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Wasteful Words Aug 2013
I
An orange overcast this
evening splayed pink
hues stripes and
saccharine beads. The

twilight caricatures live golden years.

Restless becoming in the garden of
her drunken sons their flowers
soaked in brass, seams
bursting in uncontrollable
laughter we pause. To
admire the briefness

of that era exploding
its petals peppering
spraying saliently we spill
indoors churning across tabletops.
My arms hang dead by my sides.

Her eyes gaping sway
swiftly biting deeply the dottedfaces
lurch. Streets fall unconditional
amidst tears we comb lips
sharply distinctly

her stubborn *** stumbling
handles loosening she holds
my hand my arms hang
dead we pause.       

II
Children babble sunlight across
lawns; I hear sirens traffic icecream nips
our tongues twinge on windless
pipes gust our hair flying smiling
at laughter  from the
playground behind us.

Placid smiles stain enamoured
halls; for glimpses
we mumble necks crooked
sheets flap  draped over bars
her eyes waver glisten
shiver. A warm breeze
dries my hair.

III
Wallowing I oscillate utmost trep-
-idation entangling grappling but
hushed beneath foliage eyes
downturned soil clings when her

fingers impress deeper through
to where rivers end.
Glowing dawn I turn further
lighter almost her hair caught

between the floors;
gently feverish we see turgid
lines the tinniest cracks we pray
on tranquil mornings.

Window panes blemished it was
spring only darker from
deafened rivers throbbing;
under lucid eyes I fold
and heralds blare. We consume
the silence sounding from still lakes.
Riri May 19
Beneath the boughs where twilight spills its gold,
The whispering winds through blooming meadows glide.
A river sings where silent secrets fold,
And daisies nod with grace the hills can't hide.

The sky, a canvas brushed in fading flame,
Reflects in pools where dragonflies alight.
The lark ascends and calls the sun by name,
While shadows dance beneath the birch’s light.

In Nature’s hush, the soul is softly stirred—
A truth more pure than ever man has heard.
One* of the things faith tells me
About how Two live my life
Is to love my Three neighbours
(Next door, next door but one and next door but two)
Even though one of them carried a knife.
Four it says in the old scriptures
To love all those around us
Even the MP's with their meals of Five courses
When there are people starving on the street
Begging for Sixpence for something to eat
And some people say that's greed
But I've got to tell you that makes me kind of...angry
Because how can we be free when there are Seven rules
To live by to shape our personality. SEVEN.
Seven rules to tell us how to live,
Seven days in which God created...this
And Seven things that are considered a sin.

But can I just say,
Who wants to worship a God, who does not feel love?
Who disagrees with passion,
And ***,
And lust?
Who wants a God with a heart of stone,
Who would condem a person to hell
For feeling a little... alone?
And didn't God demand our love for him?
But why should we love this *****
Who is incapable of returning it?

And we should not eat or drink
More than is needed to keep us living.
Ha! I'd like him to take a trip down here
Where our monthy wage are the only things that are thinning.
He'd take one look at the girls of Birkenhead,
And throw up McNuggets all over their head.

But aren't we forgetting that he ordered his son
To deliver millions of fish to everyone?
Sorry but is that not gluttony?
Or was he just feeling generous that particular Tuesday?

He also demands that every person on this earth
Should follow his rules.
All *Seven
billion of them.
Simply Greed.

And if these rules are not followed
We shall be punished for it tomorrow.
So it says in John 3:36
"Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life,
But whoever rejects the Son,
God's wrath will remain on him"
So right there: God is a wrathful God.
Well, we might as well all go home to
...Fold our socks.

Because I'm sorry but I cannot believe
These are acts of compassion,
He floods the entire earth for not doing what he was saying.
Noah knows, you need only ask him.

And if we worship another God,
We are marrooned on an Island called Hell
Filled with all the burning souls,
Well take me there then
At least I know I'll meet The Rolling Stones.

So God is envious it is clear to see
And if we use his name in vein,
He gets even more pissy.
So he's got pride.
And Laziness is an obvious one,
To do his work he employed his Son.

