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Mark Toney Jun 2020

Happy o
Happy or
Happy or d
Happy or de
Happy or dep
Happy or depr
Happy or depres
Happy or depress
Happy or depresse
Happy or depressed
Happy or depresse
Happy or depress
Happy or depres
Happy or depre
Happy or depr
Happy or dep
Happy or de
Happy or d
Happy or
Happy o
Life i
Life is
Life is a
Life is a b
Life is a ba
Life is a bal
Life is a bala
Life is a balan
Life is a balanc
Life is a balanci
Life is a balancin
Life is a balancing
Life is a balancing a
Life is a balancing ac
Life is a balancing act
Life is a balancing ac
Life is a balancing a
Life is a balancing
Life is a balancin
Life is a balanci
Life is a balanc
Life is a balan
Life is a bala
Life is a bal
Life is a ba
Life is a b
Life is a
Life is
Life i
So e
So ea
So eas
So easy
So easy t
So easy to
So easy to s
So easy to sl
So easy to sli
So easy to slip
So easy to slip a
So easy to slip an
So easy to slip and
So easy to slip and f
So easy to slip and fa
So easy to slip and fal
So easy to slip and fall
So easy to slip and fal
So easy to slip and fa
So easy to slip and f
So easy to slip and
So easy to slip an
So easy to slip a
So easy to slip  
So easy to sli
So easy to sl
So easy to s
So easy to
So easy t
So easy
So eas
So ea
So e
Moods t
Moods th
Moods tha
Moods that
Moods that f
Moods that fa
Moods that fal
Moods that fall
Moods that fall c
Moods that fall ca
Moods that fall can
Moods that fall can r
Moods that fall can ri
Moods that fall can ris
Moods that fall can rise
Moods that fall can rise a
Moods that fall can rise ag
Moods that fall can rise aga
Moods that fall can rise agai
Moods that fall can rise again
Moods that fall can rise agai
Moods that fall can rise aga
Moods that fall can rise ag
Moods that fall can rise a
Moods that fall can rise
Moods that fall can ris
Moods that fall can ri
Moods that fall can r
Moods that fall can
Moods that fall ca
Moods that fall c
Moods that fall
Moods that fal
Moods that fa
Moods that f
Moods that
Moods tha
Moods th
Moods t
Wait for tomorrow’s new day
6/21/2020 - Poetry form: Shape - This was inspired by fellow HelloPoetry poet Riley Cartwright’s shape poem “The Music in My Head.” Thank you, Riley - © 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
The Good Pussy Nov 2014
                            A hard-on
                        doesn't  count
                      as personal  gro
                     wth.If  you  want
            ­         to  hear  the  pitte
                       r - patter of littl
                       e feet,  I'll put s
                       hoes on my cat.
                       This isn't an off
                       ice , it's hell wit
                       h florescent lig
                       hting.How do I
                       set a lazer prin
                       ter to stun? I m
                       ajored in Libera
                       l arts. Will that
                       be for here or t
                       o go? Too many
                       freaks, not eno
                       ugh circuses.  I
                       have a comput
                       er, a ******* a
                       nd pizza delive
                       ry .Why should
                       I leave the hou
      se? Stress is wh   en you wake up scr
eaming and you re    alize you  haven't  fal
*** asleep yet. I like  dogs  too .  Let's  exch
  ange recipes.  And   yo u r      c r y b a b y        
    whiny- assed   o      pinion      is?      Al 
      low me to intro       duce my selves.
mi Jun 2017
Falling in love is like
being on
the precipice
of death.
Maybe thats why
they call it falling
in love
because when you
you don't know
whether you'll survive
you'll splat on the ground
and break all your bones.
lil ponder
Travis Dixon Jan 2013
Rain-slicked reflections of
the sun's last offerings
disperse within the por-
ous asphalt, inducing

a faint chorus of tire-
spun splashes fading-in
and out behind impa-
tient honks, like waves against

a cargo ship announc-
ing itself to the docks,
"I have arrived! I have
arrived!" The workers, their

jackets waxing iri-
descent limes and oranges,
wave in the freight, crane up
the containers and shout

down the lines through the bay
mist inscribed by currents
of blustering winds, top-
lit by a swarm of head-

lamps, crane lights and high beams
careening through the in-
dustrial din of space,
ensuring no foot fal-

ters and no hand misses
a hold, and the cargo
slowly, but surely, moves
on toward its final des-

