Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Stephen E Yocum Jun 2017
"Thirty plus years in a
loving happy marriage,
My husband taken
by long illness
and sad ending.

Five years companionless
loneliness endured,
Now a naked man
is in my shower,
I can hear him softly
singing."

Love and companionship
can come at any age.
Rendering you both
whole and renewed again.
One line spoken by a lady
friend that caught my attention,
truth in it's meaning undeniable
and empowering. Love can come
at any age. I know all this cause
I'm the guy in the shower.
L B Aug 2018
Bent
Near to breaking
by her burden
of fruit, swollen with seed
In that thrashing by wind
Bearing down on the sun
in her labor—
of  Need
to bear
the pain
to bring
her yield
to his hands—
her harvest
of warm juicy softness


Gone—
the upright
reach of untouchable spring
When stems, stern and smooth
wore a lace-beaded bodice of bloom
of coral chiffon
First leaves
a scarf
with a fringe of lime green
wrapping her gifted and lean
to the buzzing

She was lighter than dew
to the amateur insects
smeared with her

Her only accessory--
a robin
They had left
as evidence
they had ravaged
its song


Now broken and leaking
more damage endured  
Ripe fruit in rough hands
He leans against limbs
by his weight sternly pressed  
so suffused in the fragrance
of peach intoxicants
which he will have--
with ever-deeper shove
of his seed
He is lost to his lust
He is forcing his need
to sink his steak
into another year's beauty

asserting his claim over and over again
of that lost and ancient bounty
Many edits 8-16-18.
Hadiy Syakir Oct 2017
Kudos to Kaepernick.

I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those that can't simply put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you doesn't mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.

Kudos to Kaepernick.
Funny how Someone can
Asunder a heart of thine
And thou still dost adore them
With all thy riven smithereens

My love, please come to me,
In my life thou dost linger
A love from my sweet past
That beamed than many a star

My love, long have I endured
A heart sundered by love
Though wherever  I wander
Thy sweet love I still dost crave.

Oh my love, come back to me
So we may pick these riven pieces
That like sea waters scattered be
And I'll smoother thee with kisses

Together we'll never sunder
For my love will be thy love
Beaming so bright forevermore
As thy  love will be my love

Blissfully we'll dwell ever after
Like twinkling stars in galaxies
With our enchanted passion
Effulgently lingering in perpetuity.
#Love #Stars #galaxies #infinite love
Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.

And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.

And ****!
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! -- are put on hold!
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.

For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.

No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks' porcelain.
Quinn's is pub in Camden. Armitage Shanks a ****** & toilet manufacturer.
King Panda Nov 2015
you follow me everywhere
little girl wet with tears
kissed and shut in the garage
with that yippy dog and
a box of fruit rollups
to rip and obsess
to **** at your heels
driven into the dirt
my popper princess
you've endured enough
slay Sep 2018
Pleasure remains, but so does the pain, I’m going insane

Are you talking to me? Nah, I don’t think so
Are you asking me if I am mad at the world?
Well I’ll have to think, I guess, maybe? I know!
But I really can’t hear you, I have in headphones
Can we take a break? Cause I gotta smoke
Yes, and each one, it is killing me slow
Well technically fast,
E-R the better
I’d love to be deader than how I already feel in my guts on the inside
Black tar suffocating the fluids inside of my spine —
*****, you are a dime

Pleasure remains, but so does the pain, I’m going insane

“Why you so guarded?” Can’t get this enough
Please shut the **** up, my feelings are stuck
I can’t get enough of the **** from the plug
To put me in a coma from smoking too much
Every time I come thru, I water his buds
He got that good good
that fefe
That neek neek
Good gas got me prerolling
His blunts for the morning
When I'm not high, I'm boring
It's my niche through the torment
To numb all external stimulation endured on my journey
In the basement of a haunted house with all Windows boarded

I'm lonely!
Hopelessly, truthfully, desparingly torn between
Extending my warmth or further retreating
I just wanna die without leaving my momma cleaning
The mess of myself all cold and depleting, and
Soaking the carpet to live or to be in.
Beside myself now, oh, how ******* convenient.
The whispers of a woman in a moment once fleeting , but
That won't be me, will it?
Someone make me see different!
One of the versions of myself that I live with, because
I am infinite.
Still I'm human, I have limits
I could still push myself further than what im currently doing,

