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Madeline Aug 2018
i am traces of my mother
i have the power
to move mountains
and create new life

with each kiss
she gave me
seeds were planted
she told me that
flowers go with green

for we both have
green eyes of envy
don't let it control you
my dear

for green eyes can be
filled with jealousy
and hate
alluring but dangerous

allow these flowers
to keep you humble
she says
remember who you are
Danielle Rose Dec 2012
Compound eyes
Astonishing spectacles
Clairvoyant views from above
Wings glistening in the light of the sun

Buzzing long bodied mystical stories
Dragon's breath of spiritual eloquence
Releasing the bugs eating away at conscience
Skeletal spine of an egoless monk
whispering harmoniously the simple remedies
of cleansing thought

My snake doctor
Quick witted unmasker
your view 360 degrees
Focusing on the movement
and pesky mosquitos that feast
That leave us scratching our heads

I look on so enviously
at Lady Dragonfly
as she hovers angelically
In an eternal sky

It saddens me that the great one's lives are
always cut too short
but her legend lives on timelessly
Dating way back to Permian    period
Mymai Yuan Sep 2010
All my life I’ve watched them dance,
Swing and dip and sway
Rustle and nod, so fresh and sweet

The young ladies skirts are
All decorated with beautiful, delicate lace-like veins
Threaded through carefully,
Or sprawled decoratively

Some ladies are full and round
Frail and graceful
Or pointed and elegant
But all dance divinely.

Their skirts are
Sprayed with a pinch of cologne
Some smell too strong,
Are barely there
Or smell perfectly lovely
Yet all are carried off with the melody of the wind.

Stick-like creatures climb up and down
Our dance floor,
Picking one of us off our dance floor
And leave us lying on an eerily still ground.

I’m just a skinny bud
Pale-green, like all other buds
Yet I’m shamefully paler and skinnier
I notice a pale white spot beside me

Some time has passed.
The early-budding young dancers
And their pink flowers have wilted
To a strange orange color
Turning brown
Before falling to the still ground

It’s become my time.
My thin, curled frame has changed
Fanning out and my skirts darkening an enviable green
A deep, rich green with its edges colorless
So the sunlight can
Tint it a merry gold
The lace-like veins are fine and soft
Stitched to make an almost symmetrical pattern

The white spot beside me has blossomed to be
My pretty, pink flower
Soft against my skin
With a sweet, alluring fragrance
Enveloping my pointy-edged but round frame

It’s become my time
To dance as the wind conducts
Never-ceasing

The melody of the wind whispers
We lean gently, softly
The music caresses me
Sunrays glowing

The tune of the wind picks up
We rustle and nod
The music embraces me
Sunshine kissing

The beat of the wind crescendos
We dip and sway
The music rushes around my waist
Increasing the velocity of my dancing

The chorus of the wind starts
We swing and twirl
Our dance floor swings to and fro
The music whips my skirts
The last rays of sunshine start to leave us.

The orchestra of the wind erupts
We joyfully prance and wildly flutter
The dance floor shudders violently
The echoes of the thundering cymbals excite us
Far-away spotlights of silvery purple pierce the dark sky
Fat, watery droplets pour
Trembling on our skin

The music holds me a welcome prisoner
All I can do is dance, dance, dance.
The Sun has disappeared from the sky
But is in our hearts right now

The fat droplets hang on the tip of my dress
And the sun glow them rainbow
Making me sparkle and shine
As I dance to my hearts content.
Rustling, whistling, dipping, swaying and swinging
My beautiful green dress

When all around us is dark,
And they’re no parties tonight,
We yawn and tuck in our skirts
While the dance floor rocks us to sleep.

When we wake we dance again.
This dance never seems to end
As the sun says hello,
And the sun says goodbye.

