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Saint Audrey Jul 2018
Casualty: my interest fading
Once waxing moon now seen waning
And I did concede your irksome warning
And watched as the rest played out

So let bygones be gone, fallen out by the side
Of this road, worn down, still restless, keeping straight
Eyes glinting off token little bits of hospitality
Mother nature being so inclined at times

The stress so unnerving, I hardly doubt it
But tension is eased once it comes to acceptance
And I accept in full, finding time to unwind
Winding stretch of lonely road, dotted here and there by
An occasional landmark
Or a lonely tractor pulling behind it
Iron bars, old and rusted
Found in their hold
Bales of hay or
A small little pond
With a bench beside it
Holding initials carved against the grain

With a heart surrounding

As mine beats slower

At last, the sun begins going down

And the moon grows brighter
Even in its state
And my feet move faster
Though my body is withering
I feel this separation growing
As my mind takes flight and leaves me

Behind, in the twisting twilight
And alone, I walk along
ryn Oct 2014
Red
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.

Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.

No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.

Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.

Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.

Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.

It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...

But I see red...
:(
Sam Hawkins Apr 2013
What we have named Fire Escape
(an ordered, angular tangle of ladders and rail)
had made picture geometries in my west window
well-framed and flat--set foreground and background
in two dimensions, as the sun hid,
and my round eye opened.

What we have named Fire Escape
was flaked-paint brown orange, as if
first it had been born of a flame
and then had taken up living as metal--
tempered itself into usefulness,
which I should trust now, in case of the yelling
and the engines.

What we have named Fire Escape
was happy Jungle Jim or Jungle for Jane
for the sparrows I saw this morning
which flitted and wildly played
within, rising up
arched and back again.

Made of the square pairs of ladder rungs--
a tunnel entrance or ducking posts,
or highway bridges to clear;
the birds like small plane, daredevil pilots
each following each, going under.
No sparrow would ever crash.

And what is this I remember now?
How one bird eased its engine and perched there to stay?
As if to offer me, with a little turn of head gesture--
a thank you, for the bread I'd left on the sill? Or to say  
I'd better shut the curtain and make my exit?

Either prideful guess gets me nowhere fast.
Failed even is speaking in any sparrow languages
from my recline stuffed chair; again, but now imagined,
to draw beady eyes to fix on me, telling me much less.

That morning, with the very last sparrow gone,
I remember that nothing in my sight moved,
save an American flag at a distance in the wind,
with its one red-white striped wing
waving toward the cold north,
as the white church spire,
framed in open quadrilaterals,
held its position.
written and posted a few hours before the Boston Marathon Bombing, Monday April 15th, 2013
Smoke Scribe Mar 2018
all poems write themselves, following plans that are drawn only
as the poem goes along, neither leading or following, but
carrying the writer along as first violin, a VIP passenger,
the first viewer, a consultant but not a conductor

a poem is written based on what has happened
a poem is written based on what was hoped to happen
a poem was written based on what could never happen
but is so well imagined that it is more real than if it happened


I willingly tell you I will not tell you which is what, for there is no difference between them for the writer, the first passenger,
though undeniably fully aware of the quality of the ware
that is proffered, plottered or just perchanced

perhaps you are thinking, but of course,
this is the way,
the way of all of us,
the way it has and will be and no
disclaimer needed for no believable claims are made

perhaps
for the weave is oft tight, tight as near-truth, and so well imagined, it wraps the first passenger in a cloak of skin
that actually feels, though cloaks cannot feel,
but belief is easily eased

there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth


Therefore,
my poems are splats and drips.
you make them into paintings that hang
in your own private museum
but authenticated by me as
first viewer,

3/13/18
1:09am
alex welsh Jul 2014
When my cells wont replicate themselves any more,
I'll have to bribe saint Peter on the door
I miss smoking lucky strike
I miss that my cat eased my troubled mind
I miss the weight of the world in my palm
I should have broken Crispin's arms
when I had the chance.
And when the rage that I have saved throws me overboard,
it best weight me down with cannonballs
because I'm a real good swimmer
I had all the awards.
Lucius Furius Jul 2017
It was cold.
Night.
January, I think.
I was wearing long underwear.
I went to the reservoir and played my recorder.
  
