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Frankie Gestone Mar 2013
He woke up in a rapid sweat, darkness surrounding him, his soaked pillow was pressing up on his neck as he could feel the uncomfortable stabbing cold run right threw his whole body. His mouth was dry and his body was in great pain. He lay there practically naked, but not just physically, also emotionally. It was like a catatonic state where the person’s body is paused in reality, but the actual person is far away and isolated even from himself. He wondered why he was so comfortable being uncomfortable and remaining frozen in time.  He saw nothing but the subtle moonlight that peaked through the blinds of his window. A point of existence, he feels nothing because all he has ever felt has drowned him. His numbness was being accepted and he embraced that if he remained this way, he would never have to feel hurt or heartbreak again. It’s better this way, he confirmed.

Eventually he got up out of his bed, walked outside to a nearby empty field. He looked up at the infinite night sky and contemplated the moon, the stars, and the endless space that sustained all of its existence. A tear fell down his cheek as he remembered the beautiful wonder of life and the universe; his realization that he is just a small spec of dust compared to all that is and all that is wonderful. Whatever happened to that universal happiness he used to feel? The feelings of the unseen, the cosmos, the mysteries that remain unsolved were all love. He then felt ancient and brand new at the same time-always being around all that is, but recently born into the unknown. The silence of the night swarmed him, and he suddenly embraced all the things he could not accept. The lullaby of the wind put him to sleep.

When he awoke, it was twilight. The sky was a lighter, deep blue and the sun in the far distance was rising in a fiery halo of mixed red, orange, and yellow colors, and the early morning clouds were clear and transparent. He heard the sound of a train horn in the far distance. He followed the sound with his ears as the sound became slightly louder and louder. Then, suddenly he could see the light of the early morning train.

The train had stopped as he approached it, and he hopped on with no hesitation or looking back. This runaway train was going to take him to where he needs to be, and he blindly and faithfully accepted that his fate was out of his hands now. No more heartbreak, no more reminders of the past, and most importantly no more drowning in his tears. As the train proceeded to move forward, he could feel fresh air gently touch his face, and all that he saw and ever knew were now flashing lights disappearing into eternity.

It was hours into the late morning when the train made its first stop. He listened to the train conductor speak out over the intercom, almost incoherently, say, “This is Brightstone Park. Next stop will be Riverhead.” A nostalgic feeling suddenly came over him as he could remember that his very first kiss was in Brightstone Park with Jessica Garzi. That was not his first true love, but his very first heartbreak. Riverhead was a forbidden memory, as he knew a classmate who had committed suicide off the Riverhead Bridge. He had not returned there in five years because of his haunting memories that would always come back to remind him just how cold and frightening the world really is.

While lost in thought, he felt a rough, sand paper-like wet feeling on his forearm. He looked down and it was a black cat, but not all black. The paws were all white like socks, and the chest and stomach were snow white. The loud prominent purr was a very peculiar reminder of a cat he once owned. Her name was Midnight. She was not the friendliest cat to strangers, but she loved him, especially when he massaged her paws. This cat was practically identical to Midnight. Midnight was put down three years ago though. As he began petting the cat’s back, it ran away and jumped off the moving train. He looked out in a hurry, but it was gone. It was just like everything else he loved. There for one moment, then gone the next. The strange thought that has one wondering if anything had actually existed that is now no more. A person, or a thing, could mean everything to you, but once they slip away, they become like the wind: occasionally brushing up against you, but never revealing its form.

On the train he began to wonder how he got where he was, and in general how the smallest decisions he made lead to bigger events and all in all, everything was all connected. There are no isolated events, or isolated people- it is all proven fact and science. Everything depends on each other to survive. The trees depend on the sun to keep themselves alive; we give off carbon dioxide to the trees and in return, we receive the oxygen we need from the leaves of the trees. He thought about the potential of a seed-for example, a tomato seed. Within that tiny seed is unlimited potential of life: The seed may produce one plant of several tomatoes, and within all those tomatoes are countless other seeds. This is all from one seed. Then, one may take a couple of seeds from a picked tomato and plant them throughout the yard creating a garden. That original seed came from another tomato seed inside a tomato on a plant, and that seed came from another seed. When did this cycle of reproduction begin and when does it end? Is it just another form of the infinite? When a person eats a tomato from that original seed, he receives certain essential vitamins his body needs for surviving and sustaining good health. This good health will effect his offspring and so on and so on. When he defecates, that will all return to the earth for potential fertilizer used for other tomato seeds. This is the same when he returns to the earth again. His dust will fertilize the same world that he came from, for all things come from it just to inevitably return to it.

He continued to think about how matter is never created nor destroyed and the same for energy. Nothing ever truly dies; the form changes into something new, like how water becomes a cloud and the cloud becomes water. Though this comforted him, he noticed that a few feet away from him was a former coworker and friend, Natasha Karev. She always infatuated him and they became close friends, but he always wished it had continued and gone even further than it did. One night, only a couple of years ago, they were at a friend’s party. Both were drinking, but not so heavily. That night they bonded and got so close, that she admitted she loved him. He was never quite sure how real that “I love you” was, but it was burned inside his heart ever since. That night there were moments she would tell him how much she wanted to make love to another guy at the party, Kevin, but was afraid to approach him. She told him she desperately wanted to lose her virginity that night to somebody because she was eighteen and only getting older. This was like a sharp knife slowly penetrating into his heart. He remained speechless for quite a few minutes. Finally he decided to go up in a bedroom alone. To his surprise, she followed him up and kissed him. He felt her clothed body up and down, and she touched areas not many have touched before. She told him she wanted to have *** and that she wanted him to rob her of her virginity. He was speechless, but extremely excited. Then, abruptly, she told him she could not because everything was happening way too soon. Why couldn’t she just make up her mind? He sat frustrated in the darkness, again, all alone. After that night, they spoke and remained close, yet that night was never mentioned again. It was as if it had never happened. After about two years of an on and off friendship, they just went their own ways. There were no fights or disagreements. Life just separated them.