WHAT AM I PROVING?
i just wrote this *** imstill working on it
Avary Jun 2018
it's another early AM when salt tears splash my face,
they sting, but they are daisies compared to the swords I have endured with you.
it's almost half a year since you took what was not yours to take,
with your mumbled excuses and your dismissive gestures.
i brace myself, the pain looms again, i shout at it to GO AWAY,
the reminder of what you did, but it is a pain that paracetomal will not subside, because the pain is a memory;
the increasing anxiety, the thought of you inside of me when i did not want you to be there.
GO AWAY.
patty m Apr 15
Notre Dame is burning to the ground
people are sobbing in the streets
all around the world.
How helplessly we watch  
as you become engulfed in flame.  
You endured everything,
the French Revolution and two world wars..  
standing as a beacon of Christianity and history
for 850 years.
Now the bones of your
cathedral lie fragile,  
as angels cry for the loss
of your majesty;
My heart too burns in anguish,
this Monday after Palm Sunday.
How beautifully you held your cross aloft
almost touching heaven with it's gleaming.
Brian Oarr Jan 2013
To ghosts which walk about our imagination,
we have surrendered counsel, yielded consolation.
They are the souls of the might-have-been,
kindred brethren yoked to our liquid center,
who've never endured the pain of intelligence,
never walked the bed-of-coals of perception,
yet, they have wisdom nestled on ethereal neurons.  

To semaphores which count a poet's unused resources,
written in the higher code of life's metaphor,
iteratively substituting words to distill a truth,
a single universal life experience upon which to dwell,
all taken from myriad axioms of cerebral ecstasy.
This is writing, confrere, and you have tasted it, as well.
We are craftsmen in the medium of language,
poets following the involuntary way.
Written for a talented poet unsure of her footing.

"One whose name was writ in water" is the epitaph that John Keats requested be placed upon his gravestone.
Alex McQuate May 2018
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
zebra Dec 2018
i like it ickity split
mad to exceed the world
in dark dreams ******

to evoke blood wet mouths
insertions paradise of fluorescents
in a dark aperture

her pudenda
a rolling hill
gaudy wound like a smash mouth crying
split torn tearing, pink estuary
for gluttonies' joyride
that can hardly be endured
twisted tongue spice melts and glitters raw

the sheets soaked through
matted hair in saliva
blood and eggs
the screams of monsters rapture

oh feral abandon
every thing else a toil

winged *******
hell toys for mama
like heaven cant know

his *****
like hanging bats

Nagasaki goes off in her ***
bodies; quake in silence
the bedroom; a chaotic bathroom
tulips shrill flutter
gulp and swallow milks flame
rosy welts laughing
flushing ******'s

shoved urns
all spilled libations
touching and *******
crimson **** runnels
in bathhouse foam
down the drain
to earthen bowels din
where the dead push up daisies

i am the worm in the fruit
SE Reimer Sep 2013
Beside His still waters,
He leads me I'm told,
From mountains of triumph,
To valleys below.

Yet each river I walk,
Cool waters so sweet,
Flows to an ocean,
Churning and deep.

It's mouth opens wide,
Like a traitorous friend,
Emotions poured out,
It feels like the end.

Fresh swallowed by salty,
As in life so endured;
Anguish consuming,
Joy flooded by tears.

Yet through my distress,
In lesson replete, for
There’s growth at the mingling,
Of bitter and sweet.

His sunshine and rain,
My weakness unseats.
His springtime and harvest,
His plan He completes.

And its here that I realize,
There’s no end to His will;
For whether ocean or river,
They are His waters, still.
~

post script.

written in a very dark period of our lives, while still reeling from the loss of a son, this simple muse was not in itself an answer, but rather a small piece of a much larger truth, one a guy named Job came to realize eons before i...   simply stated, i do not hold the keys, nor is it even mine to claim i should be able to understand the ways of my creator.
Carter Ginter Mar 2015
Cold white layers pile over the grey concrete
I did not expect the storm but I
Needed to face the journey
Someday
We knew it could not last forever

And in that moment
An accident in my vision,
Maybe the music screaming into my ear
Distracted me from the obvious truth that lie
Just through the windowpane
Leading to a collision straight into reality

Your words, the concrete divider
That hit hard enough to take deep damage
Yet not hard enough to stop me from moving forward
The unexpected truth that came at the least expected moment
My ignorance overlooked the obvious signs
That i could not stay safe forever
Not at the speed we drove..