I see the pale-green buds watching us enviously
Watching me, with my rosy-petal jewel
As I watch the azure-blue patches of ceiling

Many sunsets and sunrises have past.
The whipping of my skirts are loosening
The energy of my hips are fading
My green skirt is getting old, ever so old
Its fringes turning an odd yellow-orange
Dancing has become wearisome
The dress slowly turns an ugly brown, with specks of yellow-green
My flower-jewel has turned brown,
And flown away with the music in the wind
Many of my friends have fallen from our dance floor
To rest finally in a beautiful sleep
We’ve all danced for too long and are tired
But I keep holding tight.
I have but one last dance to do.

I see the buds still watching me enviously
Surprised, I notice they’ve gotten fatter.
When blinded by youth and happiness
It was hard to remember I was ever one of them
But I remember now, I do.
I remember so clearly now that my time has come
To pick up my skirts
And silently fall…
So I dance to them my story
As I have danced to you mine.
mymaimonkey
A selfish boy, a wise boy, a fearful boy once said...
"Love is a cruel chemical trick"

A hope filled girl, a foolish girl, a stubborn girl said back...
"You are clueless,
or selfish,
or immature.
Unaware of anything other than your own joys and struggles.
Never aware of the shirt from anothers back,
only aware of the poorly fitting nature of it on your body.
Accustomed to the graciousness of the naive and hopeful.
Bitter, sarcastic, reclused and estranged.
Innately, enviously attracted to light.
To those who ridiculously obsess over love,
who believe beyond reason
in the good in others,
in the good in you."
We ambled the streets of Harare
Meandering aimlessly
Fleeting past wide-eyes scanning us enviously
Hand in hand we walked into the restaurant
Leisurely on Second Street
Our hunger awakened
Our appetites heightened
At almost closing time
With no one in overtime mode
A signal that here we could only dine on another day


Joina City was our next stop
Up the lift right to the top
'Closed' it read at the coffee shop
Into the nearest chair I went flop!
Though hungry, we gabbed non-stop
By and by we regarded the clock
It chimed 8 o'clock
And sadly, it was time to go home

Busy and noisy
Were the streets of Harare
Jabbering crowds, kombis hooting
Hawkers, vendors or is it hustlers now -
Calling for buyers or just huddled to pass time
No chill in Harare
Picturesque like a dream
Surreal…
Hand in hand we dawdled
In despair for a hot meal

In the shimmering distance
Like a mirage in the desert
The neon lights read
'Creamy Inn'
Something to calm our rambling bellies
At last…
Nippy evening air hit our souls
'Ice-cream tastes better at night'
I said
'I can't believe I'm having ice-cream'
He said
We frolicked
Hand in hand we danced past faces painted with adoration
'What a handsome lover!'
They probably thought:
My delectable younger brother
Wrote this after one of my visits to Harare, Zimbabwe in 2017.
Ben Dec 2013
I...
     think...
                 I...
                      like...
                              
crazily chasing concocted crushes
however hasty high hopes
earnestly entangled erstwhile enthusiasm
left languishing limp lethargic
suddenly soundless stupidly selfish
every emotion enviously expectant
an abject apology absent

purposeful pleasure purportedly posed
unearthed unhealthy ungainly uncertainties
devouring devotion disgracing dogma
an accident awaiting arrival
Eric Roeber Feb 2016
Lettuce is love, lettuce is life.
You walked up to McDonald's and ordered a mcdouble
I was behind you in line, looking for some trouble
I said, "excuse me sir, you know mcdoubles don't have lettuce, right?"
He said, "yes, but I can't eat lettuce at this time of night"
I was getting angry at this point, not gonna lie
I was like, "come on buddy give it a try"
He started backing away, a little intimidated
The farther away he went, the more I felt the hatred
How can he not want lettuce?
This dude's real close to getting fought
The cashier interrupted my thought
"I can get who's next in line"
I said, "cool, I'll take a McChicken, it's a bite of heaven
Actually I take that back, I want eleven"
You already know i didn't buy them for the chicken
I bought them for the lettuce, it's tasty finger lickin'
The cashier says "is that all I can get you tonight?"
I turned back to her said "naw, gimme a medium Sprite"
Got my drink and my McChickens, then tried find this guy to fight
He's at a table munching on his mcdouble by himself
I caught him looking enviously at my McChicken, lettuce spewing out health
I sat down at the booth beside him
Told him how I despise him
For not getting lettuce, how could one be so arrogant?
I threw a punch to his face hard enough to leave a dent
He yelled out in pain, tryna run away
The cashier notified me that the police were on their way
My fate was inevitable, but I did it for lettuce
It's been 3 years now, been locked up ever since
Lettuce makes me happier than ever, it's my only friend
My favorite thing in the world, nothing and no one can contend
Moral of this story: get lettuce on your sandwich,
Unless you wanna go to mcdonalds and end up with a bandage
I can finally conclude, after this long strife
Lettuce is love, lettuce is life.
I was just having fun with this one
He touched our hands
But unconcernedly this famous man
And would not look us in the eye
For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection
And we could hardly blame him, for after all
He had each day been singled out for close inspection
By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity
Circled in the shade of his perfection
Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity
Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan

