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We've all got mental problems,
Some of us hide them better.
How about that weather?

Tripping the syntax,
And I'm having difficulty
discerning my sanity right now.

There's a voice in the wind
at the throat of the world.
The sacrificial alter will hear me roar.

I'm on a duel-carriageway to crazy,
And the horses gallop onward.

Strange tidings through car doors,
Soft footfall on sand-torn shores.

Want to know whats wrong with the earth?
More violence, less hair,
And people don't hang around beaches anymore.
Betrayal stirs.
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
passing through
sun-soaked leaves
and a footfall
Originally a draft for an earlier work, it resembled more and more something else, some different experience. Thus it's distinction.
WA West Oct 2018
Hideous static,
dreams orbiting,
a dark planet,
granular daydreams,
gasps of conversation,
footfall drowns out conscience,
layered chatter to infinity,
that which is not man
a regret rimmed thought,
............afternoon's perpetual zombies.........
plucking at a keyboard's harp strings,
numerical data streams
no contemplation will set you free,
from 8 hours dragging on,
From whence and whither, we've come and may go,

Interwoven throughout the fabric of life, waves of love

From souls eternal, mending the whole of the weave,

Heartlessness would tear asunder.  Yet, could never,

As you are here, and I am, evolving with the evolution,

Each footfall anew, leaving no footprint, that followed none,

Echoing on forever, in all ways, always.  Now on wing,

We only fly, love the 'One Sky' our womb we're birthed from,

On high, in Heaven, and below, Earthen, eternally.
Inspired by Wayne Powell's 'Great Love ~ Aloha Nui', featuring Patti Miller and Marianne 2020 dot com too (Also, 'One Sky' is the great title of a great later song of the even greater Aretha Franklin)   :)   reality
THAT' small step. .  .

A common garden

flecked with stars
& seated at its center

a naked moon
bathing her self

caught unawares
without her clouds

a Goddess fallen
among mere mortals

but at my footfall
they all scatter to the heavens

in a splash
ripples clinging to

my right blue
suede shoe.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018

I follow the road
of my father’s voice

journey with him
along white roads...over green fields

to school & back

(shoes if at all...worn only to church)

picking up the cuts & scabs
stubbed toes

his going to school
would entail

in the early years of the 1920’s
only so much history to me

to him

his toes
knowing the wind
in the grass

for what it is

his toes
clasping a rock
fording a stream

Irish & poems
bubbling through his head

babbling along
the tongue

words thrown to
those lost summer skies

startling a blackbird
spouting his poetry

with poetry
of his own

(3 miles to school...3 miles back)

his mind a skimmed stone
dancing along a river

over unforgiving

thorns attacking his feet
with undisguised relish

the vehemence of glass
glinting greedily

for the next footstep

the menace
of the twisted rusty nail

& its treachery
betraying the next footfall

as he walks over
the unremitting years

into my eyes
wide with wonder

listening to him
tell of himself

as a little boy

to his little boy
the me of then

my eyes now

following the road
of my father’s voice

as it wanders

He drinks in
my vision

of a world
contained in a matter

of minutes
all that can be seen

in this here
& now.

An ordinary world
of the mundane moment

joggers and *******
running side by side

somewhere the distant barking
of an invisible dog.

Litter being taken
for a walk

by a skittish wind
changing direction on a whim.

A swan
sitting on its own

on a park bench
gazing at the water.

My Da gulps down
each happenstance

each moment
of unimportance

knowing he will never
see such things again.

The ordinary made precious
in the dying light.

Each meagre moment
bereft of beauty.

Soon he will have
the Last Rites

and even this story
will be lost.

But now he listens
almost greedily

as I tell of a shadow
scattered upon the grass

as if it existed in
a dimension of its own.

He can almost taste
the sunlight.

See the wind
hustle the leaves.

How beautiful
is mud?

What a thing
is rain?

How wondrous
a footfall

opening up the silence
flowering into

the ragged breathing
of an obese jogger

her earphones
leaking Christmas music.

A Christmas long gone
that will not come for him again.

Father become child
wanting the again and again

of this fading

Spring in all its glory
shyly approaching

the dying
of his day.


“Be thou my vision
Oh Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me
Save what thou art.”
There is a photo of me and my Da heading off to Sunday mass in our Sunday best. I am holding his hand and so proud that this man is my Da and totally in love with the moment. In mass we will sing Be Thou My Vision and it will be an epiphany. This is the moment I will be remembering when the doc throws us out for a while and I go out to the nearby park. Everything I saw and there was nothing much to see...******* and shadows....joggers and swans and a dog that could not be seen. The dog was in a housing estate a good bit away but his bark was right beside you. A swan was sitting on a park bench and wouldn't let anyone else sit on it. The music leaking from the jogger's headphones and she trundled by me in pink spandex was...The Little Drummer Boy. This in March? When the doc let me back in Da wanted to know everything I had seen down to the littlest detail. He was able to tell me that when a swan goes loco with is called busking. He was always able to tell me such tiny bits of knowledge. Even the shadow on the ***** grass got gulped down by his mind. Only after did I realise that all these details of things he knew he would never see again. They had become precious...even the mud...even the rain. In my mind when he was dying I would sing to him all the songs and hymns I sang with him in all the different Da's he was.

The old Irish version of the hymn says it all for me>

Be thou my father, be I thy son.
Mayst thou be mine, may I be thine.

Rop tussu m'athair, rob mé do mac-su;
rop tussu lem-sa, rob misse lat-su.