“You’re just a figment inside somebody’s dream. So far from reality, you are a dream within a dream within a dream.” Startled by this soft voice, he quickly turned around to see Natasha smiling at him. “Ha-ha! I knew I could scare you. Were you abused as a kid, or something?” No words could come out at that moment, but he hugged her tightly. She explained to him that she is getting off at the next stop to meet a friend. He was sure he wanted to follow her and see where life would take him. She reminisced and told him how she had been away inside her own cave for several months, but is now very happy to meet up with everyone she had lost contact with.

The next stop arrived, but he did not catch the name of the stop he was getting off. As he got off with several others, both he and Natasha met up with her friend, Valeria, who he found quite cute. She resembled Natasha a bit in that they both had ***** blonde hair and blue eyes. They walked right into a giant street fair with a crowd of people looking at the foods and desserts, the trendy clothes, cheap jewelry, and children play rides.

As he looked around, he began seeing many familiar faces. He saw Kevin, a childhood and grammar school mate there with another co-worker of his, Jenny. Jenny was a Colombian beauty in his eyes and who was a flirt and tease to him, but never actually gave him any time alone. Incidentally, he knew both of them at different times in his life and had no idea they knew of each other. Kevin stopped contacting him during high school without any arguments or disloyalties that would tear a friendship apart. Keeping his head down, he walked a few feet to discover another childhood best friend, Jack, who was with a mutual childhood friend, Melanie. Melanie was a best friend of his and also a first childhood crush who also had a crush on him. He thought it was odd because even though Melanie and Jack were also best friends, Melanie never liked Jack in a special boy/girl way. He felt a moment of heartbreak, but quickly turned away and kept walking. A little further up the road, he saw two more childhood friends, Chris and Jimmy, who as children did not get along that well and only hung out with each other in the company of him. How peculiar it was suddenly seeing them together after ten years, and as seemingly best of friends.

That was not all. Things were getting stranger and stranger. It was like all the people who had made an imprint on his life were now coming together around him. He saw his two therapists, one he had gone to as a teenager and the other as a young adult, stand next to each other selling prescription drug samples. Both stared at him with a blank face, but with a prominent smile. He could barely nod at them. Natasha directed them to a local bar. Inside the bar was huge and also had a second floor. He noticed the music playing in the background was, Nocturne In E Flat Major, Op.9 No.2, by Polish born Romantic composer, Frederic Chopin. He became fixated on the elegant eighth note, left hand arpeggios, and the sweet and peaceful fast moving seven, eleven, twenty, and twenty-two notes from the right hand. If he thought about the most beautiful song ever written and all that is wonderful in one, this was the song.

They all took a seat and began looking at people and laughing at their behavior. Everyone was wearing masks. Social masks. They observed how different people act when they are in social gatherings, and how if you carefully study their body language, it will become clear that what they are saying and trying to put out is not what is actually being expressed through the body. One young man was frantically shaking his right leg as he tried to flirt confidently with a young woman he had just recently met. His face began to turn noticeably red, in an embarrassed flush, and he was making sudden hand gestures and quick eye blinking. She, on the other hand, pretended to be interested in what he was saying; yet her eyes would often look around the room and her body was a good distance from him with her arms folded.

Then as they were all laughing, he abruptly stopped and looked ahead to see two drunken women making out two tables away from them. As his eyes focused in on them, he realized they were two of his former crushes, Claire and Veronica, who he had no idea knew of each other because in fact, they were from different time periods of his life. He began seeing former teachers and professors from each stage of his school career, laughing hysterically with one another. Some of his most inspiring teachers and professors were gathered with other teachers and professors he despised. A young, tattooed hipster woman entered the scenery with a little Cairn Terrier that had an uncanny resemblance to his recently passed dog, Petey, who was put to sleep when he was away on a vacation, unexpectedly. His sorrow began to overwhelm him for not being able to say good-bye and see him for a proper last time. Everything about the dog’s high energy, playfulness, and watchdog attitude was exactly like Petey. A tear ran and fell off his cheek from his left eye right into the hand of Natasha. He looked up at her and she said, “Your tears are my tears. For what pain you withhold, I take and share with you.” She then wiped her right eye with the hand that held his tear. Natasha’s friend began to speak slowly into his left ear in Russian. Though he could not understand a word she was saying, it sounded just like a poem based on the pattern and rhythm’s consistency. It made him feel free of melancholy, but then thought of Angela Antonaci entered his mind.

He thought that the last painful experience ended with the break up of his closest best friend ever to play a part in his life. She was his girlfriend for the last three and a half years. They had known each other for ten years before they broke up their entire relationship. She was thirteen and he was fifteen when they first met in a park. She was always all over him like a little schoolgirl and he would often get frustrated with her obsession over him, for he believed he was no big deal. She was the first person to ever make him feel special and important, and even though he would resent her likeness towards him, he could never keep his eyes off of her or stop himself from always coming to her when he felt lonely. After about seven years, he realized he was in love with her. He had always been in love with her from the first time they met eyes. His long road had always lead back to her home in life. Every time he tried forgetting her and moving on, they would meet again. That person people search their entire lives for, he had found.

He rose out of his seat and briefly said goodbye to Natasha and her friend and went upstairs. He wanted time to be alone and walk around until he suddenly saw Jessica walking towards him. He stopped and waited for her to say hello, but she walked right by him, as if he had never existed. He felt a little insulted, yet relieved as any awkwardness that would arise was avoided. Looking ahead, he saw Angela’s two best friends, Kate and Julie, with her high school crush, John. John was playing an acoustic guitar on a lounge chair, singing to the two friends, almost enticing them with his eyes and voice. His jealousy overcame him, as Angela had been infatuated with him on and off even though he had played with her feelings throughout high school and college. John would tell her he loved her and make her believe he was a romantic, then when she fell into his words, he would leave her and keep a distance for long periods of time, leaving her in despair.