**So let's do what we want,
Sin if we must.
What other ways are there
To have the utmost fun?
The Seven Deadly Sins
RCraig David Apr 2013
"The Scent of Spinning"

Following the curve of your neck in the dark.
Watching your eyes close in slow motion as I slow my motion.
The smell of your bare skin sends me spinning,
rendering me helpless into your fold.
Time slows the flows of sweet smelling wine down your neck line.
Tracing soft lines down your back, our eyes close.
Excesses of ecstasy rekindling even the cinder within our beating hearts.
Clinging to the start of each new moment, we slowly roll and fold together.
The scented potion of sweet devotion renders quiet all but steady motion like slow ocean waves.
Laws of science, all broken.
Jaws are silenced, none is spoken.
Embraced in compliance, a dream unwoken.
The hour after you're gone,
reminiscent hints of you scent linger on.
Again I descend into a hypnotic slumber,
sent spinning by the scent of your bare skin.

R. Craig David-Copyrighted 2002
This one's a little steamy
simpathi Jan 2018
Like a thief in the night,
It steals all of my things,
Searching for joy,
Parts never to be seen.

Like a thief waiting to ****,
It waits for its chance,
Not moving a muscle,
Completely still.

Like a thief in my life,
It steals my character,
It ruins my sight,
Clouding reasons behind why I try.

Like a thief in desperation,
It will steal them for ransom,
Being susceptible to the temptation,
Unaware of the reigning phantom.

Like a thief of my heart,
It begins its deception,
Always taking part,
Destroying perception.

Like a thief of the cold,
It makes you unable, old,
Instead of bluffing you’re forced to fold.
Wishing of poverty being foretold.

Like a thief in the day,
It turns your vibrant colors
Into,
Gray.
We all have a thief inside us...
Richard j Heby Jun 2013
Make me naked by petal, walking by vine
and just a seed, two lip pieces, tulip
then bury me in you i know you’re mine
rushing slowly soil, sunk, blossom tip

give me kiss for color, coming on to
you. On you, no limbs but falling leaf
by leaf, bipedal, standing—but bent, you
blow the dandelion dust, white, belief

is something but lust for a wish to come
true. I have to lay here next to you.
It’s spring already, by trunk gold bees hum,
new roots are sprouting from the wish you blew.

Fold you over, fold me bare and red
then dwindle, unkindle, lay your sleeping head.
PK Wakefield Nov 2011
sing sighs softly
o' wind
i walk with you
and i regard myself
(and how shall i regard myself?)
am i you?
do i flick or flutter?

without lips your whispers
are like incessant draping
fibers looser than tighter.

o' wind then,
answer me
are you again me?
or perhaps am i you?
you are like seas
bashful and incredible
you fold and buckle
seamless reams of
fingerless hands
you are barely muscles
and whole glancing
infinities.

of me, is there some
quality, that is you?
or do i remain a
simple foible?
a little meekness?
or am i(like you almost)
terrible and beautiful?

(well you don't say
a thing so i'll do this:
i'll **** my timid notion
and my diminutive weak
body will die too and oceans
of laughter will pile a crisp
tumult from my breast and
i'll yoke darkness to my shoulders
and i'll cram out into fathomless
tiny space every inch and dash of me
and i'll be beautiful like you O' WIND
i'll be beautiful like your dreadful glorious heave)
Karma will get you three fold when you hurt someone that did not need to be hurt. You were thoughtless, selfish, and simply did not think and Karma is a ***** a bigger ***** than me.  You will suffer bad luck, destiny will smile upon you and fate will definitely turn her back on you.  Karma will make you suffer worse than you made suffer and you will not prosper at all. You will get no job, no car, no new girl friend, because Fate will play in that hand and Karma will take care of you.
Bad luck will come you  in every way and in fact it will be with you until you dying day. She may forgive you if you ask for forgiveness and undo the damage you have done to me. However, it is not for me to say it is up to Karma what she does to you now and until your dying day.
Isabella Terry Oct 2018
All falls silent and still as she perches on her throne;
the world falls asleep under the diligent gaze of her pale, white eyes.
Her crimson lips part in the gentlest of sighs.

She entertains a fleeting wish for companionship--
for someone with which to banter away the cold, quiet nights.
Her pale, snow-hued skin is freezing without the contact of another.

So many eternities have passed since she last knew conversation,
she has long since forgotten how to speak.
Collected, quiet breaths are all that fall from her lips now.

