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The Red Rain of Kerala wrote this Plague
Un-supported by Evidence and Song
As it wept and bled that once-thirsty Plain
Locals knew their throats will not dry too long
But how could they drink this very strange Guilt
When their Sheets un-furled like the Flags of War
And not until the Google-Heads came in
They realised it was foreign before
Samples were taken in pursuit of Cause
Then page by page those Suspects came to light
Was it Bacteria? Or Lichens-at-Lost
Either way there was some Blood to incite.
When those Findings end, much was to conclude
Which Creation's Purchase falls upon you.
In the New Forest my Base had discovered
The Rites of Pannage those Back-Breakers do
Sows and their Cousins their Instinct recovered
Took a Year's Break from Storage and Stew
Which Proud Members chose Estovers on-edge
Then for Dessert from their Month's Turbary
A Better Concern than Motors bred at-stake,
A chance for their King to pay his Duty
So, my Conqueror, tell me that Ballad
Or must I force that Verderer to Sing
With Acorns, Truffles and all Nuts at-hand
Till he spits out the Seed which bore my Ring.
Tell you what. This Porker you just provide
I'll relish its Pudding and wear its Hide.
Salto Angel dances an Aqua-Skirt
Such Fashion pleased the Tourists below
How else can the Latin earn your Fervour
But surpass your Record of height and snow?
Funny, how her Majesty can suppress
Even more when viewing up from this Point
Like a Crone who often tries to oppress
A Revolt which a Priest failed to Anoint
And lowering my Camera, I see
The many Prizes I did Hit-and-Miss
But she roared with showers raining gently
And, enough! They saw Rainbows turn to bliss.
So I sat on a Rock to watch and live
Hoping my Partner would rise to forgive.
Francesco Bianco and his Wage-Stock Men,
In keeping current with their Rooting Age
Built his Charity on a Stone-House then
As Leisure played a better word for Rage
Not much for Surplus Capital enjoyed
At least for some Tips won by droplets fall
That petty, really. Plus some Papers browsed
For those Picklings shared by survey and toll
Yes, the Compliment of those Blue-Bloods past
Of only their Musk to commensurate
Eve bowed out; Abel only if Forecast
By Cain and his Friends allowed him too late.
You would wonder how such Time could afford
And invest your Years for such brisk Concord.
Weeping Zaire, her Bleeding Flannel blew
Over the Land this Serenity bequeath
What happened, then, to the Children you knew
Took out their Armites; And shot Mercy beneath
Salt from their Riches they greatly export
And infected your Brothers in the Dark
With Mums, Flesh-Spermed Tales of Horror consort
Lost all but their Shelled Samples in the Park
Our Dear Hands sprout! And cry to Heaven's Name
Asking the Saviour when this Madness ends
As the Radio's Red Tape is all just the same,
All just Light-Shows; But very few Amends.
These Congo Apes weep black at the Event
Not just the Brother; But Habitat meant.
The Dragon's Blood Tree standing cross the Horn
Shedding its Bark to reveal those Red Tears
Crying for its Content and its Forlorn
Why such Organism left out its Years
Truly a Wonder did this Being adjust
Where Needed Friend Man requested its Juice
The same Crimson Drops whose Benefits must
Recycle to Dye and other Good Use
But as it thought of its Charity gave
Thinking how it could graft a New Best Friend
It remembered its Roots; Thus it re-made
Bearing Bright Flowers would last till the End.
Mama Africa smiles. You made her proud
Despite the Pirate's Threats your Leaves sing loud.
Here the Anopheles Mosquito lay
Her timed seeds programmed to promote her Brood
So when I saw my Water-Cup in place
It startled me that Tension filled with Blood
But why should you be mopped in such disgrace
When the Blood you saw was all but your own?
Had it been your fault when you should save face
That your Life's Assignment Cover was blown?
This whole Area's disgusting. If you could
Try a Lamb's Digest in still water's drink
He drinks barely folly; And if you would
Allow my Shepherd to point your Destine.
Yet this same Insect bit the Shepherd's arm
Struck her with his Cane but flew without harm.
Cerro Aconcagua sat on his Feet
Watching his children browse his Bones below
Either for Sport or for Samples replete
As they enjoyed the Splendour of his Brow
And how you hugged the Wind which sprayed your Frost
Then took your Role as a Giant-of-Salt
This the Rockies felt the best you can boast
Though in that Line conscience comes to halt
For what they discovered, an Inca wrapped
Possibly a Victim of Sacrifice
Flesh still worn; Of Fibres long-live sapped
For the Sky-God's Hunger he did suffice.
The only Wonder as far as I see
How Sturdy are you yet Motherly be.
The Black Cat of Killakee combs his Fur
Whilst waiting his Feed to divert his Curse:
A Tunney from him; And a Brush from her
For his Mood satisfy the Lady's Purse
Which, nay, see the Tears from his Beelzing Eyes
Oft we assume he was asking for milk
Then, drawing near, strike miser claws of ice
Yet lick your searing wounds as soft as silk
Still makes no sense, save to leave it alone
And cast the door open for its taste to leave
Cot! Fear! Disobey his Instruction bone
Then his Name's Allusion bleed your reprieve.
The Artist knew this, and Painted his Mark
At least on a Dine it knows not to Bark.
Bohemian Feb 17
Caught your back
That is the only feature of you could I spec
So fixated were the steps
Such to mitigate out of the meandering voyage
Towards your path to trace you turned
Beyond my suspected alley
Impalpable
Intended to glimpse your face
I swirled ,shifted and turned
All astood for the whole while
Yet escaped you unaware
I,too,moved ahead jollily without doing you an unnecessary 'peak a boo'
When logic and reality intertwine
Should one need to close the senses?
Or, let one feature the time in rhyme?