The conclusion occurred to him that maybe she was nearby. He searched throughout the entire bar not finding any other clues that she was around. When he went downstairs, he saw Natasha and her friend asleep, as well as most of the bar, except for the bartender. It was like everyone just passed out from the alcohol or possibly inhaled some type of knockout drug. The bartender was watching the news forecast of a tornado watch and dangerous thunderstorms. The bartender looked at him and said, “It’s better if you stay in here. It’s dangerous out there. I recommend you don’t go out!” He just listened, but decided to leave to the outside anyway.

He walked three blocks through the heavy rain and strong winds. He took a moment to stop and look at the black and gray clouds above him. As he looked across the street, he saw her. She was with her mother, sister, and mutual friends of theirs, Chrystal and Mike. He also saw behind them, his own mother and sister. He ran across the street to her and she shockingly with excitement screamed, “Hey!!! Oh my God!! Please stay with us. I missed you so much. You have no idea. We have to get to a shelter away from this storm. Hold my hand…” Smiling, he kept walking with them. They walked for twenty minutes and entered a giant field. After ten minutes of walking restlessly through the field, they all stopped to catch their breath. Angela’s mom ordered everyone to hold one another’s hand. An enormous gust of wind pushed them all to the grassy ground. He began to shake violently as he felt the touch of death nearby. He wondered if this would be the end, as he felt unaccomplished and left with so much left unsaid to her. Thoughts raced through his mind like a speeding highway about how to get to safety. Unable to control and remain focused on one rational thought at a time, he blacked out for a minute.

Then there he was right in the middle of a storm. In so many ways, he realized where he was ending was where he originally began. All the imprints from all he ever knew came back all at once to watch him finally leave all he ever knew from this life. And in the last moments, he found himself with her. He held her hand, while she held his, and the hands of their family and friends. The world was so dark and cold. The wind became much more rapid and an enormous bright light from it came within just miles of them. He kept looking up at the dark black and gray clouds over them, never as frightened as he was now. His focus was on the great strength of the wind. Whatever melancholic thoughts he had of his life, he would not give up hope. Maybe he was just hopelessly hopeful, but holding each other tightly might, in some miraculous way, save them. Then suddenly a deep peace began to sustain his very being. He remembered whose hand he was holding- the only woman to ever understand every level of his being. He looked down at her big, precious eyes pouring out tears. Their eyes locked, as she had been watching him the entire time. No words needed to be said from one another. They knew exactly what they felt and meant. For the first time in his life, everything was all okay. All was beautiful. The whole situation was beautiful, not tragic. In that moment, he understood this was where he was meant to be. This was where he wanted to be, for only in such a life altering moment does one comprehend the very nature of love and life. To just glance into her eyes and see the same person staring back in suspense, while all he ever knew was being born, growing, and dying simultaneously in complete acceptance. They began to fade and disappeared into the light.
Cjf Jul 2018
Depression isn't always hidden cuts underneath sweaters. It's not always sad music & rainy days. It's sometimes the girl who's always smiling with the sad eyes. It's your friend who always has a joke for you. It's the thin line between insanity and being too sane. The ***** of your mouth that doesn't curve all the way into a smile when your thoughts become to heavy for even the hundred of muscles in your mouth to upturn. It's driving a car at 130 miles per hour and wondering how it felt to hug a tree, a numb pain that you can't feel, buts it's everything you feel. It's alcohol going down, down, down until your feelings are higher. It's medication, it comes and goes, always lingering like your allergies on the first day of spring
It's dedicated to you, seeping into your bones like the poison you take up your nose to drown out the inner demons
It's toxins slowly spreading and dissolving your strength and making you wish you weren't you
Depression isn't always black and white.
It's the brightest of teeth that flash the friendliest smiles; sunshine and birds. Because depression doesn't discriminate appearances, she doesn't care who she overcomes and overthrows. Her victims are her best friends and she's patient and she'll wait until your very worst day to come throw her arm over your shoulders and pretend she's there for you, feeding herself with the way your feeding into her shadows.
Depression is everywhere
Nadia Aug 2019
Her voice, sweeter than buttercream
- Salty words won’t pucker her song,
Honey bees follow her adoringly -
The kindest person ever to come along

Her legs, thick with gorgeous muscle
- A tornado couldn't knock her down,
Tree trunks turn green with jealousy -
She's the strongest person in town

Her eyes, alight with warm welcome
- a blackout wouldn't dim her glow,
Lesser stars shrink away in envy -
She's the friendliest person to know

She’ll protect anyone who needs it,
Forgive the most egregious slight
Faced with anger, she won't feed it
Full of grace, she’s everything right

Sadly, he won’t go the way of Earl
But who wouldn’t cheer his self-demise
He who siphoned power, stifled song
And stole the laughter from her eyes

Somehow, she’s still tornado strong
The bees know she’ll sing once more
Her trust might need a little time but
When she’s ready, glowing, she’ll soar

NCL August 2019
Sarah Wilson Apr 2011
robbie-

i think that's your name, anyway.
i should feel bad about that, maybe.
but i don't, because you don't know mine.
you and your chocolate eyes made me smile.
those long eyelashes of yours made me blush.
that leering mouth of yours made me think.
it made me think i'd have a chance, without him.
it made me think i could have someone that wasn't him.
and i thank you for that.

our walk around the mall and to the pet store?
nothing short of miraculous.
you made me smile and laugh and say things like,
"well, i guess it's a date then, isn't it?"
you made me realize there was more to this world
than him and me and our collective issues.

and when i told you i'd meet you,
i really planned on it. i really did.
because we clicked, and i felt it.
and god, i know you did too.
but things came up, and i...
well, i was misbehaving.

i regret not meeting you.
i've never seen you again.
sometimes i wonder if you're real.
but then i remember fingertips,
exploring the small of my back,
as we hugged goodbye.

i've never hugged a stranger before.
i told you i was single, and i felt i was.
i'm sorry my heart didn't hold on to that.
i'm sorry i never found out what was hiding,
what was hiding behind your chocolate eyes.
27 out of 30.
chocolate eyes and skin of porcelain, i miss you.
In Wonder much your Sore Barrels invade
From Whirlycoxed Dames do Insure your Vote
Or Bribes the Fortunate Rascals evade
Saw no other Buttons to Press your Note
So Truth bends the very Patron decide
Carry on the Labours of your Booned Mass
Though Protests trim for another Subscribe
Let all Porned Bobbies allow you to Pass
That your Room - now a Museum convert
Never which Knowing which Prudent Tile step
Then again - as rugged as Granite your Shirt
Stain its Ghostly Essense on your Precept.
Would there be News? Doubt to my Knowledge based
My Cheques duly Crossed and left to Moons chased.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
How high was a nose meant to go?
Was it meant to reach Mars?
Was it meant to be a ladder to both near and far,
To the way far beyond and the far beyond stars?