My skin hugged my knuckles tightly
Enough to match the descending snow
As I knew from the first swerve
Your first word
That inevitable fate
I surely faced
Death loomed close in my mind

But I drove on
Grabbed the wheel and forced my way through
The place where I felt nearest to the grave
Until I reached a safe enough space to see for myself
Just how much damage I endured

And, like my car,
I am totaled
Broken into pieces that cannot be reframed
Some lost at the point of collision
Others gradually passing over time
And some still holding on

In the eyes of an astonished mechanic
The car shouldn't even start
And according to everyone else
I should be dead
But I'm not

And though neither the car
Or my own life will ever fully
return to their original condition
We still drive on
Moving forward on the unpredictable
Icy
Deadly
Highway of life
I crashed my car on the highway while driving home from my then-girlfriend's town. I realize now that the accident resembles our break up that came a few weeks after. Earth-shattering, unexpected, but noticeable without distractions.
Your Clouds, judged be it pickled or disdain
Have mostly trained your canaries to think
Whether to ruffle more Feathers; Then feign
Those Truest Notes dipped; And begroom your Mink
For who could solve what your Tampered Mind spies
Then translates such Harvest for a Desert
To Good Sense cheer; From Truth becomes a Lie
With Random Calls ring your Body to advert
And whilst you do, any Cause to forget
Those Taped Pioneers who endured your Phase
Pray for your Interview; And chance to beget
Which Startled Sweets was the Sweetest at base.
Yet still Occupied to that Video owned
Belittle what Possum's Cry now reknowned.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2018
Calamitous collapse of structure forged
With steel and concrete built for time,
Since Roman times a formula endured
With engineers additional design.
Why, then, did this structure fail,
Did mortar crack, did reinforcing strong,
Shear and plummet in an instants time
To crush and doom this bridges song.

In teeming rain a  silence hung
Where watchers gaped in stunned awe,
A magnitude of devastation lay
Pulverized in valley floor.
Astonishing this expanse of space
Where seconds past, huge edifice,
Imbued with its’ charge of lives
Unknowingly to meet abyss.

Innocence has lost its’ life
Blame resounds around the room
Someone shall pay the price
For negligence in causing doom.
Truth be told it’s shared by all
For Italy has lagged behind
Cost cutting infrastructures’ purse
Because of economic bind.

Time to reassess the plan
Time to weep and bury dead,
Clear the rubble from the land
Rebuild well then forge ahead.
Blame not the engineer
Nor the man who drew design,
Blame not the hardhat
Who poured the concrete in the line.

Reassign the budget spend
To infrastructure, pay its share
For sentiment is running hot
To axe the fool who pares the fare.

M.
Storeman
Civil Infrastructure
Hamilton, NEW ZEALAND
This calamity is already impacting on construction projects and future design , cost and planning, worldwide. Risk is, very much, a major perilous factor in bidding and negotiation in the relationship between an infrastructure provider and buyer.
Esther Krenzin Aug 2018
A little girl danced to a song
her world small and nothing wrong
And in that instant she knew that she
a dancer she would always be
Her dream since the tender age of five
she knew that she must work and strive
Stumbling, falling, she fell to the ground
hurting herself severely she found
Years later it was all just a dream
everything went back to normal it seemed
And then one day she hurt it again
but still she pushed on and didn't let it win.

For long months she endured and toiled
the pain refusing to be foiled
They all tried to make it heal
but it wouldn't, and her fate it sealed
Keeping it hidden from everyone close
even the ones she loved the most
For she was scared and very angry
didn't want to lose her dream you see
When it was all too much to shoulder
she caved in and the world turned colder.