What should one do?
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Being the observant || How to be writer || Then it happened || Who may not have wrote something in any point in time?
Pieces of me
thrown away
like trash
Never consulted
Never asked
The direct result
of another’s conviction
or more commonly seen
consequences
from blind ambition

Paranoid
The fix is in
But no invitation
for me,
former me
or forever me
and all of my imitations
beset by my
limitations

Forwardly I lean
step in between
lines upon lines
hidden;
can’t be seen
Falling ill
Now trapped
by its machine
And from my vein;
My blood I spill

A still surface
with sticky sheen
amber tones
from which
I glean
a reason
Thrilled
What it might mean
A hunger
that
can not be filled

Nothing but lies
giving me chills
A shell
with values
not instilled
Instead
it’s dread
Their words
I’m fed
"Nutrients"
to fill my head

My outer skin
Its layer
thin
Not to attacks
No single act
or prayer
could patch
and fill it in
A hole
that’s black
is my first sin

A game
in which
no way to win
and no ending
once it
begins
With opened eyes
commence to see
The dorsal fins
surrounding me

Head starts
to spin
What could have been?
It doesn't matter
in the end
because
there's nothing
here for me
A demon-like reality

Where what you seek
Placed at your feet
The icing; sweet
Choices; not three
Have cake or eat
One choice not two
But want to eat
and have it too

All efforts
to retrieve the treat;
An outcome that
ends in defeat
A princess swept
off of her feat
But this feature
princess;
a creature
Spirit of
a soulless seeker

Deceitful speaker
Flames;
he’ll eat ya
Offers pain
Can’t heal;
life drained
Then reaching out
to use
life-line
but with each ring
hope further wanes

An answered call
done just in time
The chills
running all down my spine
Stand tall
just like Douglas-fir pine
With racing thoughts
filling my mind
I will be saved
Free from it all
God must exist
No time to stall
In battle
warriors
may fall
but no man's ever left behind

Only to find
With said spent dime
A dynamite kind of answer
-
A type
that might
cause strife
Can't plan for
Needed answer
Plight
like cancer
New chance to live
Worldly romancer
On planet Earth
A tiny dancer