A hope I'd been hoping was done.
  
I played for the trees and the fish.
Quiet songs.
They eased my heart.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_014_res_n.MP3 .
She was in love with her captor,
had the appetite of a raptor,
sharp talons slash her deep,
no way up it's much to steep.

I stopped and watched her,
as she eased to the edge,
wondering if she would jump,
my throat tightened into a lump.

Pain is a game,
that is always won,
shame is the same,
each and every one.

Red velvet tears
her face now stained,
syrupy sweet
but so full of pain.
sophie mechaune Nov 2017
The constant conundrum of growth
of learning to question everything you know,
of sifting through your mind and wandering your eyes
to budding ideas that were once below
the surface of your mental garden,
only seeds that had yet to sprout
ideas that were silently planted
until the waters of conversation eased them out.
Yet do not fear your newborn buds
as they reach taller than your familiar stems.
Your garden is free of weeds,
and the new will never choke out
who you've always been.
Nurture your mind with sunlight,
and watch your flowers thrive.
Explore every idea, for
your garden is alive.
inspired by the courtyard of haring hall (ucd)
Lucius Furius Jul 2017
I cried at Field of Dreams.
It wasn't Dad I was thinking of --
it was you --
us, lobbing that ball
back and forth.
  
You blossomed:      Specht Fans 11 …  Tuesday night.
Fireballer Bob Specht struck out 11 and allowed only two hits in leading the BPO Elks to a 4-0 victory over Lee Plumbing.

You were ten.

You threw so hard
my hand burned even with a catcher's mitt and sponge.
  
You stalled;
others caught you.
Age fifteen, and your career was done.
  
You were musical;
played trombone in the marching band.
  
School? You did well,
but were never really exceptional.
You defied conventions,
went to extremes.
  
In college, it wasn't enough to just protest;
you had to join the SDS,
to always be daring the police to arrest you.
  
You took ******, mescaline, speed, *******.
  
You were cynical, negative, moody;
scorned all masks and indirection.
What you offered was a ruthless honesty:
in a fake and superficial world,
no small commodity.
You married --
Justice of the Peace, no friends or family.
Seemed happier.
It didn't last;
you divorced.
  
Talked of suicide, occasionally.
I argued it to be a misunderstanding
of emotions' relativity:
Only the starving understand
the exquisite flavor of plain bread.
  
You wandered.
Work took us farther apart.

You became obsessed with a married woman
who had no intention of leaving her husband.
  
Injured your eye in a car accident.
The doctor prescribed corticosteroids.
  
I fell in love and got married.
You were best man.
  
And then:
P.M., May 20, 1981: A body was discovered in the kitchen of the second floor apartment at 68 High St. by the building's owner, Joseph Albertson. Mr. Albertson positively identified the body as that of Robert Edward Specht, the apartment's leasee.  The deceased had received a gunshot wound to the head. A .25-caliber Beretta revolver registered to the deceased was found one foot from the body. The substantial damage to the face and head, consistent with a very close firing range, the lack of any signs of intrusion or struggle, and the written materials (identified as being in Mr. Specht's handwriting) found next to the body, indicate that the wound was self-inflicted.

You'd left a note: "No hope of finding love. Refuse to live without."

Was it the accident, the drugs
that made you less communicative?
My marriage? Some inner-driven change?
  
Would that I could have eased your pain.
You were thirty-one.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_029_bobby.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Europa Apr 2017
[... I can feel its humble goodness. It's in the pinky shadows that only come out when there's sun. And in the rustling of dry, decaying leaves-- a moment of airy respite 'till they pass through to what's next in their slow lives.]

I see sunshine encapsulated in
The rungs of time's branches--
And I am grateful
For the significance that
Temporary things know.

Oh dramatic beings, today
Let's be eased.
Feel the humming of
Sun striking Earth--
It is the most loving blow.

Remember the orcas and
The petals of spring yet to be.
Of our friends and their laughter...
Remember the roots that
Traverse beneath you and me,
And that constant
Slip of the tide...