tination, and like great
migrations of butter-
flies, birds and whales, that place
is always home, sweet home.
asgarth Jan 2017
come on now, you didn't think you were going to get away with not dreaming about the undead after all this business at work, did you?--that was the problem with you thinkers: all you ever did was thinking!--the truth is that you thought far too much--you should've been out there living, trying to get laid, trying to knock the hell out of the world with your next verse...but instead, there you were lying awake for hours, literally hours, and all because of what?: some witch at work who wants to run everyone's world by being what she can't help but being?--you'd even said it to yourself driving home, that she wasn't a bad person, she was just a petty and sick ******* who had to make everyone's life that much lousier, that was her "power," if you wanted to call such a thing power...but it's not like she was your boss, she'd just said something that had injured you because you'd allowed it to injure you, because it had been true a long time ago that you'd let it appear that you'd "****** up" when in truth you'd saved yourself a ton of misery by doing so--the thing itself was so small, though, that only someone who was picayune was ever going to know that you'd still felt ****** up over just so happens that she had remembered and that she was just petty and picky enough to throw it back in your face at the exact right time...but how often had you said to yourself that you really needed to combat such ******* behavior by thinking as clearly as you could in the moment, by just knowing that you hadn't done anything wrong, that in most cases, you were probably smarter and more capable than whoever it was who was accusing of something ridiculous or trying to make you look bad for whatever reason...and how often had you failed in taking this information to heart, facts that would make anyone else feel good about themselves, but with you, it was just another reason why you made yourself miserable: you just couldn't translate all of these individual positive things about you into a more cohesive and positive whole--to you, you were always doing spin control to get yourself back from the edge you felt they were all pushing you closer and closer toward--and when you got there, and if you went over, what then?--only what had happened last night, which is what was happening all the lie awake sleepless and fuming over feeling like you were made to look bad even understanding in the moment that you would never remember this ***** or anything she said, that you'd even forget her name in time because people like that were nothing to you, they meant nothing to you--but how long would that take?: five years, ten years?--you wanted to forget all about her now, but it's not like you weren't ever going to see her again, which is why you were getting all stressed out, because in a few hours, you'd have to drag your sorry carcass out of bed and go back there and do it all over again--so you were going to have to figure out a way to evolve through this experience, you were going to have to sort all this out in your head and get right with it somehow because in fewer than twenty-four hours, you'd be right back here, crawling into bed and asking yourself if it was going to be "another one of those nights" where you got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and when you returned, found it impossible to get your mind off of anything but what had happened involving this woman, this creature, this **** who was a bought on all womankind--yes, she was really that bad, maybe not a bad person per se, but bad enough to lump her in with all the other ***** you'd ever run across in your travails in this world, these bleeding animals who just wanted the world to serve them in one form or fashion and who didn't care who had to lie facedown in the mud to do it--in such a scenario, that doomed fool lying facedown was you...but you didn't want that to be you, and at the very least you'd wanted to have your slice of revenge by having your slice of life have nothing to do with her, by being able to crawl into bed and get good sleep and if you couldn't, then let the reason be anything but having to do with her--god almighty, how many women like her had you encountered in your life, and already your father's voice was drilling down to the very core of the question: how many times had you met people like her, and how many times had you let them get to you, bother your harass you, ******* up, make you look bad, ruin your sleep, ruin your day?--and you still hadn't found a way to not give a ****, you still hadn't found a way to disconnect from caring about whatever it was that made you feel like it was your reputation on the line?--your old man was right in his own way, though: you cared far too much about how you were perceived than you wanted to believe you did, and wasn't all of this, wasn't your insomnia over this ***** the proof of it?--and now you were going back to your old nervous habit of chewing at the dead skin of your fingers, watching them become gnawed and decayed and all because of this nonsense you had let go to your head--and you wanted to think therapy had made you better somehow, that it had opened up the pathways in your mind to the "self-talk" that was going to save you?--did you call this bit of torture salvation?--but no, it wasn't like this every night, it really wasn't...only when things got to you, only when you were stressed out...but still, the question should be, "why do you allow yourself to get stressed out over situations out of your control?"--invariable, it all leads to these dreams where the undead find you wherever you go to run and hide, and last night you'd gotten especially clever and told yourself if all else failed, you could hide in the walls, and yet, you had seen her climb into those walls, which is when you knew even your dreams were smarter than you--enough was enough though, right?--no way on earth or in hell should you allow any of this to continue: you were a grown-*** man in his mid-forties, you were a hard worker, you were good at what you did, and more than anything else, this ***** did not get to decide what kind of a person you were--you needed to detach yourself from the idea that she was going to make your life a hell, that she was going to do this or that to you because what was all that anyway?--it was just worry atop worry, and all of it was useless and needless, all of it was based on fear and as you'd been asking yourself for the last few decades, when had fear ever served you?--all of this only seemed like you were in prison, but it was one you had built for yourself...wasn't it bad enough your old man had drilled into you not just those words of criticism about how you'd let everything "get to you," but also that he'd made you care so much, too much, about what others thought because you were always trying to please them just like you were always trying to please him?--and how often had you been able to do this successfully to the point where you didn't have to try so hard anymore?: never--you had never succeeded in such a venture because there was always another hour, another day, another task for you to accomplish to another's satisfaction...this was the paradigm you'd been locked into...but it wasn't too late, for look, just look at how you'd analyzed all of this, at how wonderfully you'd dismantled all the **** that surrounded the real reason why you wasted others to accept you, to find you and label you as "good"--that never would've been possible before, you would've just stayed awake the whole night long and woken up in a foul mood and let it ruin a new day...but not anymore, right?--well, almost: because while the slogan "knowledge is power" seems like an empowering one, what is it really?--do you feel any more powerful than you did before you started having this conversation with yourself?--were you going to be able to make all this ******* in your life disappear just like that(!) because you'd suddenly figured out that you wasted people to think highly of you because you'd never been able to get your father to think highly of you?--no, no, because there you were turning over and over in bed trying to unlock the thing that would let you live again, that would let you sleep again...there you were begging for mercy, for a clue as to how to do this nightwork within you, for it felt like you were being made to dig your own grave whenever this happened to you, and the deeper you dug, the more out felt trapped in that hole you'd just made deeper--what else could you do but make it deeper?: but when had you looked up, when had you asked if you couldn't just dig your hands into the packed earth and climb out?--this is how and where your imagination had failed you, for yes, you had managed to fal, back asleep, it hadn't conquered you quite so much...but here you were being presented with the facts all over again that it would happen again and again and that you were doomed to allow it to because, really, who didn't want others to think well of them?--you were always going to be human--
Josh Murphy Mar 2014
Falling down a deep dark hole,
alling down to live with moles.
lling down after being pushed,
ling down after feeling lust.
ing down when I need you most,
ng down like a terrible host.
g down to the empty space,