He wore blue jeans
And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof
Of his coolness and unconcern
While we his audience with concealed attention
Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously
Imitating in each phrase that low convention
Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties
And nodded several times in bright pretension
Made small amendments to our smiles and lies
Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine

He gave a speech
A flippant interview, this famous creature
A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche
Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial
Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs
A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual
Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone
At interlocutor women with the pens and pads
Delivered in a low and purring monotone
For all the world as lovers, each to each

He stretched a smile
A modulated shift of teeth and beard
"Genius? Not I"  with deprecation
"My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral"
Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion
While we assumed an elegance, unintentional
A nonchalance that shields the wide charades
Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional
Genuflection to the the notion that pervades                                                      
Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.                              
                                                                ­                                  
He kissed their cheeks
And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence
But absently, as if he cared so little
In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir'
And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds
Creative and creator, irredeemably a star
With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring
At his retreating back in Stark excitement
In the middle of the circling and squaring, at
The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.
I've ever been interested in the relationship between celebrity and ordinariness. How the lamps of the individual appear dimmer in the presence of the luminosity of others, more celebrated. Some weeks ago I was able to see this effect on me when I was in close proximity with a star of the design community (some clues to the individuals identity may appear within the verse, if anyone is interested). I was dismayed to learn that I responded in the same manner as those I had previously observed. This sour-**** little offering is the outcome.
Q Jul 2013
I'm that pretty kitty
Sitting on your windowsill
Leaving dander on the glass
Looking more than my fill

My fur is brown and black
My claws are sharp as knives
My teeth are quite sinister
And I've still all nine lives

You've never paid me much attention
And I ceased attempts to receive it long ago
You go about your day ignoring me
And I stare covetously through the window

I know you can see me
Every blue moon, you'll wave
We actually get along in a way
But not enough to sate all I crave

I wonder if you'll ever notice
My stare is unadulterated jealousy
But you never seem to notice
I also envy that naivety

But I'm just the pretty kitty
Perched up on this windowsill
All I want is to be seen from inside
But no one ever will

I've only eyes for the inside though
I've got my friends on this side of the glass
And they look at me, bemused and disgusted
Because, in all ways and forms, I'm obsessed

But I'm different and I'm on the wrong side
And I'm just the pretty kitty on the windowsill
But I'm not comfortable with my own kind
And with yours, I'm just good for visual appeal

So I'll sit here on this windowsill
Gazing enviously
Because neither side fits me
But it fits them perfectly
This poem has more than a lot to do with my race, mainly, as well as my sexuality and lack of religious inclination.
Look there, you see it? Its a full moon hanging above a lousy *******, and your moans go unnoticed like boring movie scenes.
Kamasutra your name you say? Well, I just assumed you were not that at all.
I see you more like spilled cold coffee looking on enviously at tea leaves holding a boring straight *** conversation in a purple rain teepee.