How high was a nose meant to go?
Was it meant to be raised up to the sun on a pole?
Was it meant to sniff clouds and those lovely bows,
And breathe comet dust in a breathable boast?

How high was a nose meant to go?
Was it meant as an ornament for onlooking eyes,
Combing and surveying air instead of people passing by,
So the friendliest friends can breathe lovelorn sighs?

Those friendliest friends are the first despised.

How high was a nose meant to go?
The one pointed down will be the one pointed out,
The one smelling the floor will be rejected and fought,
The nose pointed down, broken with blood on the ground.

How high was a nose meant to go?
Brian Sarfati Nov 2013
It was a hot, sunny, summery day, and the fire trees were in bloom. Their red leaves littered the streets with sunset though the midday light cast contrast on every little awning and ledge.

You were hanging out by the Big Brother store, talking to the friendliest shopkeeper I ever knew, drinking soda and listening to his stories.

From far away I thought you were a boy; your hair was cut so short. It was the first time I ever saw a girl without long hair, and ordinarily I would have been curious, but I had other problems, as you knew. As my little feet marched closer to the store I saw (though I tried to keep my head down) your face, which was so pretty with your huge luminous eyes and your fair soft skin.

I was twelve back then, though, and so were you, so those weren't exactly the things on my mind as I reached the awning of the store, facing the storekeeper and trying my best to get it over with. I was disappointed because you were there; that there was another person to see me. I was even more shy back then than I am now.

I must have made quite the curious first impression on you, huh?

As I said, it was a hot summer's day, and the sky was robin's egg blue, and there I was beside you, about to purchase some juice and biscuits.

And I was soaking wet with water.

My hair and my clothes were heavy and dark and drooping, as if I had just been submerged in a river with all my clothes on. A trail of tiny blue puddles followed me from the gate of our house to where I was, where a big puddle was forming under my feet. I was frowning.

You just stared at me with wide eyes as I told the shopkeeper what I was going to buy. Straight to the point. Oh, and back then I couldn't speak Filipino very well, and so my words had an outlandishly English accent. The friendly shopkeeper was used to it, but you definitely didn't hear me speak Filipino every day. He didn't even ask me why I was giving birth to puddles. He was cool like that.

He handed me the juice and the biscuits. Great. I could splosh back home. But I hazarded to look at you, so ever so shyly I turned my head to look and remember who it was that saw me so I could avoid her.

Then oh man, I blushed. I didn't know you were that pretty with your short hair and your wide eyes and your fair skin.

I'll never forget it; how right then and there you lost it. All this time you were biting your lip while watching me, but then you just giggled and laughed and bent over and laughed some more. I was so embarrassed, but now as I sit remembering that moment, I realise how happy and innocent your laugh was.

Then I made like a dish with a spoon and ran away in a blush as red as the fire trees. I hoped I would never see you again, but of course I did.

I did, sometime later, when we were older, and I remembered you. You didn't let off that you remembered me from sometime past, but I couldn't miss the way you half-smiled and held back a chuckle after you studied my older face.

I never did tell you why I was dripping that day. You never asked. You're cool like that. I swear though, that someday when we meet again I'll tell you, but for now it's my little secret, and you'll be the first to know.

And oh how I was in love with you and, I think, always will be.
Celia Sep 2018
Like an airplane reaching its climb they break through
My once composed and seamless blanket is now a
        valley of holes punctured and breaking,
They seep into my pores and leave me shaking.

These words manifested as bullets and knives
To do endless damage, leave me barely alive.

But the friendliest of fire is what hurts me the most,
My most powerful enemy and advisory is the one
         free to coast.
That who truly knows what is inly flung,
In myself, only I can be undone.

My exterior is a thin barrier,
My only defense against the world.
Chris T Nov 2015
this is a fine morning and the man in the bathroom mirror smiles
though he admittedly isn't the friendliest person but honestly
he seemed genuinely glad to be awake and alive on such an Autumn day
with the birds chirping and the window near the kitchen slightly ajar
allowing safe passage to a nice chill breeze. he finds the cat up as well
meowing "Good morning!" cheerfully and innocently in its tiny cat voice
and he chuckles and meows back in the most accurate manner available.
on the kitchen table there's a mug of coffee, the newspaper rolled like a cigar,
a plate of waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs and powdered happiness which
the man gobbles wholeheartedly while reading the day's fresh headlines:
President Declares Peace on Earth, Local Man Defeats Dog - Gives Too Many Treats,
Cop Buys Medical Lemonade From Child's Lemonade Stand, World Hunger Exterminated...
permitting the felines to rule our existence was truly the best of ideas!
There is no God but if there was He would be a Cat.
Livia Jan 2015
No one is how they seem

The most cheerful may be the saddest
The loneliest may be the friendliest
They just don't want anyone to go through what they are

The prettiest may be insecure
The most popular might be overwhelmed
The most athletic may be the weakest

We will never know
We can't go into their heads
But next time you tell someone:

They look depressed
They will die alone
No one understands them
They're fat
They are too flustered
They're not strong

Remember the different people that they may be
To the bullies
Pen Lux Jan 2011
religion is dead
but the taste of butterscotch still lingers in my mouth.