down so I can't see your face.
Falling d
own to live a life of despair,
Falling do
wn away from fresh air.
Falling dow
n to where love can't live,

Falling down** *to where there's no love to give.
Sphoorthy Soma Jun 2010
Its only days'I know you..but seems like ages
as we both became synonyms for the word Love

There was a day,
i wished for'want of feeling in your heart
and now is the day,
when you showed your need of wanting me
expressing lifelessness,if you stop kissing me

the silence around us..seems to sing
when our lips'strive to avoid their loneliness
always eager to be on each other!

you play with my hair'moving it away from the neck
showing ur anger'telling them "this is where my lips are supposed to be"

all I can tell,about your passion for me
you kiss me now'you grab me again in a minute
as if it is the air,you are grabbing..for you to breath..

moving your hands..all over
making me sweat and breath harder
your want of kissing me'every oppurtunity you get
made me fal in Love with you...again and again!
wendy ou Jun 2015
she stands straight and tall
hopes to fall
hits a ball

wnedy is a hagpole
straight and tall
hopes to fall
does fal

then she becomes a horseeee
and starts talking in morse

and we all say
wendy go pay
ur a flagpole!
Andy Fletcher Nov 2014
insanity, begin;


foam born (A) of the ocean
the backtrack (B)
            to the origin of human emotion
before hue and saturation
    my life may be black and white
but for the next hour
          -  quite frankly -
I don’t give a ****, because
I am a spaceman looking down on you
            no, literally

I am



the decade of statues into which I was born
begged to be forgotten
             left behind
communication with my own kind
humanity, mother earth
            nothing worth living for

no one worth dying for
because of the
informal gluttony
            a sickening acceptance
of the inherent claustrophobia of the human condition