Our memories are constant--
Indeed you can remember
What you have yet to see.

Dip your skin in this
Day's glory, and wear it so
For as long as it fits.
Peter J Jul 12
The swimming island.
After everyone had left
She swam out to the island,
and sat there with her
feet freely submerged.
Hands gripping the sides.
Hair wet that tumbled
down her back,
beads of fresh water
ran upon her young thin
goose pimpled skin.
Blood pressure
low to fainting
She rubbed her arms and felt
the warmth of a full sun set.
She waited until the sun disappeared
Then eased back into the lake
And swam back.
#Lakeside stories
B Emess Jul 2018
Someday
You will wake up
And the day will be stretched out before you

Time
Having run through its to-do list
Will have eased to a crawl

You
With all your different acts and words and movements
Will have become the epitome of yourself

And you will inhale each moment deeply
And you will feel each blade of grass beneath your feet
And whispers of tomorrow won’t ever reach your ears

Someday
You will wake up
Cristi Jun 2017
♡♡♡


"TEACHINGS ADVISE AGAINST FORMING ATTACHMENTS."
To avoid it as much as possible;
Nothing or no one is guaranteed to last forever.
One must avoid materialistic ambition and luxurious desires,
Blink and rub away their hungry, dollar sign eyes.
Greed and longing for possessions that are often obtained
To impress people that do not even care about you
For one could never place a numerical value
On the breathtaking

                                              wonde­r

                                              that

                                              is

                                              you.
  

♡♡♡


"ATTACHMENT TO PEOPLE LEADS TO DISAPPOINTMENT."
One cannot rely on another for happiness;
For people may leave you, abandon you, hurt you.
You cannot ever truly know someone's thoughts and feelings;
Whether their ill intentions and snake eyes are hidden well
Behind pearly whites and cold, empty embraces.  
Those who you would gladly endure hardships for,
Bleed, cry, sweat, fight, suffer for,
Could abandon or betray you whenever they choose;
Thus, ultimately

                                              leaving­

                                              you

            ­                                  truly

                                              empty.


♡♡♡


"Y­OU SHOULD FIND HAPPINESS WITHIN YOURSELF."
For you will always be there for you;
A simple guarantee that is overlooked and forgotten
As one's perspective shifts from minimalism to materialism.
Love the way you capture thoughts and ideas,
   The way you intertwine two differing sides of your brain with ease
   Intelligence, creativity, peculiarity and individuality is exercised
   In the imagination of your bewildering, complex mind.
Love the way your physical body safeguards your untamable spirit,
   The way it coats the essence of your being in a protective shell
   Like the undying tenderness each speck of stardust
   Has for the immensely astonishing galaxy that it composes.
Love the way you are able to feel raw, passionate love
   That ****** and tugs at your delicate heart strings
   And gallops down each vertebrae of your spine
   In a jolt so vigorous that your mind, body, and spirit
   Unite to form an explosive feeling that can only be experienced
   When you watch her jaw drop in awe at the beauty that is

                                              within

                                              a

                                              fiery

          ­                                    sunrise.


♡♡♡


I SUBMERGE IN THE INTRICATE BEAUTY THAT SURROUNDS ME.
I become deeply infatuated, captivated, inspired
At the mesmerizing magnificence that constructs a single being.
It may just simply be my tendency to pay attention to detail
As a perfectionist's mind can appreciate small things
Oftentimes timidly, quietly, and from afar,
But nonetheless immensely deep and passionately
To the point where I cannot find words for such beauty;
The most I can do is curl the corners of my mouth upwards
And allow an exhilarated sigh to

                                              escape

                                              my

                                              parted

         ­                                     lips.


♡♡♡


I WANT TO CONTINUE LOVING, UNDERSTANDING, AND CONNECTING.
Hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, personalities, quirks, mannerisms;
Every single aspect of a being who I am blessed to exist with
Sparks a curiosity in me that is unmovable and insatiable.
It gently takes my hand and journeys me through an alluring dance
Of exploration, adoration, and understanding
Spinning and swaying to music that reverberated in our unified souls,
Who's tune and melody sparked and crackled
Magma and fire in our core,
Who's beat and rhythm soothed and eased
Streams of water through our veins
Until we

                                              collapsed

                                              in

                                              the

                                              most

                                              beautiful

                                              way.