Her hands fold in her lap, her slender fingers intertwining in ennui.
Her jeweled feet take to tapping the floor listlessly;
it's hardly regal, but she struggles to care.

The endless river of her midnight hair cascades over her shoulder.
It is reminiscent of the apparent length of the night,
which begins to feel eternal: an isolated afterlife of solitary confinement.
Her name is Elara.
Your words are rich but your silence is golden
I've lost all faith in what humanity has spoken
You don't know this, but I was chosen
To speak out against society
and it's twisted mentality
Says one thing but means another
Karma is coming, but you'll never see her
She'll smother you with your past mistakes
Do whatever it takes to pay back the heartache
That you caused and all the hurt you dished out
Don't you see it now? There's no doubt,
You're in her sights now
She's aimed at your heart, tearing apart the pain
You claimed to have no control over
Karma's here, can't you see her?
She don't bluff, this ain't Tuesday night poker
Fold this hand, it's weighing heavy on your shoulders
Exposure to the light got you moving slower and slower
It's over, she's beat you down
Might as well leave the table,
Karma don't play around
N J Saroff Feb 2020
When asked who and what I am
It's hard to give a ****
I answer with
Half woman half man
But also
Neither boy but an apology
Neither girl but a memory
Maybe both, but that's called false ideology
Ask when it all began
Then stop me before I even can-

Not a daughter but somehow that bothers you
It's hard to walk in porcelain shoes
Every step can mean something someone will break
Stay in the binary that's your fate
Laugh when I say I'm in between
The words in between how the color gray can mean so much,
Because it's not an issue of black or white
How the love just might-

Falling for every human
Not a color like red or blue
Grow out of the phase maybe at the end it won't be true
Given a name to make one easily identifiable
Yet after, I found myself, not so easily identifiable
We thought I'd just settle for cis hetro-normative *** and gender
But instead I'm still caught in this hell ******
Return the parts I don't want to God, aka the original sender
Scientific labels based on unseeable factors
Play the gender roles, be a good actor

If it's a disease then please shoot me with the cure,
to fix what has always left me so unsure

My body both a home and cage
Bringing Such Joy and such rage
Curves so superb to the audience eyes
Yet come and cry when the scales numbers rise
Try to fold up small go unnoticeable, then
tear it to pieces become invisible

Wear a shirt that's too tight
Wear a pants that are just right
Wear a skirt or a dress
Become a failure or a mess
Wear a loose button up sudden success

Gender is career goals
Gender is being dull
Gender is falling apart,
picking yourself up to make the art
Gender is binary
Gender is not binary
Gender is clothes
But also
Gender is making yourself containable to those
who do not care about you
This is a improv poem
As vibrant and vivacious as a brand new totem
My luck feels like a bad game of Texas Hold 'Em
Instead of picking up the cards I fold them
The moon is covered in clouds when I walk out on the porch
Letting my presence sink like a dying torch
I'm not the one who rides on self pity
But I'm the lonely beggar drowning in the city
Barely making it
I can swear to you I'm not faking it
Everything that happens in my life
Should not contuine in my offspring
For they only know unity and peace
Until I send them off into this world
Where people are hanged and ******
For being the ones who want to live freely
As I know times are tough
I must not get my hands too rough
I must make sure the water is just right and my tone is prestine
So they can comprehend why I'm intently serene
So they can remember my words
So that they can swing the sword
With only thier words
For that they can become much more ambitious than other kids in their generation
And seize the hearts of a nation
They could become beloved sensations
That would be my greatest iteration
God bless me for that I've loved
Will bless me with the most beautiful people the Earth could possibly have standing
Taking after their mother
Who is my queen of the kingdom I so want to return to
As life is the opposing men capturing me and keeping me in their cold, lonely, prison.
This poem was done by improv. I really honed my skills at coming up with poems out of the whim. It's a beautiful skill.
I have always had a preference to the dark
that is why I study the killing art
I am that black winged nightmare
that can smash you in two

I'm I sure it will hit me ten fold
oh yes please for I care not for my soul
well if it was mine
sure I would still not care a jot

I do it for the hate of you
for I despise all
I want my hands rather ******
with my black magic studies

