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ryn Oct 2014
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.

Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.

No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.

Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.

Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.

Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.

It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...

But I see red...
Samantha Sep 2013
Today I have adopted
a new Dream Occupation:

No longer a Buddhist Monk
On a Mountain Peak in Nepal
but Henry Miller, I will Be
And shall dance the
Worlds Circumference
With no brain in skull but a pen in
between crooked-only-on-the-right teeth
Mark my words today in
pencil please
So tomorrow I will have a
reminder and in a fortnight I will have
an eraser;
Henry Miller never
Wrote drafts in ink
RCraig David Apr 2013
From my "Bestifreadaloud" series about a girl that got away that Spring because I waited too long.

Part 1 The Past
A case made now faded of a simple place, a time, a space,
a perfect moment let pass in haste.
Clasped in clashes,
brash in passion,
rose from ashes,
desire fires every second's essence as it passes,
a ton amasses.
Fast bloom,
Blast!! Boom!!
The past relapses.
Notably lesser song notes float hopeful, emotional ends and remember whens.
Sent us spinning, then spin adrift again.
Sprung in spring, we fell,
Some are reasons to recall.
Summer's season breaks, we fall.
Flocks fly down and fallen callings fade to Winter's south.
How fate related still debated.
Re-Sprung the next Spring' rise, chance misses fate this date.
I weighed and debated and waited too late

Still all these years alone, the "one", the "purpose" unsought.
Capturing thoughts,
The ones I caught and tossed,
Things I was taught and lost.
Proof framed and embossed for a cost.
Coping through the unabashed hopes to one day cash in on all this stashed trash I clash with.
"Smash it?" ...the thought crossed.  

Unimpressed by my evidence of self-less requests,
pursuit of self-evident truth proves a most ruthless abuse.
Even less are my skewed protests for “selfish quests" at the behest of the very strangers I sought to impress.
I digress.

The years compound, bossed around, kicked down but soundly employed,
I turn cold, blaming Freud for defining my non-violent, intolerance threshold on page 23 of some textbook I should have resold.
I go silent. Grow old.
"While your whining and shunning your shinning,
They're sinning and winning." Bad timing.

Girls come, go and follow this shallow, hollow fellow on the run.
While preyed upon...I paid a ton. I play.
The sum never more than the cost of rented fun.
Without insight but consent forthright,
my 30 years of intent were spent in a fortnight.
Still bent on shedding every pound of one first-moment's ton I lost not won.
Can't buy happy for less than the cost of your one-ness.
While prayed upon...paid a Son, they say.

part 3

Ohh the wait....
Ohh the weight...
My set-adrift-soul's mending depends solely on tossing
lost cause cost-spending into thrift.
Well it's a beginning.
All the amassed notes, quotes, boat-floaters,
and sailboat hopes spun in one 1-ton loss moment sprung that one Spring.

Now and again, it creeps in,
like slowly growing stinging nettles around a squelched,
once steaming scorched dream kettle.
Still stays packed away in my heart's darkest parts.
Blurred by time and place,
this burning, misplaced furnace space lays in wait.

Such compiled cold-case denial files from other life trials, lay piled in haste on my proverbial, "less pressing" messy desk of "not ready to face."
Too scared or daring to date, try to relate or contemplate
how to best equate this great weight.
Wait?... Wait.
Elation brewing from pursuing future fruition or ensuing
pure ruin gates these fates from moving, year-to-date.
For the sake of trying or dying forsaken,
another day awake is another day gained or taken.

I found her again,
the town's she's in
but she is taken and then
She learns of my wait, it's weight, my fate, she's shaken,
another ton amasses again. I pretend.
Lay down.
Drown the score of sounds surrounding.
Furthermore, slow the pulse-pounding abounding your core.
Fill your breath.
What is less is gone, tomorrow more.  

by R. Craig David-Copyright 2012
mariamme Apr 2018
you have stolen joy
and spent the change in her pockets
that you ripped from her body
after using her for a fortnight and a day.

death, you are too cruel.
i would treat you with respect,
if it lessened her pain.

death, why do you distort love
death, why do you take us away from our families and then destroy our memorials, destroy our families
you have become a monster,
were you always a monster and they just didn't notice

death, i have no words to rebuke you
instead i have too many, too few emotions
everything is clouded and
you have broken the wind's path
that might've cleared away our pain

death, i am stagnating
i am withering and you are proud of my degenerate state
you strip humanity, leave it raw and naked
no safety, for you are all endings
and you are the cruelest, not the kindest ending
what does one do when there is no hope after death has stolen everything from them?
BJ Donovan Nov 2018