I know it's freezing outside.
that's why I want you to hold me so bad,
it doesn't matter if it's you, it could be anyone,
but I know you need it just as much as I do.

I want to read you something
a little more meaningful than
a grocery list, and I want you to
smile more, but I want nothing to do with it.

I'm more situational than you seem to notice,
and I like how we can sit quiet and listen to nothing,
but I'd much rather hear your voice through the
haze of tension that seems to follow us, rather than
watch you sit alone on a welcome mat for depression.

I love you is a funny way of saying I love you,
but none of us really know what it means until
we know what it means, and I know how bad it
hurts when we lose what it means, but I'm sure
we'll find it again. Even if we have to be patient,
and scream a little, and **** someone worthless.

For what it's worth or how much you care,
I want you to know that I care, even if it's
only enough to dodge questions and push
boundaries and cross some t's or some lines.

You give me cold feet and hot cheeks,
but in the friendliest of ways.
idk Jun 2019
short little story I wrote, and it was published in Inkitt!!!!**

I’ve always played the piano, ever since I was a little girl. I started taking lessons from my neighbor when I was seven years old, and on my tenth birthday my family moved- in the living room was a lovely wooden grand piano. My favorite songs to play are soundtracks to plays and old movies. I imagine myself in the starring role, with bleach blonde hair and bold red lipstick. If I close my eyes, I imagine myself playing my piano and singing to the audience. I’m lousy at singing, Mommy says it’s my age. My voice gets weak when I try to sing very high, and I’m not much good at singing low. But I picture it anyway.
When I do math homework, as I am doing right now, the numbers turn to music notes and the symbols to dynamics, and I get caught up in the fantasy- I pretend my pencil is a baton and I am conducting an orchestra, the audience applauding me after we finish and take a bow.
“Dottie.” Mommy stands in the kitchen, looking at me. I look down at my math homework, and I have not written anything down. My pencil was too busy leading my imaginary symphony. She turns back to the onions she was slicing, satisfied that I’ve come back down to earth. I could never imagine having a life like hers. Mommy doesn’t work, she stays at our house while my brother and I are at school. She does all the cooking, the cleaning, the darning, the ironing, the consoling, and every other thing I could think of. I have too many dreams of music and movies to stay in one place like that and dedicate my life to my family. If I even have one- the idea of having kids makes me feel icky. But Mommy seems so happy. She is smiling right now, humming along to “Dancing Queen” as it plays on the radio behind her. She has a college degree, in business. I’ve seen the paper in the frame in her bedroom. In has her name on it in big curly letters.
I look down at my math homework again, but a bright red ladybug is crawling across the page. It is cherry red with little black spots. I often wonder if bugs remember their home, or get homesick. They travel so far and explore so many different homes, it must be impossible to find their way back. Or maybe bugs are just bugs. Mommy says I am “over-analytical.” I think ladybugs are the friendliest insect (if anybody’s counting.) It crawls over my fingers and into the palm of my hand, unshielding its delicate little wings and flying into the air and onto the windowsill. It crawls back through the open pane, and out of my little world. How I would love to be a ladybug.
Jeff Stier Jul 2016
She is the slyest creature
ever whelped by wolf
or woman

A barking beast
small in stature
huge in heart

Face framed by fire
done up in fur
the friendliest constellation
in the night sky
one known to all
Hilda

She is coyote
on a good day
a wolf cub at play
a lover in the morning
noon
and night

A slight and feral hound
with ideas of her own

We found her
in the company of
a wizard.
Oh yes!

And he wove for us
a sweet spell of harmony
well mingled
with domestic peace.

Hilda was the incantation.
And the spell was strong.
Elizabeth Fruin Nov 2014
Maybe I'm the person who backs away from compliments
Who sits on the sideline to watch the nights events
The one who doesn't like the spotlight on her
Who has a feeling she's got the answer but isn't sure..

Maybe I'm the person who sits on her hands in class
You know, that person who always avoids the mass
The one who doesn't do well with the crowded halls
Who always looks away from the teacher when she calls

Maybe I'm the person who hides behind book covers
Because the books tell of dragons, fairies and lovers
Worlds where she's the princess, soon to be queen
Or a kickass ninja fighting robot machine

Maybe my imagination takes me to far away places
Maybe I imagine the friendliest faces
Maybe that's because no one in reality was friendly
Maybe you should look at me and see me differently.

- E.A.F
To the people who are misunderstood ♡
jake aller Apr 2020
Saturday April 17

You are my Lode Star

in the morning dawning light
you are always there
you are my lode star
my sunshine, my moonshine
the love of my life, my wife
with your endless love
I will face the evil corrupted world
even walk through the shadow of death
as long as you by my side
I will fear no evil for you are with me
and I will love you
until death takes me
from your your loving embrace


another Nigerian spam found poem

the Nigerians keep sending me
and millions of others
delightedly creative spam messages
this is one of the nicer ones
I have received

Enjoy
but don’t send her any money!!!!!

Good day Child of God,

Calvary Greetings
in the name of the LORD Almighty
and Our LORD JESUS CHRIST
the giver of every good thing.

Good day and compliments of the seasons,
i know this letter
will definitely come to you
as a huge surprise,

I humbly
ask you to give me
your attention
and hear me,

i am writing this mail
to you
with heavy sorrow
in my heart,


but I implore you
to take the time
to go through it  carefully
as the decision you make


will go off a long way
to determine
my future
and continued existence.

I am Mrs. Esther Heidi
aging widow of 61 years old
suffering from long time illness.

I have some funds
I inherited from my late husband
, the sum of ($17 Million Dollars) a

And I needed a very honest
and God fearing  
who can withdraw this money
then use the funds for Charity works

I WISH TO GIVE THIS FUNDS
TO YOU FOR CHARITY WORKS.
I found your email address
from the internet

after honest prayers  
to the LORD
to bring me a helper

and i decided to contact you
if you may be willing
and interested to handle
these trust funds in good faith
before anything happens to me.