Somewhere beneath a bed of stars and a sliver skyline falling in free form with a tribe of features, floating down no matter the weather, but to where?
Who knows? But I did notice my mind take the scenic route.
Because the GPS speaks a dangerous language.
So I take chances and flip a coin, *** up heads down
I beat the odds and win, but what?
Who knows? But moving on right pass the earth’s after birth
and on to the next one, on to the next one
On to the blueprint to why freedom never rings it just sings
In a monotone *** position of undressed flesh
and out of the reach of our dumbfound imagination barely
thinking,
and our hearts that are broke like a lack of money and barely beating,
and our breath that is filled with smoke and barely breathing.
Like chronic asthma in a bent over backward dream taking it up the, who knows?
But I Do like wearing lipstick and catching ****** needs off guard,
as ******* take a life of it’s on. Doing it with or without me
I use to being *******. I grew up in a broken home, America where u at?
With your newly hidden slavery the same thing just different cotton.
They assign jobs to us our children to the state we live to work not work to live.
We do the same thing but make different mistakes.
And two days is not enough to recover from five, this **** is a disgrace
Oh beautiful for spacious skies, where at, who knows?
What I am trying to tell you is heaven has basic desires and a low self-esteem.
Just ask Natureboy the Christ, no ask him can he swim on land since he can walk on the sea.
and what I said got some of you bothered feeling some kind of way
But what would Jesus say if he was here? Forgive her father she knows not what she says.
Maybe Jesus is wrong I know exactly what I do. I am a pusher to this poem.
I will make it snort a ******* line that exactly what I would do.
Burn pictures on the conscious mind fire’s awake now making something better out of itself.
Just like a group of words, no one never thought about grouping together. No, really I don’t know when too much is too much, so I am liable to say things like does God like his face? Then why
doesn’t he show it
Would we judge him bully him if we saw it? Holy ****** baby feet Batman I can’t trust the alphabet or vegetables
This unsustainable way of living and that the government did not take part in those special fireworks done on
9/11. Body parts everywhere and since some time has passed I want to know does anyone care?
But who am I? But a beast in smallness with a mean left hook and have the things the world believe in
Really got me shook. I cannot walk around with the believes and definitions that are not mine.
My beliefs don’t weigh anything so I am not weighed down mentally or emotionally
I listen to the language of the earth because all the other languages are brittle
Nature all about cooperation, taking the good with the bad, and that's fine but you know what is not?
It is how religion aggravates me. I know you believe in God but does he believe in you?
No, because if he did he wouldn’t test you and still you are unable to see the acceptance you seek really come from you.
The Illuminati taught me that, but you know what is really truly interesting?
It is how Hall and Oats is white and of course angel ****.
And again I need to be careful what I say because I will have folks looking at me in the wrong way.
Wishing I would die and burn in heaven, well luckily for them I stay suicidal and I thought up about nine and eleven
Ways I can end it tonight. In death, my mind would be gone and that’s alright.
I will still create frighten poems. I will make my ghost write.
But as we all know dying is not an option and as we can see no fear just caution.
And I stay humble all day every day because I was told having too much pride that is for those who are gay, and happy I am not. I want to see the government put to a stop
A world with no freaking cops, the elite on the bottom and the less fortunate on top.
And my most random camouflaged thoughts open up the eyes of the senile so that they can see now.
What they could not.
A Spoken Word Piece With A Lot Of Passion and Random Thoughts Link Together.
Rahul Luthra Dec 2013
Got kicked out because I came later
Somehow I got a pen and a paper
Was feeling bored so thought I would write
The weather's so good; wish I could fly a kite
It's not quite often that I get kicked out
I'm always quiet in class, I seldom shout
Back in the days I loved to annoy my teachers
But that was years ago; now I've lost that feature
Getting kicked out of class is something students enjoy
Bunk class without detention. Oh Boy!
But if you're the only one it gets boring
You look enviously in  and find the students happily snoring
You have to stand, it's a punishment after all
And you've had it if the Principal walks down the hall
"Come in and don't be late again or you see what I do!"
I'm probably curious because this is one promise I won't adhere too
katie Mar 2016
today a dark 
sky is
   wrapping
itself around
my town,
squeezing
    all that
surrounds
in its strong
muscular
   hands, one
solitary crow
    manages
to slip free,
flies over
highways,
      streets
& trees,
I watch it
enviously as
it disappears
thinking
what I
would do
      for a pair
    of wings
Keith Trim Mar 2010
Taking our place in the rainbow world
our wandering concern will fall on love
and with shaking hands we survey the prize
we hope that life will render.