   Not all love is lost as time can't heal all wounds.
   Lust has no use for time beyond a fortnight. It withers.
   Keep your heart under lock and key but your knees apart
   for my midnight wine stoked visit to your sacred chamber.
JS CARIE Nov 2018
At his face it got harder to stare
But in his truth he would glower
Into this looking glass
That looks right back
At the years of age
That washed his face
Over that disgraced fortnight
and it’s dragging scrape

What was his counted,
that ruffling came natural
In a sentiment of the innate
and the inner mechanics of his climate
Co-Walkers, he thought viewed him a cynics ornate
From then on, became perpetually discounted

Though his face got harder to look at
by its contents,
Optics inflamed
and wrinkles elongated
to his whiskers growing skyward
a striking true spruce in essence to become
Nevertheless a bedraggled authentic
Just before a flooding pooled his lids
or the dawning of his tears
Until this vanish to enhance
These characters took on relevance
Apropos of what he saw looking back
The girl, his love, the spirit inside his drive
She could see all directions, like hands on a clock,
Every hour the dialed sun would tower
Giving her all his angles,
She could anticipate all of this,
including all opposites
She could see all that
To her,
His face was not hard to stare
Still chiseled but shaved,
like polished marble glare
Her love was true for years
Opposing claims would be intercepted when asked if during she dabbled in deception
Then immediately accepted their quiz, taking near comfort as she’s done for years  placing her lips closer to his eyes,
she kissed his cheek and licked his tears
Yenson Sep 2018
I saw Agnes outside Harrods
Looking tres chic, le chic
I say darling, what's happening, sweetie
where's your Wainpatrik from the sticks
our erudite writer who thinks aspic is pate

I gave that hick the 'go find your level'
Agnes replied with a smile
You know how it is with him and his drivel
that coarse, crude, pretentious oik without a shovel
He tries to be intelligent but his head is full of gravel
bathes once a fortnight and has a todger like a weasel

You can't beat good breeding, she continues
those reconstituted barrow-boys
with  B-Tech English thinking they are now genuine
Lacks confidence, style, self assurance, wet as the Rhine
******* in the boudoir, sloppy kisser, todger like a string
Bully and a coward trolling on his stolen PC, has no spine

Hey, lets **** down round my pad, she purred
You may be out of shape at the moment
But who's cooler, more charismatic and interesting than vous
Do you know you're the best I have ever had and I mean it too
You're head and shoulders above Wainputrid and that's so true
The twerp is so envious of you, he and his barrow mates stew
Tales of your exploits and size just leaves them aghast and askew

Hahaha...haha..she laughs as she linked arms, a glint in her eyes!
spysgrandson Aug 2018
drought dry only a fortnight, and no trace
of the swimmers--not a bloated bass or a skeletal carp
only a few lily pads burnt russet by the sun

all else, perverse interlopers from modernity:  
bullet banged beer cans, truck tires,  
and the ubiquitous bottle water plastic
waiting patiently for the next ice age

