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Wk kortas Jul 2018
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
Containing a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the *******-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
Bee Feb 2018
Down the stairs, my hands a shield
for incoming priority mail,
and trained for the way your body would
hug me closer with every exhale.

Your mother won’t stop calling.
Kind of like the week we spent hopeful
before they sent you away.
Kind of like me just trying to hear your voice,
always searching for something that’s calming.

The windows have
been open since yesterday,
and I heard the bird sing to its sky,
“I love you”
before it started to rain,
darkness swallowed up the sun’s sky
and wilted all our daisy-chains.

Rescued frames surround me,
reserved to tell your stories.
The breeze never fails me,
it carries your scent in flurries.
If I try hard enough, I could feel it

through my hair, and on my lips.
Every night the breeze
brings with it a solar eclipse
that soaks through my skin,
and intertwines with my blood cells,
going straight to the bones that
keep my body from further farewells.

Tomorrow I will build a home with
the words of your silent prayer.
My cracked walls will be painted with
your skin and the scent of your hair.
My new bed will be made with
old t-shirts you always used to wear.

If I could fit your eulogy on this page
I’d make sure to mention the breeze that whirls
through the center of my chest,
and my lungs that faithfully breath the air
that may have once circled your ribcage.
Terry O'Leary Dec 2016
My chambers teem with tensions, taut, that logic can’t withstand,
fragmenting mental masonry with memories unplanned,
as bitter tears from amber eyes reduce the stone to sand.

Dim shadows cast by candles flit across the haunted room,
beleaguer apparitions, pale, that stalk me through the gloom,
usurping purloined purple forms forgotten ghosts assume.

The tick-tock clock of time rewinds within the mirrored hall
and pendula suspended, pause, while creatures creep and crawl
on images of effigies, through memories that maul.

The madness of the midnight mass! Perchance it interferes
with spiders spinning spiral threads which bridge the chandeliers
when weaving minds' discarded coils to silken souvenirs.

Reflections graced the vacant gaze of idols as they fled!
Their futile, feigned, far-flung farewells now hammer in my head,
marooned like frozen silhouettes in footprints of the dead.

My lovers smile through marbled masks before they turn their backs
(like furnace flames deserting ash or phantoms fleeing cracks)
with faded, painted, wrinkled faces nightmares carve in wax.

Sometimes a gust disturbs the dust and secrets reappear,
which dance in silver slippers through the dusk of yesteryear -
it's not the screams that drown my dreams, but whispers which I fear.

The hangman posts a letter home, his message indiscreet
about the vestal ****** in the café (where we meet
to savour tea and crumpets) down a one-way dead-end street.

The rapping and the tapping at my tattered, time-worn door
repeat reports of migrant myths, of tales of nevermore,
strung far across a sullen sea, most shipwrecked near the shore.

Forget-me-nots, enwrapped in rain the while a wan wind blows,
recall the faintly fickle fates this drifter undergoes –
alone, unknown with tracks interred in teardrop undertows.

My feet, no longer tied or tethered, traipse within a squall
pursuing profiles long forsaken, buried in the sprawl
of spectres spread amongst the dead, some tattooed to the wall.

At times, the belfry towers toll of anarchy and gin,
of smoke and mirrors, rolling dice and other things akin,
impaled on forks down byway roads, and things that might-have-been.

The skies outside, beyond the night with shutters shut and drawn,
begin to glow on shattered shapes escaping ’fore the dawn
as clouds undone beneath the sun release this captive ****.
Midnight Rain Dec 2018
i write words on
but i know they will only bloom on the
dawn of our reunion

and i have said my farewells
to the night you left me in,
i rose like smoke
smoldering against the sun

it is dawn again,
       but i am alone
perhaps, at last, you have lost your
way to me

lost your way to me, just like i knew you would
amirshahriar Sep 2018
I want to be the First one who sees your charming face!
I want to be a Poet:
just to repeat your beautiful name through the lines!
You must be the Last one who farewells the world.
Marigolds Fever Oct 2018
Pieces of life
Scattered about
Silent treasures
Without meaning
Salutation greetings
Ghostly images of youth
Places of truth
Slices of life’s pie
Only tasteful to the eye
Affairs of life
Time & places known by one
Maybe by two
Speckles of a memoir dust
A foggy grey
Heart portraits stay
Of memory served
Left to farewells
To be thrown in mind’s well
A blackhole abiss
Never to be missed
Or treasured again
Some pushed together like clay
Others drift away
Hearts full of broken memories on display
I never know I’ve gone til I come back
And realize that life
Has moved on for a period
And left me here behind

