dad has long-taught
Was always the Nature etched on your Name
And the Name that Was, Is, and Forevermore
Beyond the Skin tattooed with Thoughts demure
He is the HERO; Real, and to the Core,
Promises Divine in Friendship so Pure.
You are more than you know. And always has been
That Light from the Sun is dug from Within.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
King Panda Mar 2016
soon I found
where you wrote those words
on the back of your hand
soon I found
the black planet
where you reside
soon I found
a child’s sickness
and the comfort it takes
to make one whole
soon I found
that you went with him
with a Salisbury steak
and a name tag that read
husband
soon I found a hole
dug by a badger
I donned its claws with my fingers
I carved a toilet in the corner
I drew your face on the ceiling
soon I found
I was an animal
a boy
alone
soon I found
I was never to be conceived
I was never without legs and feet
I was never meant to
climb out of the black star
soon I found
I would be without you
forever
JaxSpade Aug 2018
You left me to the ground
And took my skin
Along with the evidence
Of us

You fled
And left me skinny
An old man
Robbed of many years
Sacrificed

I am bones

Just a skeleton
Without a heart
That's somewhere
Out of me
Apart from any lungs

I am empty
And I won't breathe
I don't feel anything
Since the day you dug my grave

You left me to the ground
Then took my skin
And that's when I became
A skeleton
Of what to Think, and Thought be Thought-of-Thoughts
Equalling those Clouds no-one tried to reach
And with just a Model-of-the-Board besought
Belated Nations took you to beseech
Parsley that in Sick Reference apply
To One dug-out from Humble Electric
Honour is his beyond the Scythe comply
And carry his Image on so frantic
That is my Code acquired late at War
Knowing the Outcome of this Useless Battle
As that Spartan King drew his Sword at fore
Charged his Army; And the Persian, wrangle.
It's News to me, if I can Speak the Truth
If only I Avoid what seems Un-Couth.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Robin Lemmen Nov 2018
You leave pavements ******
And graves dug but without bodies
Learning tricks of manipulation
You know how to wrap us around
The small of your finger
With bloodshot eyes and a mouth
Full of sweetened poison
You kiss girls and leave them hungry
Foolishly hoping that your touch
Just might heal them
You leave pavements cracked
So we are all left skipping  
Hoping to save your back
Isn't love unkindly blind?
Lazhar Bouazzi Oct 2018
The Don knew well
That the ****
He raised
Was not on the mill
That  sobbed on the hill.

So with his quill,
He dug a tunnel
In his encampment.

©LazharBouazzi, 10 September, 2018
Bison Mar 2016
Within the flower exists peace
Within our hours seek the heat
These bricks will crumble
Those words will tumble
Like water in the falls
Lonely wolf calls
I'm so tired of being alone
You've been gone for far too long
Honey, come home

All this time I've been waiting
These days, so lonesome with wasting
The flash of you that illuminates the room
My darkness will be broken soon

Fearless and free, the day you left me
A single petal sat, cool and settled
Fearless and free, the day you left me
Roots dug in deep, heart propelling your wings to beat

Inverse temples reside in my heaving chest
Distorted order rises from your best
Call to arms those little wonders
Let 'em teach us how to thunder
Another rewrite. Pay no mind.
ryn Dec 2014
It was those blue eyes, sparkling with words
I dreamt about reading but believed it impossible
Too beautiful to be seen with nuclear nerds
In my breakable beaker, you'd never be soluble.

A mismatched juxtaposition, atom for atom.
Even if I permutate, molecule by molecule.
We could never have struck stable equilibrium,
I could never escape the premise of ridicule.

Spent too much time postulating the unknown
Spent far too long balancing tricky equations
Head dug too deep to realise a factor that had grown
An external variable that had encroached with similar intentions.