I hate you
I hate them
lets make it totally ******
with my black magic study

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Piglet Aug 2014
Do not label me.
I will not fold to fit in to your
pigeon hole.
I will remain unchained, 
unchanged by your desire for conformity.
All that I ever was, all that I may ever be 
doesn't rest upon your opinion of my being.
Do not label me......someday I might surprise you
RCraig David Nov 2017
Two hearts encased,
chased by a full moon overlooking the black and lucid night.
Like a bright contrasting white light spotlight on things to be.
Mine to yours and yours to me.
Two hearts into one,  
the one moon spills a mana spell akin to an infinite, everlasting spoken rune over the ages.
Our stories into one,
Our hearts bond,
timeless...unsung,
It’s skips progressive stages,
beyond words on pages,
in this quiet moment past the reach of the Sun.
The fullest moon,
the furthest reach,
high in the sky contrasting the black lack of light,
night’s version of high noon.

Emboldened to fold into and hold onto you so often,
bending,
blending,
transcending so tight even our souls share light.
Eyes shut, sealed from light,
we feel and grasp and clasp and clinch at every body-inch,
sparking darkest days into brightest nights...
then, all over again, I see you, I pull you close,
and so it begins again this morning or this day or this night.

PART 2
The ****, salty taste of your waist encases a place in my brain forever.
You depart...we’re apart...
Miss you fiercely,
love you deeply,
to hold you near,
feel my fears leave me,
if only I could just see thee.
My next morning starts anew with more thoughts of you and how completely I see thee as part of the whole sum of who I suddenly aspire to be.

With every rolling tumble and sweet embrace,
with every chanced glance to give chase,
with every coy kissing peck on my neck,
with every wept tear of joy
with every breath or soulful laugh you employ,
I beseech you,
Mate to my soul,
woman to this man,
girl to this boy,
my heart,
my love,
my trust are yours to have,
to hold,
to embold...
laid bare to infirm or destroy.

By R. Craig David-Copyrighted 2017
Ryan Bowdish Mar 2013
I'd love to take you apart, pull your string
Watch the ivy grow at the seam, watch the bubbles
While I hold you down underneath
Let warm water run over our cold bodies.

Run along, now, you're no longer needed here (Maybe someday soon)
Splitting the wishbone, guess who got the bigger half? (There's no room)
How does the solder taste when you go down? (Always new)
I always knew you would need to come back again (I always knew)

See how the roses fold into the sheets
Just like a ******* hole in your sleep
You got nothing to worry about
When everything is simplified, no one will walk out.

You got no right!
You got no right to
You got no right!
You got no right to me.
You got no right! (Infinite)
You got no right to (Misery)
You got no right! (Imminent)
You got no right to me! (Ecstasy)
You got no right! (Infinite) [Calculations melting quickly, time dilation, seconds stretching]
You got no right to (Misery) [Minds colliding, bodies soaking, atoms bonding, seconds stretching]
You got no right! (Imminent) [Always what we never wanted, never who we always needed]
You got no right to me! (Ecstasy) [Saturation of our nature, stars our shining in our language]

I'm done.
I'm going back home now.
Leave me alone.
I'm going back home now.
I'm going back home.
G Fairbairn Jul 2010
doubt bow
seduces
now
soul enchanted
weave  thou
dream  made
fold
fade
whisper evokes
heart bough
Inside lives
ancient stream
rushes quietly
fills the bridge
often ignored
often abhorred
fragile bloom
sterile pond.
Feel notion
dream catcher
motion
threshold pass
today tomorrow
illusion !
From the 4 corners of Addis
Sunday school students
At a Meskel Square make a throng
All the procession beating a drum
Ululating and singing a song
With a passion strong.

"Queen Helena (Elene)
Mother of Constantine the Great
Found the true cross
Buried under
A dump-mountain long
By those who  read  Jesus
The incarnated word wrong."

"Advised by a monk
Led by an incense smoke
The whereabouts of the place
As she saw in her dream/revelation
(326AD)
Queen Helena managed to unlock."

The n-curve of the smoke
As a pointer
Allowed her a go ahead
To dig the mountain
Beneath its bed.
That is what Ethiopia
Has been zealous
To commemorate
To date
(For over1600 years).


At sundown
When by the patriarch
And the mayor
The bonfire is lit
Priests and deacons
Sing and dance circling it.

An electrifying vibe
Overwhelms
Spectators' spirit
Proving the event
A hit.