A romantic thought
to think
fight fought
Instead a sinking ship
just dropped
This life?
If could
an ‘OUT’
would opt
No more
can take
Just make
it stop
Written: April 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
ethan gaskill Jul 2018
i want to be
your vintage crooner for life
frank sinatra mixed with marvin gaye
with twenty-first century style
i'd greet you at the door with flowers
and be your chauffeur to wherever
you want to go i'll take you
there's no rush; we have forever
our life can feel like a movie
almost too good to be true
sooner or later you'll realize
i've always felt that way about you
galas and night dances and jet airplanes to france
would only be enjoyable if i'm holding your hand
i think that we could see our dreams
with our own awake eyes
so come and ride away with me
and we can have the time of our lives
whether sunday morning pancakes or a tuesday noontime lunch
breakfast in bed or a venice bistro will be equally fun
and if god takes us that far
i'd point to you when our daughter asks what a queen is
we could show our children how dedication
and compassion makes life feel like you're dreaming
and someday many years from now
when we have an empty nest
we'll remember the feature film of our romance
and decide that we did it best
Kimberly Nolasco Aug 2018
Today I touched a blade,
I rubbed against it and it all felt the same.
I couldn’t tell the difference between the purple and the red
From it drenched every drip against the metals melted way
I couldn’t tell the difference between the fire and the rain,
And every drink I sipped
It all tasted the same.
My hurt,  I thought was loving,
My loving only hurt.
My mind weighed out and my heart feather like,
Should I have never let it flown?
-kn
I haven’t been in a mood to write so muc, I get scared to touch my words, but I write when i fear less
Salsa Oct 2018
I was 20 years old,
Walking down the road.
You stopped me in my tracks
To say hello.
I said it back because what's the harm?
From that moment on,
I was a victim to your charm.
You called me pretty
And reached out to hold me,
That alone should have sent me running.
You refused to let me leave,
Until you had a way of contacting me.
Gripping on to my sleeve,
I did what you asked of me.
I wasn't scared
When I should've been.
I was taught to think
That was romantic of him.
If I could turn back,
I would untell myself that.
Shed light on my naivety,
perhaps protect my virginity,
From a 35 year old man
With an abominable plan.
Yes I was of legal age
But here's the common sense,
It still gave you no right
To rob me of my innocence.
Convinced we were friends
And I would always be safe
I let my guard down
Oh god, what a mistake.
You kept wanting to meet late at night.
In your car, in a park,
Anywhere out of sight.
I always felt compelled
During those meetings of ours.
Never like my own self
In those early morning hours.
The first time you laid hands on me
Was when I called and needed company.
Vulnerable and upset,
I needed a friend.
A shoulder to cry on,
A possible distraction,
A devil-sent ravisher
Was not what I asked for.
I was not in control.
I kept coming back for more.
The night you finally ****** me
Is my reoccurring nightmare.
A force and ****** feature,
The end of an affair.
I can't leave it in the past.
You left me aghast.
I want to tear off my skin
And rid myself of your sin.
It's been a couple of months,
Still I can't bear to be clutched,
Until now, I've kept my mouth shut
About the night I was touched.
I'm trying to heal.
Third Eye Candy Mar 2013
Barbarians At The Bill Gates

Kings in a Nutshell of Plots,
Machiavellian; made Lords Of Infinite Beige.
a Workspace now a  Dead-Space in The Heart of an Artist... Scaling, Mount Dew, at a snail's pace.
Behemoth Logarithms,
Jammed in a hot box. with cigarette soot blocking die-cut vents
The cousin with the soft-spot.
Hair, Nobly Re-Disheveled  by Hit and Miss ads, like
crow's feet dancing on insomniac spines, in and around, the Yawning Cathode D-Rez
Of all Villages, M. Night. Ramadan, forged, into Code Soldiers
With No Code to reverse Schrodinger's Black Cat, Back in The Bag...
The Genie, from a corner apartment in Manhattan, to a bedroom in a Bottle of Lightning.
Only Reactive Jazz
Cosmonauts, embedding feathers in " White Hats "
A Moral Avatar.

Hack Lads in The Boonies of Way Ahead of The Curve.
An Unsound lack of Judgment, echoing by Proxy, like Mr. Hyde;
Passing for a binary Schizophrenic. Swallowing Blackberries, Seeds of Anarchy and All.
Crowd-Sourcing the wisdom of Crowds of People
With cup-holders, the Elite call CD-Rom
Stand-by.
A Quest For Firewire. A billion portals,, huddled in chaos.
In the lens of  The Camera-Obscura, hidden in the USB Port
In the Fuzzy Logic of Our Narcissism.
SQL that Ends Well \ with a Backlash To Pi Charts
Of Privileged  Information,
Cooling, only in The Windows, Facing a Social Network
Resting, on a sill of Approval by Market Share and -
Ad *******

An eye of  a needle, peeling onions in a brave new world, weeping for the pure, post-ironic
Joy, Of Threading a Nano-Camel
Through The Eye of a Needles' Parable.  To Aesop the gravy of grave doubt
and reasonable suspicions off
Teutonic Plates

To an Atheist. The Heavyside Layer of Bricked Phones
and Dissonance,
May Find a Contract, 'Comes with Astroglide.
And a toaster.