I’m floating
further away from you
from any possible natural surrounding
            or human connection
[claiming to be part of humanity always secretly disgusted me]
everything is beautiful from up high
I am a spaceman, a future butterfly.


something isn’t right
I’m further away
            more detached
than I intended to be
            further away
the safety of my orbit overlooking you
        deconstructing in front of my own eyes
now floating towards the sun of nothing

perhaps I
miscalculated my own superiority
I am the one floating towards eternity
   after all
to an inescapable fate
while you are back home
            with your (our) own kind
perhaps unhappy
but not alone

I am.

watch me pass by
            one last time
I feel my soul breaking apart
my eyes glaze over and
mistaken for a shower of stars
            an acceptable way to leave the third
dimension I suppose
perhaps you will see me as the ants of the sky
as I find the sun


am I still alive?

are you still there?

perhaps all I’ve said
            and lived
was nothing more than a prequel to the sequel
life before death?
    or the other way around?
I am no longer confined by four dimensions
      even time is irrelevant
everything is different
            everything is right
bleeding viridian
    feeling the sensation of nothingness
        seeing the sempiternity of the galaxy
hearing translucent shades of the endless chasm
    that now surrounds me












into the depths
  until I land upon a new horizon

            I am a spaceman
I am discovering everything

I found death
surrounded by white walls
            the greatest journey
of our [lives?]
happens only six feet down
       surrounded by white walls

    this is what we have when we die.
  this is what is left of us.
white walls.

White Walls.
Every Sunday without fail,
my father would set about getting us on the
family visiting trail.
A picnic was packed, along with our macs,
(Just in case of the rain) and into the car
we were packed.
A beautiful drive through winding roads,
over a bridge that made your tummy lurch,
onwards, to the Pen-y-Fal psychiatric hospital.

The Tudor Gothic style hospital loomed large to a
child in a car. Like a silent waiting beast from afar.
A Charming gathering of gables and chimneys,
disguised the interior of quite simply "the madhouse".
Set in grounds of 75 acres, patients played bowls, cricket,
and croquet. I thought the people and the grounds magical.
There was this secret place with adult children,
smiling, and talking to the trees, knowing of fairies,
I never heard their pleas.

As I grew older, I grew bolder, the same Sunday jaunt,
to our familial haunt, but now I was an explorer.
I was allowed in. In to the centre of the Gothic beast.
Green tiled, with brown heavy doors, antiseptic smell
that clung to every pore and cell of you. Stark walls,
scrubbed nurses, white coated Doctors and thuggish orderlies.
And after your eyes took in those sights, your nose that smell,
the noise crashed into you. Moans, cries, wails and pleas.
The sound of a thousand lost minds.

My aunt was one of the lost.
She never went home again.
She never visited her children.
She never visited her eleven siblings.
She stayed, stayed with her friend Pearl.
Who once told me I had Vivienne Leigh eyes.
She stayed with the randy Italian, the piano player,
the Downs people given to that 'hospital', that smell, that Hell.
She was in the belly of the beast.*

The Grade II Listed Building has been converted into luxury accommodation now, but would you sleep there?
12 initial wards
210 initial inmates
1881-83 an epileptic ward was built
Between 1851 and 1950 over 3,000 patients died at the hospital.
Pen-y-Fal Hospital it held up to 1,170 patients at its peak.
Coyote Siren Sep 2010
Looking at pictures
from the other weekend
and we’re in it
and we look happy
and nice
and I’m glad we have those pictures

I’m sorry about your injury
it’s a **** shame
I miss you
so much
even though
we’re two feet

These pictures mean a lot to me,

I’ll send them to you

Everyone says
the same goodbyes and hellos
as if one person is just a person
but the people I’ve met
are not just people

I miss your smile
it made me feel genuine

I’m comfortable in my own skin
not many people can say that
I like being under your skin
only I can say that

We lay naked on your bed
and I don’t remember what I said
I felt so welcome there

Your stays at home aren’t fun
and running away sounds nice
but frankly
we have no money
and a lot of responsibility

On my birthday
I wonder what you’ll get me
maybe that ******* belt
or a really nice note
maybe both

When I’m legal
I’ll climb up
the freeway
and sit on the
watching the cars
drive by and by

People are falling from the sky, lately
in my dreams
abused half people
and psychopaths
tell me about nice dresses
and about the television