I accept this decision
because I do not have any child
who will inherit this money
after I die.

I want your urgent reply
to me so that I will give you
the deposit receipt
which the bank issued to me
as next of kin
for immediate transfer of the money

to your account in your country,
to start the good work of God,
I want you to use the 30/percent
of the total amount to help
yourself in doing the project.

I am desperately
in keen need of assistance
and I have summoned
up courage to contact you

for this task,
you must not fail me
and the millions of the poor people
in our todays WORLD.

This is no stolen money
and there are no dangers involved,
100% RISK FREE
with full legal proof.


Please if you would be able
to use the funds for the Charity
(Note: I would use the money
to invest in the Church of Jake)

I want you to
take 30 percent of the total money
for your personal use
while 70% of the money
will go to charity.

I will appreciate your utmost confidentiality
and trust in this matter to accomplish
my heart desire, as I don't want anything
that will jeopardize my last wish.

Please kindly
respond for further details.

Thanks and God bless you,

Regards

Mrs. Esther Heidi

comment: the sad reality
is that 10 percent
of people fall for these scams
and loose lots of money

whole towns in Nigeria
exist to exploit the world
they call themselves
the 404 army

if it is too good to be true
it is probably not true

end comment


Last Day of America

the last day of America
was the day we last voted
the last election we ever had

for on that day
a month before
the corona virus re-emerged

as the great re-opening
of the US economy
failed to stop the relentless spread
of the virus from hell

causing panic and mass confusion
fear kept Americans home

and Donald Trump
was re-elected

because his voters
believed that God
had told them to vote
for their new found king

the newly energized President Trump
declared a national emergency
martial law
and suspension of the constitution

Promising to restore democracy
when the time was right

he promised his followers
that he would restore Christian values
renaming the United States
the Christian States of America

on that date
we met our fate

Christian fascism
was here to stay
on the last day
of American

writers digest prompt - last blank




the Conqueror Worm Corona Sonnet

Lo, t’s a galla night
within the lonesome later years
when around the world
the dreaded corona virus showed its might
spending fear to those in their later years
that it might take them in the night
that before the sun came up
their time on earth would end up
DEATH IS COMING
TO US ALL
NONE CAN ESCAPE?WE?AWAIT
FATE

# content tracing: the Conqueror Worm By Edgar Allan Poe

writing.com corona sonnet form challenge



my Mother’s secret life as a mad poet   Not for publication - remove from Poetry soup etc



one day I discovered
an unpublished poem
that my mother
had written

when she was in the midst
of her madness
before dementia silenced
the voices in her head

she had typed it out
and hid it among her papers
I read it while going through her stuff
decided to kept it

and reflected up it
over the years

my mother was born
perhaps 40 years too soon
for she was a true free spirit
a truly original thinker

and I wished
she had published
her writings

in her story
she talked about
the endless blame
that she felt

besieged on all sides
by the demands
of her children
and her cold unfeeling husband
who just did not get her

her poem speaks for itself

A Mother's Blues

How much longer can I live
With the thin edge of hysteria
And constant paranoia?

The slightest misstep on my part
Unleashes a tirade of my past sins, real and imagined--because I am the enemy.

I can't be true to myself
Since if I disagree

Even in the friendliest manner
The 16-mm. guns are revved up for a full-scale counter attack.

I wonder that I am still functioning.
By now almost anyone known to me

Has been subjected to the most agonizing kind of torture
And my humiliation is almost complete.

The phone calls I have gotten
Asking if that is my real position?

Or even worse asking
What am I doing
To cause such unprecedented allegations
Of provoking suicide
Are almost unbelievable.

And yet I have to listen,
In no way say or do anything that would even suggest
That anyone else than myself is the cause

And that the correction must come from me.

The reason is that when I am able
I do not want to let anyone else think differently

Since I persist
In the notion
That this is private
And there should be no intrusions.

But then late at night
When I am exhausted
And with no more defenses
My vulnerability is so effectively exploited.

I turn the other cheek, I change the subject
But then I get cornered

Because there is the screaming insult,
The statement of fact that is not fact

The bitter charges, the assertion of a position
That is they condemned
In the non-stop monologue,

The immediate challenge to get out,
And the endless litany
Of the deepest kind of hatred.

Am I the one to run--I have to no avail.

Am I the one to fight back

I have but to no consequence.

Can I ask for the common decency?
Of being able to sleep for a few hours

So that I can stumble
Through the routine of earning some money
Which goes to support my continued torture.

Do I have the option of fighting all night,
Sleeping all day and then returning to the fray?

Do I even have the right of insisting
The ledger is not all that one-sided?

No, I'm there to assault.

Money in unimportant
And so I don't need to work.
Because when it is all lost the avenger
Will then ride to the rescue
By taking in the laundry.

Do my dreams matter?
No, they are false and of no consequence.
Or, worse they are wrong.
Or, even worse they should be stamped out.

And now my final abjection.  Exhausted, desperately striving for the moment of quiet that precedes a restful sleep a son arrives asking for a chat. I try but I don't want to give advice, as I have none really to give. But my avenging angel swoops in saying why listen to that creep--he's a two-time loser. Did you know all the crimes he has committed?  Once again I could not remain detached and listen to the skill of the assault or the spilling of the hatred so long denied its vengeance.

I fight back and my humiliation is now complete.  Do I have any person left with whom I can feel whole? I am being reduced to a hunted animal.

If I have a kind word for anyone that person is at risk.  Can I fight back?  No, because there is the ultimate blackmail of the constant threat of suicide--I live daily with the fear that my reactions will trigger this.  After all, when the world is tired of hearing how bad I am what can prove it.

Should I finally admit this inevitability and take the only step that can forestall it and that is to move first.  What do I have to lose? NOTHING.  The anguish and hopelessness would finally be at an end.

My twenty-year struggle to do right would be at the end.