 The passionate kind
filled with pounding blood and sighing breath
tight and sharp and quick
caring not for time or place. 

The cold kind
with eyes of white fire and lofty mien
protective, stern and strong
given freely and broken never. 

The fierce, angry kind
glassy and bright
that breaks into beautiful shining pieces
and glories in the pain of its destruction. 

The soft and yielding kind
brimming with warmth and constancy
giving comfort without cloy and light without glare
and asking nothing. 

That we choose is ours and ours alone
and our fate we freely hold
until another's gift we enviously eye
and see that choice can have its edge.
P Feb 2017
The hall drowns with laughter and romance,
As couples sway together and dance.
Some sits aside, staring enviously,
Thinking how frivolous it can be.
Some laugh and shout instead,
Imagining they're dancing too, but only in their head.
Yet no matter how much corny it may seem.
Dancing with someone you like, is an attainable dream.
We're having our Valentine's party now, Feb. 28, 2017. I'm just sitting here so I decided to write a poem.
Allison Rose Dec 2012
snappy synapses predict the end of the world
and i am growing tired of growing older
while the year without a summer continues plummeting
toward my house in time
and we bide our time on our backs
smearing the yellow pixie dust of sunflowers on our eyes
because at least the yellow makes us smile
asking can the moon tire of orbiting the earth
and break away like a rubber band on its last snap
triumphantly spitting into the windless night
until our lips are dry as oxygen-starved mountain air
but I know better now
than to judge a night by its morning
because the truest words have always been written
on the bitter parchment skin of almonds
masking the cherry-sweetness of the flesh
and the artist may be starving but she is never starved
if she can learn to feed on pits and branches
for the flesh of the fruit is never quite as sweet
and in a dewy stupor we raise our faces to a dawn
that shatters the illusion that we are encased in a racing darkness
that slides under our feet with the slippery stealth
of the thin layer of water evaporating off the top of the ocean
to join the ranks of droplets that gather in the sky
hanging enviously above the surface of the earth
but always in danger of slipping back down
and splashing into the great blue depths again
We are slaves to freedom

Captives who watch

The passing parade

Of life with wistful impotence

Clothed in the arrogance of ignorance

Shivering enviously in the shadow

Of other peoples flesh

Repenting other kinds of lives

Disguised and self conscious

Amidst the squalor of the living

And oh how we give thanks

For our Slavery
Liliana Jaworska Sep 2014
You are the moon which looks enviously at each brighter star.
I would sacrifice the sea of falling stars for your love.
a Apr 2017
we sit. weary pupils dilate as we watch
the dying day mourn lilac tears onto
rosy cloud-cheeks,
eyes widen like it's an action movie
and the night has begun to wake
its warriors - or worse,
it's a documentary, and
someone's burning van gogh's stars
back into oblivion. lord, we're watching
universes fall and bleed
-but the film stops there.
our sentiments are unscripted,
it's just that chill that creeps up our
collars and strokes our
amygdalae enviously-
               and i daresay, to our sightcaptor
        who begins to reach her way in
                    and withdraw, simultaneously,
      i dare speak:

          do
          not
        touch
          me

but it's hard to stay cool
when you love the face of the sun
and must sing her to sleep.
"do/not/touch/me" is supposed to have a strike-though but i wasn't sure how to work the formatting.
wip.
Cielle Apr 2013
this girl asks me, "gotta minute to spare?"
chapped lips and misty-eyed
while i stare enviously at her thighs,
wishing i could taste that milky white,
sits down, touches my hand
and tells me,
"the moon is dying",
something i already knew
but i cry anyway

babbling incoherently into her hands,
brush a finger over her shoulder,
dotting freckles in constellations,
the speckled stars of her irises
combust into molecules
scatter, running freely away

oh girl, we could tread these muddy waters,
traverse the land on our bare feet
and wipe the filth off our skirts
but come sundown,
we'll still sleep alone.
sorelle, Italian for "sisters".
Don Bouchard Jan 2016
What kind of man is this
To report his mother for begging him
To abandon hateful folly?