"Fail not to note
The cross is power,
Perseverance
And soul's medicine
To our sin an antidote !"

An ocean of vigil light
Accentuated by the darkness
Of the night
Allows souls' flight
To the extreme height.

At last if the bonfire
Falls towards the right
It will be
Celebrants delight
Specially if a rain
Puts the fire out.

Celebrants return
To their home
To attend petty
Similar events
That ripples across
The nation
In the same fashion.

On the morrow
Returning back
To the ashes' bed
They draw a cross
On their forehead.


On 27 Sep
Tourists  in droves
Come
To Ethiopia
For a first hand knowledge
" Ethiopia raises
Its hand to God
Demonstrated many fold."

Here reflecting is a wise thing
In the division of the cross
To avoid a similar thing
Ethiopia(During the Era of
its emperor Dawit/Middle age)
has received
The right wing.

At a cross-like
Mountainous road,
It is placed
At Geishen Mary's church
Which the laity takes
As Saint Mary's abode.
I wish all of you attended the event today! If possible see it on line.

The right wing on which Christ is crucified is found in Ethiopia.Ethiopia has been commemorating the event for over 1600years.This intangible heritage is inscribed in UNESCO'S intangible heritage list.
Becoming an adult is the greatest trick I fell for, happened faster than taking my first step
Never wished life to be unfair to childhood memories
The promises and games I have forgotten some I try to recreate
Out of reach, the paper plane stayed
Each fold looks exactly like the segments of my  heart, enclosing spilled secrets
Hoping to escape on a boat built with chocolate wrap
My favourite snack turned enemy, doctor said I have diabetes
Trapped in between a stormy sea stretched miles apart, scared not to drown in my own tears
Prayers offered during a full moon night  I held on to than friends
Still scribbled on the face of a blue sky are the conversations we had
Talking to the mirror becomes an act I didn't outgrow
Unleashing the beauty of becoming me
The growth and changes in living
Everyone and everything changed form
Our giggles now turned to be a disguised laughter to keep us from crying
With cheeks hiding the stress we encounter on our way to become adults
The pattern is endless
Hoping to play in the rain naked away from the prying eyes of life
Washing off the words burnt on my skin
Left with beautiful scars for becoming an adult
The greatest trick I fell for.
Everything and everyone changed forms. I watch kids play in the rain while I seek for shelter to avoid getting my suit wet. The paper plane is heavier than it was.... I miss my childhood.
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2013
In a drearing height on grave dead bones of branch,
Where leaves conspicuously kept craven distance,
Forsaken lovers set about to roost on topple-
Down sprig to break each side of their own family
Tree.  With a clutch of ruff stones, pulled hardly
Rare, with green hearts a-glowing from gizzards,
They fed six hatchling harpies, all tooth and wail
But one, whom they feared would not take to tearing
Flesh and to them appeared a foundling, not a rock,
But some down weathered creature, without lift,
All weight and no sun, savage grace had shaped
A new bound Prometheus, still dying for sleep.

                                                                  Provided
At birth, with nest and wings, each lashing rigged
In wax.  My father, who from a race of lions,
A king and the last of his kind, built, whilst mother
Destroyed and she, the culling raptor, by incestuous
Murdering, would pick and scrape to clean the marrow
From our souls, preening, like a clip winged eagle,
Would screech throughout all season, suffering close
To the essence of faith, my father, who with her formed
Two halves of a wounded gryphon, un-noble in pride
With a bent on fatal flights of his own undoing,
Marveled at her eyes, gray and gay as accusers,
She cursed in sight of angels, all wings below
Heaven.

My brothers, exotic birds all, limbo dancers,
Preferring the colder climes, flopped after me
And never became fliers, for feathers to them
Were but fantails for a harpy, or for gathering
Dust or at best, something to support their own
Lying.  And I found myself, the mid-heiring brood,
In a state when the soul is after dreaming to its body,
Hobbled-de-boyed at the abyss and I saw through
That air and my fold, I dreaded like omens and echoes
Of extinction, like mixed messages of flightless birds
And managed to pierce the innards of ovate shrouds,
To spike that filmy firmament and the yoke, fell away
And the seep hole ground was spurting and the sky,
An ocean of bloom, in all direction, winked—
With a maelstrom eye, for amongst my family, full
Of strangers, I heard that soul lifting love only God
Could send, sleepwalking on thresholds of faith.