My god, how I have suffered but no one has asked since it was the suffering of others that was all that mattered.

How much larger must my burden of guilt become?  When, on when, can I have a reprieve?  Can my debts, real or imagined, ever be paid?


the poem spoke to me
for I was perhaps
her favorite son

for of her children
perhaps I was the only one
that ever got her

and I miss her
every day

and wished
I had told her
that before
dementia took her from us
and took her life

poetry superhighway prompt to write a letter based on your mother’s writings


Plane, Train or Automobile - none of us can escape our fate


in these dark and dire times
we find ourselves living
we often fear that the times
are infected with death

and so we are afraid
deathly afraid
that if we take a plane
we will find  General Corona
among the passengers

and we afraid
deadly afraid
that the subways
are incubators
of death and destruction

the virus spreads
fear and death
in its wake

many of us
retreating to our homes
and venturing out
in our cars

only to find
death is stalking us
as traffic piles up
traffic accidents
still killing more people
that the dreaded General Corona

the grim reaper smiles
his work is done
Satan thanks General. Corona
for a job well done

writing com daily dew drop in prompt


packages

they say
that God works in mysterious ways
his wonders to perform

every day it seems
that more and more
of what we buy
and consume

comes in packages
sent from here and there
as people
continue to practice
social distancing

and going to the store
becomes an exercise
fraught with peril
and danger

so we order
on line
and we get our packages
sent from here and there

one day we received
a gift package
of clams
delicious fresh clams

as I ate them
I thought of the workers
who had labored unseen
for me to enjoy
this bounty from the sea

and I gave thanks
to the gods
for making it happen

in this day and age
we should thank
those who are still
laboring to feed the world

they are the unsung heroes
of this war fought by nature
under the direction
of General Corona


tweeter speak poetry prompt April 16 Packages



computer madness sonnet


computer madness infects my soul
every day when I turn on my PC
and encounter endless  haiku error messages
constant crashing, constant eating my files
at times like this it seems to me
that my mad as a hatter crazed computer
is plotting against me and only me
it wants to drive me quite insane
sending me right around the bend
as I scream at my machine
it beeps at me this **** machine
smiling as I threaten once again
to shoot the hell bound machine

sonnet all poetry computer frustration contest
You have always been my sunshine

You have always been my sunshine
my moonshine, my load star
that guides me in the night
for your sunshine kissed my soul
the day that you walked
out of my dreams
into my life
and became my wife
for 38 years and counting
every morning I see you sleeping
your smile is like the sunshine
that wakes my soul
and banishes the nightmares
back to the dark corners of my mind

love sonnet for all poetry contest on prompt line Sunshine Kissed


Saturday April 18, 2020

Korean Blues Crown of Sonnets

I have been dealing with Things Korean
for almost 40 years now
dealing with a once exotic land
’now my second homeland?
first came to Korea?
in the Peace Corps in Korea?
went to Korea to find the woman
in search of the woman
who haunted my dreams
met the woman
Fell in love with the woman
From Korea who walked out my dreams
In an land still exotic

In a land still exotic
It was a very exotic different land
and even now decades later a new land
remains for most Americans
still a strange land exotic
but much more known land
in the US
due to K drama, K Pop,
Koreans have become globally cool but still exotic
Many of my fellow Americans
may know a few people from Korea
and some have served or lived in Korea
but to most of the us Americans
it remains over there still exotic
a strange Asian exotic land
A strange Asian Exotic land
I fell in love with that exotic land
now I spend half my time living Korean time
half in the U.S. time
and due to the corona time
will be here for some time
and well Korea
no longer an exotic land
as I am now just living in Korea
my thoughts half Korean
and even dream in Korean
so be it near the end of my time
I am back where I began
Writer digest prompt write an exotic poem wrote my first crown of sonnet form too, and it mostly rhymes! go figure




Cosmic Debris  Corona Sonnet


use as sample for remaining corona sonnet

the Conqueror Worm Corona Sonnet

Lo, t’s a galla night
within the lonesome later years
when around the world
the dreaded corona virus showed its might
spending fear to those in their later years
that it might take them in the night
that before the sun came up
their time on earth would end up
DEATH IS COMING
TO US ALL
WE  
WAIT
LATE
FATE


# content tracing: the Conqueror Worm By Edgar Allan Poe

writing.com corona sonnet form challenge



for Posting 2.  Cosmic Debris Corona sonnet 2

I received a mysterious email package
followed by a phone call offering me a magical mask
a mask that they claim would prevent me
from the dreaded General Corona
hey there
who you jiving with that cosmic debris
a mask that they did not want me
me to know about
TOP SECRET CODE 2 LEVEL  STUFF
MUST    ACT   NOW
SEND MONEY  ASAP
BUY
IT
NOW

# content tracing-  “Cosmic Debris by Frank Zappa”
with apologies to Frank Zappa




No More Ties for Me!

When I retired
I made three vows
to myself

first, I would spend
my remaining life
loving my wife

second, i would never wear a tie again
unless it was a real special occasion
as I hated wearing ties and suits

wore a suit and tie
almost every day
of my life

as a teacher
later as a foreign service officer
all over the world

last year of my job
I only wore a tie
on "tie worthy occasions"

since then I have been
tie free
except for a wedding

and I love it
hated suits and ties
just not Berkeley enough

for my free spirit
too **** corporate
and I don’t care anymore

and in Oregon, where I lived
no one wore a tie,
not the Oregon way

oh the last thing
I shave twice a month now
used to hate shaving

but I also don't like
a full shaggy itchy beard

and I shaved every day

for years and years
except when I was in the hospital
for a year

and I grew to love
having a beard
back then

back to the office
started shaving again
every **** day

now I do my thing
no office for me
and no more daily shaving

and a beard is also
very Northern Cal/Northwest
Oregonian Chic

so once every two weeks
is a good compromise
my beard is now a poet’s face

and so I hope to keep
these three vows
until my time is done

writing com Daily Dew Drop Inn prompt to write a poem about a piece of clothing





Corona Consumes Me  Corona Sonnet  3

I am consumed by the corona virus
and I am slowly being taken over
as the virus infects my mind
taking me over turning me
into a wild raving zombie man
Let there be light
will I become the first
ZOMBIE APOLYCAPASE LOOMS
WILL WE ALL DIE
CORONA
KILLS
ME

content tracing - Let there be light from Bible and the entire Zombie Apocalypse genre where the Zombie flu started usually in China as a flu and then morphs into the zombie disease