What son is this, so depraved,
Would shoot her in the public square
With jeering blood-seekers cheering?

What kind of god must this man seek,
To end the life of the one who gave him life,
To what end would such a god demand obeisance?

Perhaps a god this is,
Whose thirst for blood would raise
The dripping flags of war
And bathe the world neck-deep,
Up to the horses' bridles in gore,
But he's no god of mine.

This god is not the One
Who sent His only Son
To give His Life in the name of peace,
To save His friends and love His enemies.

This god is in rebellion,
Denying his own creation,
Lying to himself,
Reviling peace
Because it bears the image of
The One True God.

Enviously manipulating,
Beguiling the children of Eve,
Desecrating the human form,
Dividing the human race,
Heaping doom upon doom,
Calling damnation on himself.
http://www.cnn.com/2016/01/07/middleeast/isis-fighter-executes-mother-reports/
Topher Green Mar 2011
I dreamt of big city lights and big city fights
and when I woke I stole away to catch the last bus
I dreamt of young love two young women kissing
smoking and snapping digital memories and
I began to wish the same for myself, enviously..
something special, something keen
But, was I still asleep?

[3.21.11]
Stanley Wilkin Jul 2017
the road gathers itself like a drained old woman,
hunched over rags, beneath the gloomy crag,
sintering as it nears the beach,
worn out through time, impoverished
it has become reflective in the chittering half-light.
Eviscerated by the pawing waves,
contradictory cracks like entrails, hanging out
crushed into solitude , it redefines its continuous retreat.
In the reductive shade
it circumvents the cove, its tarmac withered,
a battered host to foreign weeds.

Sunrise chides the posturing sky, the sulking universal remnants
vanishing in the fenestrated glare. In the near distance, air unravels,
the moving storm exhaling slips of cloud
rapidly swarming like furious flecks of phlegm-sneezed out in perpetuity
between heat and cold.  
The road lies entombed beneath a scree, tumbledown stones and dust.
Ramblers and cars have sought and found
an alternative route. The moistened rubble creaks
as liquid gathers in its shifting heart, crawling out in rivulets-the rain
descending like spit,
emolliating the countryside, shifting dollops of fetid mud,
enveloping like a furious aneurysm.

Sea and land entrenched in conflict,
a war of attrition always won by seas, unleashing energy
of mindful apocalypse in the manner of a gentle sigh.
The gaping abscess of scarred promontories tottering
like feverish drunks. The mouthed obscenities of carnivorous
birds radiates throughout the cove pinpointing local
drownings encrusted with salt. Sea upon sea impose themselves
enviously on rampant shorelines feasting on sand and rock. Never ending!
Plunging ever forward like a barren plough, receding, only to
re-site its casual fury-implosion upon explosion.

The road in its sullen retreat
stumbles through narrow valleys speckled
with gloom; trees with yellow flowers
blooming in crinkled shadows,
deer leaping through high-standing grass, mincing
between tall thin trees. Loping down
into the cities, it becomes a tousled high street full
of immigrants, all yearning for the sea.
Doshi Feb 2019
Your timing is impeccable
ready when needed
but willing to wait
Your curves
are enviously symmetrical
How do you manage
to stay in shape?
You're too good for me,
I know
but I love you so
teeny tiny avocado
Sia Jane Jan 2015
Mary Jane

Wrapped in cellophane
her body an empty cavern
an embodiment of losses
tastes of bitter Mary Jane
Holland.

Baby miracle of life
a stab in the dark
a twisted knife
to the heart, breathe
Me.

Life had stained her
a reflection upon,
a broken glass mirror
a blue mooned
Sky.

Tornado fires; paper dresses
deep volcanos filled to the brim
ashes & dust
tears bring pain
burns holes in
Skin.