no sign of one fish that emitted a last gilled gasp here

deep beneath the bed though
progenitors rest, theirs and ours,
antediluvian, Permian, as permanent as the word allows
my footfalls above them today
tomorrow silent where they lay
Steph Cheng Aug 2018
Thrilled by the idea of new beginnings,
I invited you to our New Year’s Eve
Reckless and impulsive
Valiant and spontaneous
Tiptoed on the safe side all our lives,
we gave in to gravity,
and dived into the quicksand named each other:
Conqueror of the Crown
A party doomed to end
Paths destined to part
in a fortnight since the start
A celebration for the present
The champagne in your blue eyes
locked onto mine as the lights went down
I ran my fingers through your golden hair
and tinted my lips with burning glimmer
You inhaled next to me
the sillage of desire on my neck
as a firework began behind the door
Our fingers intertwined for a toast
to our ephemeral exhilaration
As the clock struck twelve,
the wind took you to a world
483 miles away
A new year’s eve party never lasts
beyond midnight
Like overexposed polaroids
left behind on the floor
in your empty flat,
You are I are nothing more
than hazy memories
soon to be forgotten
Letters I never sent - To Out New Year's Eve
Bella Sep 2018
She knows who she is
Maybe I was her first heartbreak
Girlfriend? No, best friend?
I thought so.
Only eight (and a half)
At recess I was alone
At lunch I was told to got to the bathrooms
It was as if all the crows had come
For their daily bread
I was their daily bread
I was being told about how I
had said awful things about the girl I didn't know
The ringleader was my 'best friend'
I didn't remember saying those things
I did remember about how last Summer
A bird had gotten stuck in the air vents
in the same bathroom
It's corpse sat there for months, rotting away
All of a sudden I envied the corpse
I felt my heart sitting next to belly button
The first of many times I would feel my heart break
Then it had been a fortnight
I waited outside her classroom every day after school
but the crows would always come and take her away
After a month it was the school disco
It smelled like sweaty plastic and adrenaline
We were avoiding each other
She knew she had lied and the crows attacked me
because of her little rumour
On the way to the disco her Mother
who I shared my mother's pasta recipe with
who braided my hair so many times
who painted my nails on my birthday
Yelled at my parents about their disgusting
eight year old (and a half)
while I sat there in the backseat and listened
Once again I envied the rotting bird
I saw her Mum at that disco
I felt my heart drop again,
by now I was used to the feeling

At the time I was so furious with her
for spreading those rumours
Now I pity her
I wonder what she must have been going through
In order to drive her only friend away
Maybe she also felt her first heartbreak that week
Maybe she envied the rotting bird corpse in the bathroom
Maybe she was just trying to distract the crows
waiting for their daily bread.
As summary my best friend spread nasty rumours about me and all my friends (the crows) left me and didn't believe me
I was then bullied at that school and ended up changing school the next year. I'm aware this is bad but the words kinda just spewed out of me and I couldn't stop them.
For some reason the image of the rotting bird has always stuck with me
and i remember so vividly having so much empathy for the poor thing
How to make nonsense out of bitter citrus fruits
Leave them be, already a font of nonsensical egg yolks
You do this for yourself, your own self, and no other self
Endure another fortnight daliance, you dance forthrightly

Absorb information like paranoia
The facts are lying in bed with an orange banana
How to make something lasting in a world cursed with impermanence
It cannot be done. It simply cannot be done.

The length of a breadbasket will often determine
the size of the loaf
The ratio of meat to potatoes makes nonsensical lemonade
The worst kind...worse than the worst

This document is not intended for distribution
during the lifetime of the author
Only with his passing disseminate expecting sympathy for
the old poet's story, how rarely it truly changes

The ingredients for the above mentioned nonsense
have been properly proportortioned and mixed per instruction
Take a wiff, you can smell the sweet aroma of their baking vapor
As a child I ate spoonfuls of baking powder

The aroma certainly saturates the proceedings
Almost intoxicating how it smacks your heart with nostalgia
The stupid cartoons, the National Lampoon stolen from the convenience store you hung out in
Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in

That, my friend, is the beginning from the end
That, my foe, is the bleedin' end of the road
I'm in Ian Curtis' voice, deadening repetion
Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out