My hand slipped from the scale when your finger touched my own
I forgot the words "controlled reaction", momentarily
Seeing goosebumps on your skin, and other bumps now shown
I gently pushed your wayward hair behind your ear, daringly

A moment frozen in the range of sub-zeroes
Dare I forgo the mandatory steps and arrive at a conclusion?
If I do I'd garner the title, "the nerdiest of all heroes!"
My "spidey-sense" failed me this time, and awarded me with a "fist-meet-face" reaction!

Happened in a blur, nanoseconds that sang in mock.
What was it that left me in a twirl?
Propped myself up to see the wrath of a crimson-faced ****.
All fists, no brains who yelled, "Hands off my girl!"


All this hilarious yet passionately painful hullabaloo
Let me drop the beaker of sodium in the zinc basin
Forgetting not to get it wet, the moment, clearly now unglued
When suddenly, "BOOM" it sounded like a pending cremation

Jocks, and nerds, and screaming cheerleaders
Hit the ground like a lunchtime scene from downtown Baghdad
And Blondie whispers in my ear, like a gypsy mind reader
"Maybe we should cool it, for I am in love with another lad"

Her words hit home and burned like The Lindenburg on fire
Amidst the fracas, cracked voice stammered to mask my bruised latent ego
"Nothing improper... Just an attempt to save your locks from the Bunsen burner
Science is my only love, just so you know"

Thanked God for my eyes and the need for correction lenses
Those thick convexes made it easy to not reveal
Steadied my frames and packed in hasty pretences
Accusing eyes followed as I exited the room with tears concealed...


Pieter Meyer
**ryn
You may have read this before as it is a repost of my collaboration with the witty and incredible Pieter Meyer. He seemed to have gone missing, along with the poem. So here it is... Hope you enjoy it
Jim Davis May 2017
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep
In a similar way as his father of one
And actually, also my father did too
Of those bitter, big cancer scourges
Which always come in unexpected
In this short enough life, a bit early

I've known him ever since first, when
We were knee high to Dad's shotgun
Throughout our small neighborhood
We would all roam to see and look
For ***** toads and such other fun
Without any known end in our sights

We often, came all together, at once
In his parent's, little Clovis back yard
In the under ground, in our deep dug
Wild little clubhouse of our new pride
Approved by our jealous Dad's stare
Made all by ourselves, with great care

Eight by eight, with three feet of deep
Shagged carpet floors, walls around
And places to hide stuff with those
**** magazines we wished to remain
Unseen by our parents, although they
Surely lived through similar wild times

Black lights , fluorescent mod posters
Fans to cool, while there in the deep
Kept the place comfy, from several
Hot summers in New Mexico's heat
Staying nights over, in conspiracy we
Came colluding, while hoping no fame

This place was our place, of known
Refuge from all of the big crazy, with
Frightening world still yet to come
Giving us our youngest freedoms
And also so much being in trouble
As kinda neighborhood hoodlums

Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower
One of us in care would climb
With binoculars to see the dark night
With our pair of walkie talkies held
Warn the others, carousing around
Of any plight, in appearing headlights

Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith
My other brother by another,  Buddy
Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris
One other member, as second cousin
Who actually, was my very first kiss
When it was hard to aim, lips to miss

All bound as one, by made up signs
And part of something called PSO
Which, if you don't know well, what it
Truly means, then you were definitely
Not a part of the so very high bliss
Which we suffered through so often

Kevan's true nature is clearly proven
Finally, most completely, at his end
In the nature of his wonderful loving
All his family, who also so loved him
And all those other parties to trouble
Who also so loved, really all of him

©  2017 Jim Davis
Kevan passed away over a year ago.  I just wrote the poem recently.
Rowan Deysel Mar 2016
Fresh from the kennels. A whole world away.  
Companion conversion for a young castaway.  
A darling of distraction with irrational fears.
The clumsiest canine with ever aware ears.
Guardian of gourmet. Suspect of all sounds.
He'll catch himself someday, spinning around.
A tug of war here. A muddy mess there.
A lick to the face of the humans in his care.
How thrilled his tail and tremendous his teeth.
How dug up the planet from paw underneath.
The running for fun. The claiming of trees.
The car window ride along - face full of breeze.