Cleansing comes
blood oozing out
attacking this monster
living inside
python green eyes
Robotic.

Dancing with demons
poisonous addictions
hells aftermath
skulls, crossbones
signify splintered
Souls.


Yours for slaughter,
surrendered in this wasteland
my mind created
when you were first
Gone.

Butterflies cover *******
love hearts & roses,
form tattoos across,
my spine, enviously decorating
this bare form, one alive, one
Ghost.

Drink me up, make it quick,
**** me dry, dear Carmen
please don't cry
it's all an alibi, one that
Sings.

A lullaby; a secret way out
how tranquil it leaves me
a baby lulled to sleep, I
call you Mary Jane
Holland.

My lover, my life,
it's nothing more, I
am at one, with stars we name
in this infinite
Universe.

If I am a star above
& you are named as one too
we will never be lost
wrapped together, conceiving
Constellations.

That is why I want to sit
with you, on the roof
top of my car, out in the abyss
of my surroundings
&

Stare above, sing a lullaby
of my love, count those stars
until claimed & soothed we fall
into the slumber of love.

Only a cloud can carry
& awake anew to
the rising of the sun
an abstraction deferring
multifaceted realities.


© Sia Jane
Challenge write from my first workshop class.
Omnis Atrum Aug 2015
I was born a hunter.
A rush of blood surging through my veins
with each poke and **** that might bring sustenance.
With trembling hands I returned to town
jowls heightened in satisfied grimace.
How the others glared enviously
when I returned over encumbered
with the weight of game upon my back.
In time I gave in to their requests
when they had contorted to desperate demands
and I shared the only truth I knew
“be patient and listen with intent”.

With age the encumbrance became too burdensome
but it was was not possible to hunt with less vigor
and still stave my insatiable hunger.
It was by chance that a merchant approached
with a cart full of seeds that are difficult to sell
in a village where every respectable man hunts.
I gave him every implement that I owned.
Every bow and spear and knife were taken away
and I was left with seeds and infertile soil.
How their envious glares so quickly shifted
to confused glances that carried pity with them.

As I toiled in the fields they became more adept
and day after day I watched them labor back to town
burdened by their accomplishments.
They gave little heed to the words of a man
whose surging pulse was made still,
so they developed ingenious traps and snares
that required neither patience nor effort.
I could not help but wonder
how much of what they attained was wasted,
when fresh meat spoils so quickly
for those that never had need to learn
how to preserve the unused amount.

I rested in the afternoons under the trees,
beneath the branches bowing with the burden
of sustenance I once had to carry on my back.
The insatiable hunger was never quelled,
nor was it ever for a single moment forgotten
when the creatures of the forest I used to hunt
came to consume the fruit I labored for.

At least now there is enough for us to share without the weight of burden.
Traveler Jul 2018
Pawns, expendable pawns
Black and white squares, we move upon
Dreams, lost in a garden of dreams
Invisible hands guide our teams

Heaven bound angels we turn
Fall to the ground we burn
Run, run to the mountain of lies
Our righteousness is our disguise

Devastation and heartache, our path
The unavoidable crash, karmic wrath
Yet somehow we find love in vain
In one brief moment we leave our stain

Truth revealed in fever dreams
Guilty feelings waking hours bring
What does it mean we ask ourselves
Storing hope upon dusty shelves

In the silence between our laughter
I have heard the voice of stars
Deities banished to wayward heavens
Sentenced to observe us from afar

Behold the whispers that makes us dream
Countless eyes that see everything
Forbidden to touch, to reach and feel
Enviously awaiting with intention revealed
Traveler Tim
Kat Apr 2018
From what I see everyone fits in somewhere
I stare enviously at the people who others who shower them with so much care.
It’s uncomfortable for me to hang out with my middle school “friends” they all have similar interest and have forged something deep.

While I’m over here trying hard just to fit in.
Like in a YouTube video makes by Spechie,
I’m feeling like a snake because my personality is kind of fake.