I’m sailing off the edge of this
godforsaken place

All I see is waves
and how I need them

I miss the ocean
and sunburns

I want you when
the sky is clouded

Cold weather, or
the woods

they come out nicer
when you’re in
two of
a kind






J Fawn Apr 2018
the sound of
    scritching and
  creaking and cracking
                          hounds me
                   even if it is merely
                          echoes of thought
                      in the examination hall
where you promised that I would not
                                                                ­ fal
                                                             ­       ter

the sound of
  squeaking and
  clicking and clacking
                    surrounds me
                   even if it is surely
                     bellows of ambition
                    between the office walls
where you promised that I would not
                                                             ­      ter

                                                           ­        as I
                                                      at the edge
             where the whistling wind beckons
                   me to the chattering city below
                        I promise you that I will not

                                                            ­               fall
Maria Etre Feb 2018
I excel
at the sport
(in love)
zainab farooq Mar 2019
Snowy mountain, Snowy mountain,

I wonder sometimes....
How do you stand there all the time?
Watching people do their climbs,
Witnessing all of the ***** crimes,
And when the first light glows,
Let the wind starts to blow,
The sky fills with the crows,
The beauty begins to show,

Snowy mountain, Snowy mountain...

You stand there up so high,
Watching sparrows as they fly,
How do you watch them fal?
How do you lean beside the wall
Do you close your eyes as they stumble?
Or do you open them double?

Snowy mountain, Snowy mountain..

I wonder sometimes,
How do you see all these shrines?
Jordan Frances Jan 2015
 ­                                                 I Might Die
                                         That Day As I Watched
                                   Your Lifeless Body Being Lifted
                         By Angels, and yet, lowered into the ground.
                                          Six feet deep, I refused to
                                         Throw dirt on you because
                                         I felt as though it would tar
                                         nish Your perfect complexi
                                         on The beautiful hand I wa
                                         nted to hold in mine Was n
                                         ow wrinkled and  withered
                                         I sank with you My blood s
                                         ank into my veins My heart
                                         sank into my chest My eyes
                                         sank into my head But I wa
                                         s not dead yet.  You  taught
                                         me to live So I could not fal
                                         l apart I bit my lips until  th
                                         ey bled Clenched my fists u
                                         ntil they went white Fightin
                                         g to hold on.  I could not cru
                                         mble  But as the coroner low
                                         ered you down  I realized th
                                         at I had no place to go *but up
formatting is being screwy whatever
Amanda Jun 2014
He knows all about the worst.

The snippets of the furrowed eyebrows from the very corner of eye-lashes,

bitten back bitterness in the creases of your lips.

The terrifying truths you wished with closed lids were lies painted white.

And yet, his wrist is against yours,
fingertips shly whispering "It's okay."

He never really says Good Night like Good bye.

My mind & heart- this seemingly empty; hollow thing
seamed by wispy threads of moments and time itself-
fallen and still is
        ing into the very gravity of

Hello there! How are you doing today?
I watched Olympus Has Fallen yet again. There's just something about Gerard Butler. :')
It's late here in Melbourne.
Sweet dreams to those who are sleepy// Get out of bed and conqure the world to you, you and you who have just woken up!
Jules Wilson Jan 2015
Wishing to slip back into my loneliness,

I cover myself with a rain sheet, mud, and leaves.

Turn my back to the wind, and let

the world pound against my knobby bones.

Cold, bitter, I want to be


The forest behind me, the spirits in the trees,

their cackles mixing in with the wandering thieves.

Steal from me my worries and sorrow,

take from me

what tomorrow will bring, surely,

I feel that their stories never leave me.

Too loud, too loud! I scream for the storm

to pour down harder, release this aura

of spell-bound lovers. If my scent is

refreshed, discarded and replenished,

I can be free.

I will take to the sea

what tomorrow will bring, surely,

and wash it away before it can haunt me further.