Ding, Ding, the timer in the kitchen chimes it's melancholy ring
The nonsense is at this present moment complete
Ready to serve, ready to eat
and please don't choke on my words, I'm half asleep
Owlman Jan 22
Write about your pain in love
Of the hollow loveless nights
Whine about all your little fights
I can't pay no mind to all above.
Story of a woman, a soldier in war
A real war, not the imaginary ones
A woman that was a mother once
Even my mind can't go that far.
Drowning her crying hungry child
For the sake of saving other's lives
From the real hounds, angry and wild
Silence the child before enemy arrives.
Holding the crying child in her arms
The swaddled child pushed in the mud
I bite my lips and ******* sour blood
For all my afflictions were self harms.
I'm sorry, your story is of lust not love
To me it's all nothing but filth and dust
Is there nothing else you can think of?
For in a fortnight these pains will rust.
We haven't drowned in a muddy swamp
We haven't killed our crying hungry child
So i only ask to keep quiet and tromp
Before hounds of lust catch us in swamp.
I woke up *****
And went to the shop,
I got corn, peas, chopped gherkins,
All canned,
I raided the reduced section like mad,
Got some cheese
And some ham
That I won't allow to go bad,
cause I'll make a ton of salad
Out of this myriad,
For breakfast, munch and evening feast,
It'll last a fortnight at the very least,
I can top it up with this
Foul smelling liquor I brought from the east,
Among the other mementos in my cellarette,
I could have a party in my ******
In my kitchenette,
My flat is so hot I could sign post it
'sauna to let',
But the swingers here don't speak a word of
One time they took their ya-yas out
And called ME a delinquent,
As if I've got a funny kind of pigment
They can't live with,
I've tried to put my finger on it
But I don't want it to get stinky,
I think they simply haven't got an inkling
As to what and why they're thinking,
But never mind those pinkies,
Let us go back to my shopping
Just as it was getting *****:
Before my skimpy trolley glided to the checkout,
I got a ticket for my pfand,
Which measured fairly to my pleasure
Of having my alcoholism,
Which is confess is merely leisured,
Redeemed into a form of solid ******* treasure.
Throughout the years my drinking
Let me celebrate the fear
Of lack of meaning,
It made friends out of strangers,
Lovers out of friends,
Ex lovers out of lovers,
Clowns out of boring people,
It made a clown out of me too,
My drinking took my money
And gave me a suspicious act
To cling to,
It made me a legless athlete
In a race against the future,
It excited me with waterfalls of chaos
Bursting through cracked normality,
It pretended to bring Arcadia
Into the ruling technology,
It invaded Scandinavia  
With lawless Somalia,
It put peaks and crannies
Into the dull landscape of
Nord Rhein Westphalia,
I have a whole worthless encyclopaedia
Of what my drinking did to me,
Page after page of random numbers
Makes for a baffling read,
I don't know if I should frame it,
Burn it,
Or get some ****,
My drinking always gave me an excuse to smoke,
I puffed my hours into nothingness,
Laughter & loneliness,
A condition of no ambition
Made life itself seem like a superstition,
But I don't want the repetition anymore,
Boredom is but a bed sheet of a sore old *****,
A stifling breath of a handicapped mind;
Being now so temporarily poor
I find it easy to smile
As the cashier counts my pennies
Making the citizens in line
In their Jack Wolfskins and denims
Very uneasy,
Men & women of the Rhein get seriously queasy
When they see a foreigner like me
Simply taking it easy,
You know I had to break my piggybank just to get here,
I crossed a red light when it was all clear,
I have no bike lights - I just disappear,
Who knows what is it that I do inside the night?..
Could be something good,
Might be something bright..
I got my receipt,
Said my 'schön Tag' alright,
I should have said 'schön Abend'
But I guess I'm not polite,
Then I rode in the street,
My bags dangling left & right,
Balancing my act
Under the waning Eurodollar moon,
Some react badly
when they're given **** to spoon,
But my lack of money
In fact makes me feel immune
To superficial cravings like
iPhones, clothes, perfume,
shavings, shoes, tattoos;
I'd rather spend a fortnight
In the arms of David Hume,
Than stopping by at Rügen
On my way to Cameroon,
On a beastly ocean liner,
With pommes and Pauliner
Supplied ad infinitum!
I don't know my own mind,
I's time to take a trip down the ol' cerebrum,
While tickets are at a minimum
And the season is at a premium,
I'll tame my tantrums without ******,
I'll let my maelstroms guide me to a podium
Of perfect equilibrium,
I'll get a glimpse of wisdom
By watching my own delirium,
I'm serious about this.
I don't reminisce about the years
I dismissed by watching television series,
Dumbing down with the Big Bang Theory.
I feel so blessed to be weary
And out of breath
From the long hand of entertainment
That wants to tickle everyone to death,
It's an epidemic worse than crystal ****,
But it's not hard to shake the fever.
Only a ****** was born to be a ******,
Man was cursed to be a dubious believer.
So kiss my feet
Or chop me with a cleaver,
Nothing will stop me from becoming an achiever,
Nothing but the habit pattern of my own demeanour.
Max Mar 26
At fortnight it awakes and grows
It runs between a shoe and toes
It hisses, rustles, up it goes
And resonates

It softly comes, it quietly leaves
Behind a knot one can unweave
In hundred ways

The mist that falls upon the lawn
On summer days

Then, in the hour before the dawn
It resonates

Its tongue is pretty poor for words
It speaks instead in subtle chords
No one can play

There, in the shades, black, blue and green
There, in the cut between the scenes
There, where it hardly can be seen
It resonates

— The End —