Of course, this has changed the way I see things.
I’m no longer naive and see things as perfect and pretty like I did in the 6th grade.
When my eyes were forced open my the things my “friends” talked about I felt like my life was a lie.

The people I hang out with they are a little weird.
I’m not weird enough to fit in with this group
But I’m not normal enough to fit in with everyone else.

They all talk about things that concern each other.
While I’m over here talking about things that concern me.
I feel self-centered and conceded.
That’s not what I want not at all but I don’t know what to say.
If I don’t have something to say quickly the topic will change.

Everyone talks about their own experiences
Everyone talks about what they’ve seen
When I do it though I just get stares because I’m not funny
When I talk about me I think that I am self-fish.
I honestly don’t belong anywhere with these people.
I diffidently hang out with certain people.
Some of them I hang out with.
They are really kind
But I don’t fit in with them
And I always feel alone even when people surround me.
I’d like to add a happy ending but it would be lies.
This is something I’m feeling now, any advice?
tbh the grammar is terrible there's too many mistakes to fix
kimberli May 2013
I saw you walk by with a jar of stars,
As soon as I saw them I yearned for them, I needed them; I would not be complete without them.
I set out to find them. I waited all night, but the stars didn’t show.
So I looked the next night, now they glimmered.
I climbed up a tree and branched out my hands.
I stretched forth with all my strength, but I could not reach.
The night after that, I sat in defeat, until I saw you carrying your jars of stars.
I ran to you, hoping and praying you would reveal your secret.
As I approached I realized there were no stars at all.
The closer I came I saw that the jar was full of dying fireflies.
Their glow growing dim.
I took your jar and ****** it at the cement.
The fireflies flew, free.
I turned to you, my lip trembling.
“Therefore the love which us doth bind,
but fate so enviously debars,
is the conjunction of the mind,
and opposition of the stars.”


quote by: Andrew Marvell
JD Leishman Apr 2018
You were in my dream last night.

I was quietly sat on a small blue moon enviously gazing at the faraway stars.
When you softly whispered in my ear let’s capture some and put them into little silver jars.

I said, sure why not.
And across the perfect night sky we both flew.
You held the star catcher and I held the jars, and together our precious collection grew.

One by one the brightest of the light faded and the darkest of the night set in,
We were truly happy for a moment, but that was shaded when the utter darkness crawled over our colourless skin.

I said this is wrong.
You said it was my doing.
I said I’m sorry I ever came along.
You said that the stars and I are not worth pursuing.

Then I was suddenly and frightfully alone, with stark emptiness all around.
I screamed your name in all directions, but nothingness has no sound.

I pressed my trembling knees to my cold pounding chest,
wrapping my hopeless arms around the rest and wishing you’d never left.

Now I have nothing.
Just all these stars in these little stupid silver jars,
and reopened wounds that should’ve stayed as scars.

I am Jimmy
Abigail Marie Sep 2014
I can’t stand to be alone
But I need my solitude
This feeling chills me to the bone

How does it feel?
To be in love.
Is wonderful, fiery, frustrating

Where do we go?
When we can’t be a part of it
We sit enviously, staring

The emptiness consumes me
The pain never ends
You don’t understand, you can’t understand

The burning, the aching
How I can’t decide
Leaving me in silence

It pains me to know
How I hurt your heart
But mine too is bruised

How can it be fixed?
Will it ever be fixed?
We just don’t know

So we jump
Take the risk
Hanging by a thread
Fearful, crying, screaming
Hoping,
Praying
For Release
James Rives Jun 2020
night slept when she spoke,
creeping  back into its ceaseless
void in reverence or awe.
day paused enviously
at her brightness.
the winds fervently whipped
as she moved, and caressed
her in a motherly wrap.
she viewed this beauty
in nature as it viewed it in her.
taking aim at sunset,
she set herself
to become the beauty
she beheld.
The single thing I've been chasing for as long as I can remember.
Perched Gracefully upon my fingertips,
Only to fly away.

Leaving me on to watch enviously at its untouchable beauty, not knowing If I'll ever see it again.

One can only Hope.
Peace.

~Robert van Lingen

— The End —