--------------------------------------------------------

But now he's a master of "Stay!".
His eagle ears succumbing to gravity's sway.
Napping much more, barking much less.
Now rarer the cuddle, the clean, the caress.
Patch protector. Owner of no debts.
A veteran of various villainous vets.
Birds as trivial as the tennis ball is far.
Eyes now as hazy as the indistinguishable stars.
A howl at the moon. A loosening tooth.
An ode to memories of a modest youth.
They still love this pup. He still loves them back.
May he long be remembered as he faces the black.
peaseblossoms Aug 2018
so stung with self pity
I realize I cannot really Write
anything if i haven't lived. and
i Haven't. because when i choose

Tragedy it is always in the name of quiet.
My silence tramples down the jungle grass,
And in the smudge of summer I keep
Everything to myself. I am still
clenching all my yellow chips
with tight fists. six weak suns
bite through both palms. and i Bleed,
and am proud of the blood. it's so ****** but

I want to be brave at being bad,
To be brave so bad it breaks me, but
i'm not brave or bad or breaking.
i'm just aimless with my aching, and
the Older I Get, the Harder That Is
To Hide. my life crusts over lonely and
i'm limp inside its husk. i really thought

I could make something beautiful of
the way i shake my shadow off, huh. and steal
that star and eat it too. well the joke's
on me. I have turned my air to arrows
and struck myself before anyone else could.
and if that's not the way it works,
then someone ******* show me so.
*isolates myself from everything i want and everyone i love bc im embarrassed, afraid, avoidant, unbloomed, etc* *dies anyways*
Waldo Apr 2017
I’ve chosen to walk
A lonely road
Where ravens squawk
As time erodes
Where the devil talks
To me in codes

I walk along
A dark wooded path
Where the nights are long
And I face Satan's wraith
Everything feels wrong
There's no turning back

The more I wander
The more I stray
More time to squander
The days away
So much time to ponder
The end of days

Darkness is falling
The Earth is dying
The Devil's calling
The news is lying
It's all so appalling
There's no denying

This path I roam
Is filled with sorrows
Nowhere feels home
Too many tomorrows
Too Many poems
Spreading my woes

The Devil follows
He tempts my soul
But my soul is hollow
So still I stroll
This pain I swallow
And it takes its toll

I can not save
This doomed planet
We've dug our grave
Satan's enchantment
Has made us slaves
Bloodshed is rampant

And when we crumble
I'll shed no tears
The devil mumbles
In our ears
So we stumble
Year after year
As the end draws near
Kara Jean Mar 2017
You stabbed me
Dug it in deep
I licked the knife as I bleed
You held my head up right only to see
A broken me
You, a destroyed personality
We are complete
Complete
Complete insanity
Insanity
Is everything
You feed off my sexuality
Yet the nightmares seem to be hiding

Hiding

From

Me
Akemi Oct 2018
blind bliss
the empty contour of yesterday
turns on itself

jets to oblivion
paper streams celebrate
the century’s end

thus piled
at the foot of the terminal
a mound of teeth

and convalescence in search of illness.
all the hollow men
search for gold
in the horizon

new markets for a growth
that reward the richest

insatiable thirst to fill what cannot be filled.

//

to survive under capitalism
the bourgeoisie must make a profit
through the exploitation of new resources, labourers and markets
the opening of new industries
which attract further investors
until the industry becomes bloated
and competition drives the price of the commodities they produce so low
that the market is flooded with too many goods for consumers to purchase

in this irrational excess
artificial scarcity is deployed
which amounts to the destruction of commodities
like the pouring of butter into a pit in the ghettos of britain
as starving families watch without comprehension
because its more economically viable to destroy what can't be sold
than to give it away
because then where would your consumers be?

we live in a world of abundance
that is kept from us
for the sake of profit

because once a commodity is free, it's worthless
and so are we
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