Trusting the free fall more than I should,

for it treats me better than solid ground could,

I let my disguise fal

ter and a pearl of laughter escapes me.
Harmony vaitupu Oct 2014
I'm not the person you think you see
'Cause I've got demons inside of me
I may have a smile on my lips
But I have cuts on my wrists and hips
You see I'm damaged, fractured, and broke
I'm surprised I still have hope
No one loves a broken girl
Especially not in this big bad world,
I'm too far gone and you can't save me now
So I will just keep falling down, down, down
Into the depths of my own demise
But it's nothing new, not a surprise,
These demons here hate me so
Sometimes I think I should just go
'Cause I welcome death with open arms
Death looks nice, it has so much charm,
Nobody here loves me anymore
And life is such a dastardly chore
They want me gone, I can tell so much
And someone told me to never trust
So now I know everyone lies
This is what many people need to realize,
But people will always trust
'Til that trust turns to dust
And take a shot in the dark
Until they are torn apart,
And now maybe you see
Why I have demons haunting me
But if you do not
Then you don't know the battles I've fought
And don't judge me at all
Because I will just continue to fal
Zoubiri kasssim May 2015
Between four barriers and more i stood ...
drawing on the upper one a sky full of brightening stars and full moon ...
on the down barrier i made a big stage of dancing and acting  to feel the life's rhythem....
on my right side paris's eiffel tower . lightning in the night and shining in the day light ....
And on my left side rome dangling on its walls the very beautiful art ....
behind me a door of  my dream's country, counting the days and waiting the destiny to open it .....
the last barrier in front of me, a ruined one always watching it afrad to fal down on me and break my bones .....
PK Wakefield May 2010




Nebek Wormer May 2015
you left me stranded on an island
in another- gal-la-xy

found in you someone i could confide in
but that was just a- fal-la-cy

feel you watchin' me
feel you watchin' me
at the standstill of my reflection
down at cross town intersection
re-al-ity- crashes unto me

grasping the truth
stewing the brooth
learning to choose my own des-ti-ny

the past is behind me
you are behind me

in another gal-la-xy
stranded on an island

where you'll rot

no hard fe-el-ings,
i harbor no resentment,
tru-ly no resentment

but you'll rot

deep within the plot
:Title (optional):
twist ending got minds bending
Terri Oct 2019
Be part of my vanilla sky
As I am the black
                                                          and you
Would be the cream
That would complete the white

                                                         and me

In the midst chaos
Would graciously fal-;;,

Slowly Falling;
Slowly Stopping;
                                            [I would wish]
That my body
                           A C H E S
Into Oblivion,

My body systems crash
                                    p a r a l y z a t i o n
That would be the term
Just to have extra time
To lay with you.
lua Jun 2020
falling asleep
as your mind wanders
in these lonely
barren lands
each footstep
in the nothingness
you run away
but find yourself
where you started
as your skin melts
and drips into a puddle
and it's mind numbing
it's banging against your skull
you reach up into the sky
and grab on
but you're fingers slip
and let go
and you're falling
and falling
and falling
fal l  i    

Akira Chinen Aug 2019
Life is a beautiful vicious cycle
of love and pain
and I want to feel it all
let me fall when I fal
let it be terrifying as hell
let it make me tremble
from the first time
my fingers brush hers
to our first kiss
to our last kiss

and when it ends
let the pain break me
let me grieve my dead heart
and all its broken pieces
let me cry hard
and long into the night
let me be sleepless
and dreamless
fill me with despair
let me wish to forget my name
but never her smile

and when I am whole again
when I stitch myself back together
when I can breath again
let my breath be stolen
one more time
let me find love again
bigger than the sunrise
fuller than the moon
holier than the first god
and more alive than the last one

let it shake me until my bones are dust
and I am nothing but a shy
and quivering heart in a new palm

and if it ends again
let me break as never before
let me grieve as I did
the first time I was broken

pathetically and dramatically

let me feel it all
all of the beautiful pain
the vicious cycle of love and loss

why else are we here
if not to weep
if not to crumble in rapture
if not to feel it all
all of it
Comment voulez-vous que je vous croque, marquise,
Votre Seigneurie de haute voltige ?
Comment voulez-vous que votre amant cunnibale croque
L'exquis vertige que son pinceau déflagre
Quand de sa tige délicate et poetique
Il esquisse sur la toile le portrait de votre boutique arrière ?
Dans le tableau vous posez élégamment nue
Le postérieur au premier plan
Et un  sucrier à fal jaune
Qui sent le vent de gingembre
Et la mer de noix de muscade
Becquette d'un regard gourmand le cul corossol
Que vous lui offrez avec langueur et nonchalance.
L'analyse infra rouge de ce charmant spectacle
Révèle cependant que l'artiste au fin bec
En vous a semé ses regrets
Car sous ce derrière plantureux de Dame corossol
Un essaim d'abeilles invisible à l'Œil nu bourdonne
Et l'oiseau a laissé pour tout aiguillon tendre
À la mine d'argent l'empreinte double de ses pattes
Comme d'amoureuses morsures
Dans le sable mouvant de vos lunes rebondies.
Kasti Mar 2019
worthwhile but hard to achieve;

                                              a thing that can never be accomplished.