They told her she would have to quite
her heart a candle no longer lit
She stopped breathing as the world froze
blinking numbly she arose
Sitting backstage as her music played
mutely staring as the future was made
And then the music ended
and all the dancers ascended
As she sat thinking, "is this real?"
"Why God? I just want it to heal."
Tears frozen in her eyes
as she desperately wished it was lies
Picking up a flower from the floor
all that was left of what was before.

Holding herself alone at night
the crying girl a broken sight
Losing her dream was the hardest thing
her voice she found no longer sang
What would she do now that its gone?
a uncaring façade she would have to don
All that was left was memories
she wished the unending pain would just cease
The poor little girl learned to soon
that the world was harsh and full of gloom
The hardened girl still remembers
a life she had, now ashes and embers.

She'll never forget but she will let go
telling her precious dream farewell
To this day it still hurts
but she's stronger now when it wont desert
I know this girl very deeply
because you see
its really
me.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
The bravest thing I've ever done, is continuing to live when I wanted to die.
The hardest thing I've ever done, is telling my precious dream goodbye.
Carter Ginter May 2013
It's a shame to see someone reach a moment when everything is so overwhelming that they'd prefer to cease their breathing  than to feel it for another second.

It's even worse to understand that the only time you actually see it is after a blade or a bottle of pills; or maybe a gun or some rope.

You only know it when you read the scrawled out goodbyes of the quiet girl who seemed to have everything right in life.
But still you never truly know.
You never truly feel her pain.

This is for the ones who couldn't make it.
For the ones who had it hard and couldn't push on.
Those who fought with everything they had until there was nothing left.
The ones who felt they were never good enough, or that no one cared.
And for the ones who were never given a chance.

I'm sorry for the hate you endured, the pain you felt, and the people who didn't see. Or those who chose not to.

I'm sorry for the moments when all that was holding you back was a song, or a band, instead of a loving hand.

I'm sorry we couldn't be there.
You are not forgotten.
We as human beings don't learn well from things. But maybe we can see and understand, as a whole, that things need to change. Society is ruining the lives of the people around it. Suicide is a serious issue and it's ever growing. How many people will it take, how many lives does it take, to finally bring forth some change?
R.I.P. to all those who have brought their own deaths.
I feel great sorrow for anyone who it has affected.
And I'm here for anyone who may be struggling.
Megan Jones Sep 2015
“Put pressure on it, it needs more pressure”
Holding your wounds shut
That senseless force is what took you away
Pressure- to be... whilst not desiring to be
You saw the clouds moving in greyscale
I saw the hills below scattered in shades of green,
Cavernous, shadowed, cryptic, familiar-

We were advised to go as the crow flies
I cried to a nameless God that your crow’s feet
Were from insurmountable happiness, not the pressures endured
I’ve forgotten much since the storm some-178 weeks ago
Though my body remembers yours over and over again
My skin has yours imprinted, correlated
Forged into one point on the axis between here and there
You the X, I the Y

The Earth crept between the crevices, curling
Through the distance between the Right radius and ulna
Elbows breaking knuckles, blood remains to be spilt
Blood doesn’t connect, if anything it merely separates

Scarecrows don’t help much when the crops won’t grow this year
Ants crawled out of the barrel of a shotgun
Observing the process of cleaning bones after tragedy

Follow the moss to find your way North with no direction-
Sometimes on the other side it’s not greener,
It’s more terrifying than ever before
Terrain untouched, unspoiled, sacred-

Climb up the trees with me, find your quiet
We won’t carve our names but we’ll find our niche
You’ll have quills and I’ll have armor
Not even the thought of stolen arrows,
Lost time through distance,
Or perhaps a slew of chemical imbalances
Can reach us up here
I chose to glue your pieces back together with mud and straw
Taken from the fallen, the loved and now distant memories

You may be an abandoned military base offshore
What was once used by many-
Witnesses life again, life of a different kind
The vegetation will ease its way into the cracks
Constructed when the foundation began to decay
It has a beauty of its own, one of self-sustainment
An everlasting beauty that connects itself
To the surrounding extravagance, often times ignored,
Death isn’t the only way to be forged into nature, remembered

Fear doesn’t always win, nor death do us part so soon
I hope your skin and bones remember before the end
Next page