I don’t slip off to fall asleep
I doubt that sleep is involved at all
I jump to other nonsense lifes
Against my wish and flagging will

Not nightmares, but scenarios
Of things and people I don’t know
Doing things I’ve never done
In times and places I’ve not been

Not unpleasant in the least
Just people doing people things
But in some other universe
That skates around outside of this one

Sometimes I’m still conversing there
When something drags me back to here
Where someone looks at me and says “Beg pardon?”
And I reply “oh, nothing. I’m just talking to myself”

I can't remember where I was
Or who were those there with me
The memory fades as I return
And realize that I’ve been gone

Without farewells or by-your-leave
To visit in a different world
With nothing that I recognize and people I don’t know
I’m moving through a life that isn’t mine

I don’t know how to make it stop
Am I insane or is this real
I have no way to know for sure
I just know it will come again.
Escapism in its purest form
Vince Aug 2018
Disconnected but available
Alone but one of many
Smiling to those reading my words
Crying this side of the shiny screen

Feeds scrolling in front of our eyes
Organised randomness of peoples lives
Vague questions, happy memories and sad ones
Others trying to connect, to matter, to belong

We show only what we want seen
As if being held by viewers to some higher standard
Afraid to express our true selves
In fear of losing a friend we have never met

Logging out after farewells to those in foreign lands
The monitors glow extinguished
Days meld, loneliness is back
Waking on a new day that mirrors the last

Clicking a button a fan spins
The glow reignites the software boots
The browser loads, the friends appear
Its just another day, another year.
Johnny walker Dec 2018
There are times I just sit and wonder why how did this all come to be, going
about my business without a care In the
All of a sudden right out of the blue I'm hit "wham knock out blow, my wife Is dying and there's nothing can do but watch and
Heartbreaking sat by her Hospital bed holding hands she's growing week
I tend her every need but I know
the end Is coming and I think then so did Helen she had said farewells to her family and was ready to
go and go she
Seeing growing weak struggling to breath was
hard to watch going to Inevitable was coming
thomezzz Feb 10
I used to love the moments of love
Like the gratuitous glances
We exchanged in the grocery store
Or the brief belly laughs
That reverberated in our bedroom

I found myself living in them
Like the kind kisses
We had in the tight kitchen
Or the sly smirks
Reflected off the shower stall

I wanted them all the time
Like the ample adoration
Down adjacent bookstore aisles
Or the careening caresses
Of my thighs in the car

Even when sour, I held them so close to me
Like the damaged despair
Of broken plates in the dining room
Or the warning words
That echoed off white walls

I remembered every moment
Like the accusing anger
Spread across awful afternoons
Or the effortless embraces
Given in endured evenings

And sometimes, I wished I could forget them
Like the somber silences
In separate sides of the bed
Or the tearful touches
Of hands tightly ****** together

I used to love the moments of love
Like the beginning beauty
Of blushed bedroom faces
Or the frightened farewells
Under falling rain
Conor Jan 6
Take one last look,
At that solemn face,
Remember what it used to make.

The joys,
The smiles,
The conversations that stretch for miles.

Take one last look,
Recall all that happened,
And you find a tear somewhat beside you.

For happiness is only temporary,
Loneliness is certain,
Those thoughts in your head,
They’re your burden.

Take one last look,
For you mistook,
This world for something else.

You thought it was blissful,
You thought it was tranquil,
But now you can’t understand it,
You can’t demand of it,
You’re enslaved by it,
Those chains tie you down,
Till you become part of the ground.

Take one last look,
That’s all you need,
To say your farewells,
And proceed somewhere else.
A pleasant guest deserves a fair goodbye
Only if he promises not to stay
But if he so pleases your eye
Be not ashamed to say
For if in your hastily timing
You make him change his mind
Then later at your combining
You may each other remind
Of how goodbye leaves sad partedness
With nothing to repair the broken-heartedness
So farewell is never the word to say
For true friends will always stay!
sonja l Oct 2018
I held tears in echoing night-paths
farewells in dark woods
where you tamed my flame,
entered secret rooms,
with dead silence in your eyes.

— The End —