            Falling,                              ­                                                  
              ­                                     Fa l l i ng                          F all ing
                      F a ll ing,
           Failin g,               Failing,
               Fallin g,
                                Fal lin,
                                                            ­   Fallng,

                                                        ­ I fell.

Your finger drew my lips as fate killed us all.

                                                       how could have this worked if it was doomed from the start?

                                                      For­ you,
                                                      my dear
                                                            ­                                     i give my all,
i give my love.
                                                           ­                   my fate
                                  my heart.

                                                For you my dear,
                                                       my true,
                                                       my love,
                                                           ­ no.
                                                For I cannot love

I can't remember when I wrote this
Jonathan Moya Dec 2020
For a week
a blue fly
buzzed around our apartment
subsisting on our Pomchi’s water,
and kitchen counter crumbs
and dodging attempts
by my wife to swat it.

I used to catch flies
quite easily in my palm
and release them back
to their natural estates
but since my colon surgery
the bugs are always winning.

there was a grey spider,
maybe a brown recluse,
silently gazing
at the bathtub drain.
I could not find a container
to capture it,
so I turned on the faucet
to the lowest cold
and highest flow
and watched the creepy crawly
circle the drain three times
before it vanished
into the mercies
of the Chattanooga sewers.

I was convinced  
that it could survive
by rafting itself  
onto to the nearest ****,
both a source
of refuge and sustenance,
that my Puerto Rican
family of Marine Tigers
living in Miami
(at the time
when Castro refugees
all mythically made
the 330 mile trip
on ten fallen coconut palms
thatched together,
and audaciously declared
eight street,” Calle Ocho”
and their new land,” Little Havana”)
contemptuously called,
back in my racist youth,
a “floating Cuban.”

When I came into the bedroom
my wife was waving around
her big brand-new blue fly swatter,
the one she bought at Dollar Tree.

Our Pomchi, also on the bed,
resting on her back
with her legs up in the air
and stomach joyfully exposed
was barking for a good hard belly rub.

Whack, whack, whack
went the fly swatter,
squarely hitting our little girl
in her sweet spot,
generating ******* squeals.

The blue fly,  
called Mike Pence
for its habit of landing
unnoticed on
any old white thing for
two minute and three seconds,
and now, a visiting family member
that had overextended its stay
more days than
were humanely bearable,
was buzzing around my wife’s head.

Its movement was noticeably slower
and when it landed on the faux leather arm
of my multi position reclining chair,
I was almost able to snag it in my palm.
Too tired to buzz afar,
it rested again on the arm,
weakly regurgitating its own spittle.

I called my wife over,  
a former professional chef
and therefore an expert
in the art of
preparing, cooking and eating
dead things,
knowing she be eager to try out
her new instrument of death.

A sure aim sent the Blue
to the skin colored **** carpet,
and in its last struggle
I started to sing inside the only
song that would be
a proper elegy:

La cu-ca- | ra-cha, la cu-ca-ra-cha
| ya no pue-de ca-mi-nar
por-que no | tie-ne, por-que le fal-tan
| las dos pa- titas "de" a-trás. —

("The cockroach, the cockroach /
can no longer walk /
because she doesn't have, because she lacks / the two hind legs to walk.”)

I imagined it
crying out
“Help me! Help me!”
like the half human,
half insect creature
caught in the spider web
at the end of that
old Vincent Price
creature feature
were death by big rock
was a mercy
compared to
arachnoid decapitation.

and the Blue’s head
was severed
from its thorax.
and its wings
flew East and West.
and its abdomen
closely followed.
and its legs
buckled under it.
a final time
to make sure
it was dead.  

My wife had
and the worst
cardinal sin,
had over-cooked
something that
was meant
to be tartare.

Still our Pomchi
sniffed, licked
and eventually ate
the Blue,
her smile
declaring it
the best thing
she swallowed
all week.  

For a half hour
my wife rewarded her
with the swat, swat, swat
of blue belly rubs.  

Marine Tiger was the ship that carried people from Puerto Rico, and so the white people in New York started calling all the Puerto Rican people ‘Marine Tigers.’

— The End —