♡♡♡


I have never felt so free,

So happy,

So alive.
Bullet Oct 2018
I lived through these worlds
Some I've eased
Some are permanently marked
These years determining
Failure or Success
Directions leave me etch-a-sketching
A destiny at a desk
Make sure that ***** is in the right dress
Before you gain more to lose n' you leave with less

I can't stop thing of
The demons that have
Laid dormant
All the people have
Entered my door
Just to leave dirt on the door mat

People come and go
Nothing lasts forever
Love, lust, n' lost friends
Have no longevity
I'm stuck in this frame of mind due to the gravity
Hopefully one day I'll leave this painted picture
Then life will maybe stop torturing me
I'll be able to have gave it my all

21 dimensions I now have to mention
Too everyone who enters my attention
Tension between me n' reality
I'm tightly strained in the mind
The 22nd might be my last
All it takes is 20 seconds
To lose a life
Doesn't mean I can't write these wrongs
To be right  
Traveling across dimensions
This will be my 22nd
Hope I will be set or
* will be placed
Welcome to my home
Where years determine
Details directing me
Towards these new dimensions
Mohamed Nasir Jun 2018
Alone away from you she gave a smile
At me. Of joys she offered not with guilt;
To freshen rest my aching limbs awhile,
I meekly followed thought I couldn't wilt.
She stood beside me, I lay on the bed,
And faced the floor fearing. But what surprise!
Her hands wandered, softly groans must I've made;
Unashamedly felt so good, I felt nice.
Her strokes softened sinews, muscles less strained;
With oil she eased my rolling hills and fields.
She rubbed, heightened senses, her fingers trained
To massage, how to make the body yeilds.
For life is sweet without secrets to keep;
When hearts afar our love be rooted deep.
This was my one time experience of having a body massage. Once in my neighbouring country Thailand. Although the masseur  was a woman but there was no question of ever wanting to cheat on my wife.
Juhlhaus Feb 9
Mercury expands
As pinched faces are eased and
Flowers remembered
Hints of a thaw.
David Bojay Jan 29
Talking to my GoPro as if it were you
Current truths
Diminish the whirling blues
inside my head where you don’t have a clue

out the zoo with my emotions
In the beginning eased it with some sleep
Because I couldn’t see the reasons for my grief
Out the shadows and the light is brief
What to think?
What to know?

The tension is rigorous
Kept inside a pin
Let it sit and sizzle until it’s smoke

Open the vents, and let it go

To seize a chance for peace
Dismantle the layers of myself
Find you in a strip
A memory I’ll always love
My love just don’t lose grip

But to love is to see you free
A peak I couldn’t see
Relief indeed
Let it bleed
Let it bleed

Let it bleed

Consume the dooms
Swallow the distrust
The other side of the moon

The ending will come soon

Sitting in my room

About to make some chicken....
RKJ Legend Apr 1
Falling in love with you was easy
Everything about you
Your smile, your kindness
Your caring heart
Eased any doubts I had, not about you
But about love and giving my heart away

There are times
when I feel your presence
at my side.
There are times
when I see
your face in a crowd
and I turn around

But that moment when I looked into your eyes
you smiled as wide as the skies.
Yup you did, just like how you are smiling
as you are reading this.
I love you is eight letters long
and so is your name, so think about it.

My patience has no end
when it comes to loving you
and I will wait a lifetime
for you to see the truth

No matter how much time
there is in this life
I’ll think of you
from time to time
and remember you with a smile.
So open your eyes and see
The way our horizons meet

Your smile does so many things
it brightens up my day
Your smile is like a promise
that things will be okay

If my heart could talk,
You would understand how deeply I love you.
But you already know that, don't you?
I see my future in your eyes
And I have faith in what I see

I know that you want  a sign.
For I've already seen the signs,
So  all I ask  is that when you do see the signs,
Would you see the signs as they are?
or would you change your perspective to see the signs differently?

//starfishdiaries #2
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