I awoke from a dream and felt that I could fly,
Not like the yearning Icarus but, like a rash
Of spirit or that Arabian bird— simply leave
This earth and make my way through its mantle, blithely
Fallow, shedding my harrowed bone, I dropped off,
Sprung from my ashen bed of down and rose—
Out of doors, splintering from the smote that cut
Down the youth of my days, almost smothered away
And I blazed above the icy coal pelted perch,
My wings spreading far from gross flames as they died,
Unfettered in judgements, scaled so feathery, they conceived
That weight was a lie and the waste I kept, from eyes,
As leaves, became a parish of open palms as I spred
My plume and breath now bore an atmosphere
And lungs, they powered the wind and streaming rays;
My frozen veins, burst, blinding an earthen sun
And fled my shadow, transfigured in flight, into
Being, some aerial creature— not a pure spirit,
But like a child soaring, whose wound was as a wing,
On the heal.
A metamorphosis
You unwrapped my blind fold
I could only see this mess of deconstructed bones
The smog filled my bleeding nostrils
I gasped to know the truth of a world rotating in circumvention

Tangents of humiliation
A crab crawls back into its used receptacle
It does not have to face the uneven shadows
Fairy wings brittle and break

The ashes of frightened unicorns
Paths off way far into the emasculated jungle
Hidden silences wielded in your depth
Machines and paper plates

The trees of battered car horns and biohazard bags
The stereotypical infantile jungle world  
Without the echoes of the children you never should have had

Mary prostitutes herself on the corner
The Holy Ghost burns unnoticed

Please let us go back to a time
When we could sit still without retrograding voices
Telling us to progress and revolve
We can no longer feel awesomed in the presence of a structural anomaly

One that had never lived or breathed
Or failed
We were on the verge of a revolution
Before they took our fairytales away

The myths were replaced with shear and utter disgust
For the entire human community
Let us retreat to the forest of Incas and attack dogs
For we can not have a revolution of one.
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2019
We talk politics in the shower.
You shampoo your beard,
I condition my armpit hair.
Good morning coffee breath.
I love you like a palindrome.
Tragic comedy, our physical love stretched
thin
over distance.
Endings always differ.
Moon circles scream it’s raining on me.
Serotonin’s been locked up for years, I put her somewhere safe.
Check you’re alive with a finger *****, comedy of errors sings an ode in my left ear.
Here
beard bristles
brush hair
light back catch
sensitivity sits
less lower lip
fold
selves
in
scene end
stage right
pick up towel
EXIT.
Collection: PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY AND BRAIN FARTS FOR UNSOLICITED MICROWAVE HEADS
Holly Lipovits Jul 2013
He
Nothing of such is my intention
Further is where you'll go down
All of is rather a mention
Of whom you shall plead against with a withered frown

Don't let my choosing belong to me
It may never last of what you say is "forever"
For it may settle against your darkest flee
But the longing is the part of which you seek the unwritten never

It lasts while they say
Because of what you're told is your own hearing
You think this is all my regarded blame
Feathered within the lust of such baring

Your longing is the forever behold
Forget all I've brought nor once again said
Past your loathed ears you seek in his fold
Your passion is far too much for my longing to fed

All this is your blame
I say it isn't yet this is the truth hid
Beneath such words I came to speak before he came
Now you  hold all that is lathered of it's own lid

Speak of what you think is your own words
Let this tell you of what you're reminded of what you lost
It's all a self-written curve
For you to become of it's cost
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2014
The die is caste, It’s do or die.
Attack, invade or fold and cry?
Send the hordes across Ukraine
Or sulk with International blame?
The banks are bust, the coffer’s dry,
Friend China’s left him dangling high,
Pro-Russian thugs in full retreat
From Ukraine Army booted feet,
His wagered bet became a farce
When Ukraine howled…”Up your ****!”
His revolution died it’s death
In white hot hatred’s foetid breath.

Decision time… retreat or strike
Fly in the face of world dislike?
Throw caution to the wind, attack
In the knowledge there’s no going back?
Risk global condemnation’s scowl
Or chose humiliation's howl?