Such intense immensity held in these scrappy details of a nothing day.
Onoma Mar 6
overarching angel--

guardian to this exile,

as love cut to the cliff.

a footfall from plunge--

grimaces at the stranding

long of the blue.

as if the sun were casting

the sparks of aspersions.

while simpering salts

season fish and devils--

wiling away their lot of depth.

if shore be shelter, let this no

man's land be worth spit!

as waste is laid the length of a

man without a woman's touch.
annh Mar 9
Flavia swore as the heavy earthenware pitcher slipped from her hands and crashed onto the uneven flagstones. As she knelt in the puddle of tepid water and started gathering in the pieces, she heard the rapidly approaching footfall of an armed legionary.

‘Leave that now, there’s no time. We ride for York immediately.’
‘But mea domina...’
‘The Wall is breached. Hurry, puella, or she'll start without you!’

Flavia picked up her sodden skirts and ran.

                                                           ­  §

I held my breath as the last piece of the Corbridge ewer slid smoothly into place and wondered at the exquisitely crafted motif which encircled the body of this ancient vessel. A procession? A cavalcade? Curious, if not for the men-at-arms, I would have thought it a pageant. And there in a covered wagon a noble woman looking back at a young girl standing on the steps of a villa holding her hem in her hands.
A piece of slightly supernatural ‘drabble’ for a Sunday morning! :)
Beginning again to rise,
so high the light is searing my eyes.
Arduous, looking back the climb
was worth the task, my body needed
my mind would ask.

Burning muscles metaphysical
struggle, torn in memory so I
cannot downplay the glory,
the ascension.

Mimicry the greatest form
of all compliments, so waste
no time staring into eyes that
peer straight through you. Invest
in the image from the river, the
clarity of your earned freedom.

I wander aimlessly no more,
every potential footfall I can
call home. One with myself
all doubt cast aside, all contempt
internalized, and denied occupancy.
Self condemnation I strip you
of your chains I can hear clanging,
looking to ensnare me, hold me
captive, but the mountain forever

Rising again, each new ray holds
a bastion of thought, possible
destination. My resolution complete,
I may bathe in my earned restitution.
Although I may be hurt again, cursed
again, defiled once more, my garnered
confidence, my unparalleled soul, you
may never touch again.

Here's to us being us.
Jude kyrie Jul 2018
I see that far away look in your eyes
Are you leaving me once more?
like Whispered conversations
falling down a spiral staircase.
Like secrets as they hide in silence.
I can hear them in the night
Yet I don’t.

The same way that voices are lost
In the ****** of *******.
The same way the rose fades
without water.
The same way stars melt
when daybreak calls.

I listen intently for your footfall.
Walking away, only echoes remain.
And inside my chest the sounds
that a heart makes when breaking.

And I contemplate
the dangers in your beautiful eyes.
And the gravity of the stars.
Uunspoken fears and doubts
Inspired from the wonderful poetry
Of me Rebecca Askew
Deidre Lockyer Aug 2018
I would always be by your side,
This is all l desire.
Every day, in so many ways, I can say
I am almost with you

For you I will be this great oak tree
The roots of my love grow deep in my soul
I will be your strength, sure and steady
Certainty in the face of each changing season.
I am the cool water that clears your mind in the heat of the day
My hand is the gentle breeze stirring your hair
The raindrops, my wet little kisses on the earth at your feet
so flowers might spring ahead of your every footfall.
Open this book of poetry, listen close...
My voice echoes softly in each lovers’ verse
My desire moves here in these inky arabesques and curlicues
Entwining words that seek only to touch you
To comfort you, to soothe away any storm.
Feel the texture of these pages, the soft and the smooth
This is me beneath your fingertips
Ivory skin, dark of my hair, velvet and silk
Breathe deep, here is the scent of every Rose in my garden,
Each one a promise, a wish for the future.
When day is done, close your dark eyes,
Open yourself to the beating pulse of night...
To hidden songs in the breeze that drifts through your window
There is my voice, calling your name.
I am weaving my yearning and trust around you...
Crying in your loneliness, know l am there
Taste the salt of my tears on your lips
I am waiting in the landscape of your dreams.
Distance and time may conspire to keep us apart
We will yet be together
In each day, in the secret of ways of lovers,
I will be
Almost...with you.
ColtonC Mar 3
over your shoulder, again.
whispers slice through the darkness
Frantic footfall
A muffled scream
Behind you.

Waning willows
lean into the wind
ominous warnings
echo, around...
the back of your head
A pair of
fixed there, too
Behind you.

A howling tempest
buffets your body
raincoat billowing
behind you
as you run.

Silence swept
across the ashes
You stand
at a crossroad
Limitless lines
to follow...

But you
retain your route
through the darkness
through the cold

Torrents of trees
tower over you
Ingrained into the bark
a skull
Rustling leaves
whispering willows
                     turn to look.
And tremble.
It's behind you

Sprinting through sickle
You stumble and fall
into a clearing
Pathways all around
like arteries

But you
don't see them
can't, or won't

A dark silhouette
Blocks the path
over your shoulder
for another way
Too late
Shrouded in night,
the shadows crawl
towards you

Behind you.
Written 03/02/2019
Quite an ominous one, although that might just be me haha. Don't follow me if you're looking for light-hearted, inspirational poems about love (which seems to be all you see on Instagram) because they make me cringe. Anyway I basically wrote this after waking though the woods by my house this evening, to give some context. It's a bit of an experiment, so I'm open to critique, as always. More creepy poems on the way, goodnight lol

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