Floppy Disc-Figurements of Our Right To Privacy.  
Resurfaced By The Naivete
Of a Target Audience, With a Heads-up Display,
A 4D Hologram  
Of Steve Jobs,  
Exported over dark fiber optics;  
Silicons of Prosaic non-Existence
Overclocking the Swatch
On  a wrist

Banning Calligraphy

Ward of the State
Of the Economy
With a Cult
Following


A Hologram of Steve Jobs
To sharpen the bleeding edge
with a moon rock from The OtherSide of Billions of Dollars.
The After-Accolades with the Spanish moss From Taiwan
Where Dragons Of  Technology
Shed limits, that metastasize rapid growth
Of Personal Stock by -
adding a Touch Screen Feature to an App For Clout.
To Out-Monopoly with a Walled-Garden
Designed by Stanley Kubrick's 2001 [ Available Space Odyssey  ]
A Terabyte
leaving Half a Worm
In your Apple.

A Difference Engine, differently Desired

Dumped
On a Corner in
Your Circle
Of Confirmed
Friends.


rocking XP like an OG on Food Stamps and The Fringe.
Centered Better And Re-Posted.
lillium Apr 6
i
the sun washed the room golden
as the light breakthrough the window
they danced on your feature
as you stare into mine
I’m sorry I pick your favourite scenery
for me to say goodbye
I hope you forget about me as you fall deep into the sky
Owlman Jun 2014
They throw me in the name of god
Throw me in the name of freedom
Use me to sharpen their blades
Carve to make beauty that never fades
Use to measure, find assumed treasures
With all the radical measures
Use me to build shelters and shatter bones
Calling me god, he bows and bends
Cull animals and humans alike
With ****** hands, holding rituals
Some one ask him! what is it you truly sacrifice?
I marvel, at this creature
Ponder upon every feature
After ages and ages of gazing
To me, It is still amazing!
still life and the way they might look at us.
Love is a rare and dangerous creature
That only shows face when the time is right now
Lust is a complimentary feature
Which keeps lovers guessing til both settle down

Not to say everyone settles for less
Love doesn't lie, but it leaves room for choice
Those who are willing to give it their best
Keep Lust in its place and let Love be the voice

Love is adaptable, constantly changing
It morphs and it breathes like a woman or man
Lust is impassible, always deranging
It puts up a wall and masks what it can

Nobody knows what happens to Love
When distance requires the mind to have faith
And stare at the images Lust conjures up
Alluding ideas of mistrust and distaste

Isn't it better to let Love be free?
To keep it confined would just let it die
Allowing the chains for which Lust has the key
To govern the feelings of comfort and pride

Be free, my love, to run through the brush
But always remember where you were at peace
And hurry on back when you've had enough
For I may not be here when your venture has ceased
The duality, everchanging
Luiz Aug 2018
The day I die, I shall be here at the ready...for death will not leave the stables unannounced!  

When that day dawns and I hear the clattering of the horse's shoes out in the barn, I will be dressed in my finest suit, with all my affairs in order and ready for the knight's embrace.

Hours before the rider mounts the beast and hunts my soul, I will have done my goodbyes with kin and friends.

For the day I die, I shall be here at the ready! prepared to see my beautiful mother and my father by her side, unafraid of my next life...excited about events here to unfold!

The raven will have cried at dusk, announcing the pale rider’s coming at midnight and I alone will hear the weeping bird...and those eerie sounds will prelude my dispatch to the ready.

For I won't fear the fading of the light! This light that nears the black, with a fleeing dim, disappearing just for me.

This ready I'll perform in peace, as I'm tired, lonely and aching to now part.  The knight, I promise, will never have such a willing participant to meet his mortality.  The rhythm of the galloping hooves will grow louder as the beast nears my door, and there I'll be, as ready as can be.

I will not retract from the fading glow. Rather, when the pale figure enters my home, I will scream with joy:

"Oh! I've missed you mother!, I've missed you father!"

There I'll stand at the ready, and the squawking of the bird will show he's at my doorstep, and I won't flinch or evade, even as the dim dims!

You'll be proud mama!, you'll be proud father!

The beast's snout will breathe on me!  I will feel the wetness of it's breath upon my neck as it draws closer! The stench of death will permeate my spirit.

The rider will wait for my last plea for life, but it shall never come!

No!

Instead, I will give him his first loving embrace after I see to his dismount and shout:

"I STOOD HERE AT THE READY! AS I'M TIRED, LONELY AND ACHING TO NOW PART!”


© 2017

Luiz
Feature post at spillwords.com/ready/
Next feature on 8/21
Spillwords.com/the-promise/
Kody dibble Aug 2018
Proficient in turn
Glass make up
Chandeliers
Night calls to all the....