Putin writhes in clefted stick
His destiny in cross or tick.

M.
8 August 2014
adam hicks Apr 2014
i
have felt more honest touches
from straight boys
honestly telling me
i am honestly worth nothing
they treat me like a ***** magazine
they get so much pleasure
from tearing open my spine
i am a centre-fold
of ****** lips & bruised eyes
there's only so much
my staples can take
how can i feel safe,
when bricks don't build homes
but instead fly towards me
with labels like "******"
from the mouths of boys
who don't have the *****
to put on a ball gown
and throw their stilettos
at homophobic policemen
on hot summer nights
you wanna talk about fights?
i know what it's like
to french kiss
your "oh-so-british" fist
so don't talk to me
about equality
until i don't have to walk the streets at night
with my keys between my fingers
expecting the worst,
always.
tangled in my bed, you’re holding the bits of my smile that i didn’t even know fell out.
there, in the the gravities of messy sheets and intimate eye contact,
we come upon the part of the story when it reaches a climatic point of dizzying anticipation,
the type of expectation
that whispers sweetly on my skin as if it had the plot of our collision written on it.
here is the precipice of something scary; my tentative hands outstretched—
a coincidental incident; your hands reaching back,
folding me into your body.
everything is the same: the sun still came up to light our faces and
this little town hasn’t changed.
but everything is different, oh god.
the day i sat down in a mostly empty hallway
was the day that i realized i am the worst of unintentional catalysts.
the blush of borrowed luck stains my knuckles and i clench my fists in hopes that it will stay
before i let a safe house like you shelter a storm like me.
i’m so afraid of breaking you.
i’m afraid of my own vulnerabilities.
i’m afraid of letting people into the places where there’s still some wholeness to me. i know—i’m a walking contradiction.
touch and go,
stay and leave,
everything seems to fold.
what is that saying.
“the best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry”?
  never had a plan when it came to things like us but please understand
there are certain fragilities i can’t fathom in me and that i’m afraid of my destruction as i am of my own creations.

      but for now, this is the first chapter in our book.
this is the first day I wake up.
this is where we start.
Simon Obirek Mar 2016
Take that girl back
to her house;
through dark tunnels and
crooked path systems.
Take her back.

She kisses you
a reward for her knight;
silky cashmere satin challis kiss.
Knocks you out.

Peel the kiss off your lips
fold it
and store it in your heart;
and even though it feels like
your heart grew three sizes,
there's not enough room for it.
Just hold it.

Walk through the drizzle
back home, not paying attention to
the ***** on your shoes
the lack of cigarettes
the upcoming exam
(you're *******).

Unravel the kiss when you're old
sitting in your rocking chair;
do you still taste the cherry lip balm?
Chandler Lauren Jan 2013
Three tri-fold letters.
One silver locket.
One black plastic ring.
Two jingle bells.
One red ribbon.
One advertisement.
One salvaged sticker.
Nine scraggly love songs.
One jack.
One framed photograph.
Three snapshots.
One Jazz three pick.
One album.
One pink ticket.
One silver bow.
One shoe box.
Ten million fading memories.
One heart, left for dead.
Editors Note: One Sticky Love Note was discovered after the completion of this poem. It was immediately kissed out of respect for the beautiful memories contained in it's fibers, then released out the window at 60 miles per hour to it's final place of rest: Highway 49.     ~RIP~
Christine May 2010
Flip. Fold. Straighten.
Flip. Fold. Straighten.
Flip. Fold. Straighten.

The same
Ugly embroidered cotton shirts.
The same colors
Fabrics
Stiff stain-proof pants.

Eight hours
Of flipping
Folding
Straightening.

This is my life now.
Nathan Oct 2012
Silent is the wind that blows
Towards the end of dead groves
Yet one thing speaks
Cries out through the cold
"Help me please
I'm caught in the fold
It won't let go
I can't escape
Please don't leave me to my fate."
VentEmotion Mar 2016
Hoped and surrended through the unbarable,
The unthought of weathery conditions .
Despite it all I continue to strive
to be solid , a thick skinned symbol  .
Hard as a rock.
Cant fold under pressure.
Won't fold me under pressure .
Press any harder , shall garner marbles.
Sculptured crystallized image of my strength.

#hellopoetry #HiiiPoWER

— The End —