Growing growing growing,
We are all growing
It's time for a new time
And a crime to want to know that,
Don’t pass without,
A feature or a sort to clause,
Your every action
Deathtime blues
Annelyra Oct 2013
Crash
And you're awake
Fighting with eyelids
Losing
tick tick tick
you're
running out
of
time
half an arm in your sleeve
and one shoe missing
girlfriend
this is modern life
the right to run yourself
absolutely ragged
was earned for you
by other better women
so run faster run faster runfaster
and make sure
your nails are as immaculate
as your
work/life balance

trickle trickle
down the centre of your back
fully paid-up member
of the local leisure centre
sculpting that body
for everyone else's sake
see the angel in the marble
and sweat until
you set it free
you're a modern-day
Michaelangelo
take out your chisel
and get back to work

tease those eyelids open
oh god
crash
crash
crashcrashcrash
heartbeat elevating
along with your blood pressure
have you forgotten..
no its ok
thank god
heart slows
with a family to support
and a mortgage to pay
you can't afford to forget
anything
and you can't afford
the sleep it requires
to sharpen that memory
you're paying in minutes
and you need more
than you can get

remember
if you can't touch it
it ain't worth nothing
glass coffee tables with
object d'art languishing beneath
that's what life is all about
fill your place with
minimalist furniture
have a feature wall
in every room
be edgy and creative
monochrome not florals
darling
seriously consider an extension
and a yacht
install a corner jacuzzi
in magenta temptress
that you'll never use
shout at the children
for spilling on the
cream wool carpet
invite friends over to
drink Merlot with you


carbon footprint aside
work is an hour away
so at the end of every day
get in your car
and hurtle towards home
weaving between cars
and lorries
and motorbikes
autopilot
thinking of emails
writing emails
receiving emails
gottapickupthekidsandsortoutthe..
then
you realise
with your chest bangbangbanging
that your eyelids gave up
just momentarily
as a lorry pulled out
driven by a 44-year-old
who will later
much later
joke weakly
women drivers
over his pint of Carlsberg
and in two seconds flat
you're going
to
crash.
wes parham Oct 2014
Pour one under the table for those who walk outside.  In memory of Spalding Gray, for what he meant to me...
    Thanks, “Spuddy”, for sharing your inner life.   Thanks for having the courage to bring so many troubles into the light.  You laughed at your troubles and allowed us a way to laugh at our own.  You put a voice to carrying an unbearable shyness or an excess of fear along with us as we go through life.  You strived to care when caring was out of fashion and in short supply.  Thanks for reminding us that life is the journey, and not only the destination.  You wrote a book.  You played a minor role in a feature film.  Those were some of your destinations.  When you shared your journey, you did it with humor, humility, and with love.  Thanks for reminding me that storytelling is all around us.  Thanks for reminding me that it need not be complex.  You were merely observant during your journey,  and you shared it through the lens of your own perception.
    I learned this January that life became unbearable for you.  If only we, your audience, could have comforted you or somehow stemmed the river; the flood that carried you to leave so early.  I would like to believe that, once you died, you might be able to hear our collective voice.  I imagine that you are able to see the people affected by your work, some inspired thus to create works of their own; tell their own awkward stories, sharing them as you shared yours.  I am far back in the line, and I eventually arrive at your table.  You flip a page in your spiral-bound notebook and take a sip of water before glancing up inquiringly.  I only have one thing to say, really.  “Thanks, Spalding.  Thanks for sharing”.
Written after I learned of Spalding Grey's suicide in 2004.   His performances, full of a bare, self-deprecating and personal mania, touched me as they made me laugh.  They said, "I feel this ridiculous *******, too".  They said, "we get by anyway, despite the confusion, the fear, or the pain".  They inspired me to share some of my own self in personal narrative or poetry.  He wasn't any idol to me, I just felt his passing strongly since his own work had inspired me, personally, to live just a little bit more.  Life's a collaboration.
Luz Hanaii Apr 9
She wrote some words trying to hoover me back,
lacking the feature to know that my sensitivity
could see through her subtle yet devious remarks,
once again the snake wore her cloak of kindness.

"even the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel."

Words were never her lack, but her choice of words,
charity and empathy did lack.
If she could perceive as well as I do,
she would have known I forgave her long ago,
I'm lacking desire to  be entangled in web once more.
Note:
A narcissist will try to get back those he/she find to be good supplies, the term is called, "Hoovering" such as the Hoover vacuum.
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