Sunday April 19, 2020

for posting General Corona Leads His Troops Into Battle, crown of sonnets

General Corona leads his forces across the world
riding on a black horse
from out of the Apocalypse  ride the four horsemen
which are let loose upon the world
He leads his forces across the world
into battle as the leader of his evil forces
The enemy of humanity
General Corona he does not care
nor does his virus minions care
about your nationality he does not care
about your politics he does not care
or your wealth or who you are
for all you are nothing but humanity
the corona general sees humanity
the corona general sees humanity
as nothing but hosts for his virus army

as nothing but hosts for his virus army
chanting death to humanity
until his evil army
sweeps throughout the world
throughout the world
and millions must die
it is the will of the general all must die
and it is the end of the world
or perhaps the beginning of a new world
filled with hope and love through out the world
humanity comes alive throughout the world
fighting back against the virus army
peace, love and compassion defeats the army
and general corona will finally himself die




Voice Message for God

dialing 202-346-5666  Beep
You have reached GOD
Press 1 for English, Press 2 for Spanish
leave a message or prayer
and maybe an angel will call you
will get back to you Beep
Hey GOD someone sent me your number
and well I hope I’ve reached your number
I don’t know where to start that’s the point
GOD I am scared of you
all the time is my point
I am so afraid, so scared
of the dreaded General Corona
and his invisible army is my point

and his invisible army is my point
forcing me to stay at home
and I am sacred
that you anointed the wrong man  
to be our leader, that makes me sacred
not to second guess you man
your will be done and all of that man
but GOD, can’t you do better job my man
of anointing our leaders to serve under GOD
of all the people in the U.S. dear God
this is the best you can do?, man?
I mean you picked perhaps the one man
in the world who could be the anti-chris, God
Seriously GOD what is wrong with you? man

Seriously, GOD, what is wrong with you? man
was this all sort of a cosmic joke?
well it ain’t funny any more ain’t no joke
Please GOD make it all go away, man
Please GOD for the love of GOD
and all that is holly and good, man
just make it all go away, GOD
and anoint someone else, man
a real leader for a change, GOD
and let him lead us to the promised land  
this I pray in Jesus’s name, my man
and if I don’t make it, GOD
We have a lot to talk about GOD
See you on the other side, my man

writer digest prompt write a “message Poem” so this is a voice mail to GOD




Every Day I go Back in Time to when she came to Me

every day I go back in time
to the two events that changed my life
to the dream that haunted my life
and the day she walked into my life
and became my wife
I can never forget the dream
falling asleep in the physics class
as the teacher was going on and on
and as I nodded off
I saw here there
standing there
speaking to me
the most beautiful woman
in the entire world

in the entire world
she was speaking to me
and disappeared from my dreams
and I knew that i would be
meeting her some day she would come to me
and so I eventually went to Korea other side of the world
in the Peace corps hoping she would come to me
then one day i had the last and final dream
she said don’t worry she would soon come to me
and then she walked out of my dreams
and there she was she came to me
and so she walked out of my dreams
into my life, became my wife
when she came to me

Poetry Superhighway prompt to write a poem about time travel to your past or your future
poems for April 17 to April 19
Sour Patched Kid Jan 2015
I told you to run while you could,
get out before it's too late.
because I was the friendliest to strangers
and the strangest to friends.
My heart had never been open to dividends.
But your strangeness was similar to my strangeness: pushing out of fear - or had I made you that way?
You despised Mr. Hyde more than I did, but you loved Dr. Jekyl fervently with more compassion than I could ever give him...

I told you how it sometimes felt like I was living another's life... and looking at it now it's like I was sitting on a perpetual swing: x distance forward and x distance back.

We lucked out for so long because I would pull when you would push, and when I pushed you would pull me back. And for a while we both pulled. And then forever onward we pushed. Or forever wayward. Sometimes pulling in doesn't keep people from going away. And when you push someone, you can't expect them to pull you back. Because not everyone is sitting on the same swingset.
Anais Vionet Jul 2023
Lisa and I finally tested covid-free! When we saw our results, we began an impromptu dance that felt like levitation.

Although my covid case seemed much milder, Lisa’s been nothing but supportive. Why just yesterday morning, before we tested, Lisa said, “If you test covid-free before I do, I’ll **** you.” She was holding a spork which gave the threat a specific gravity it might otherwise have lacked.
“Back off, Sweeny,” I said.

We worked the next day, masked - just in case - and I’d swear that Rebecca, my surgeon, almost smiled when she saw me. As funny as Rebecca is, off-hours, once she puts on that white coat - forgetaboutit - she goes to some other, humor-free zone.

That night, we went out to our favorite bar to celebrate our Lazarus-like resurrections.

In the club, as we were walking to the bar, Lisa asked me, “What if we get carded?” I gasped. Never, have I EVER been carded. To even suggest the possibility is to risk breaking a spell that has lasted since I was fifteen years old and first walked in the adult-bar world.

It’s not that I look old, I’ve been told I don't look 21 (although I’m almost 20) - but in dark, bar-light - I just look “right,” like I belong. And let's face it, no bar turns away college girls or charges them a cover - we’re good for business.

I put a hand on Lisa’s shoulder and stopped us in our tracks. “Turn around three times,” I said.
“Why?” She asked. “To break the god-****, bad luck, vu doo you just put on us!” I said exasperatedly. She shrugged and started to turn in a circle. Again I took her by the shoulders, “Counter-clockwise,” I instructed, “don’t you know anything?!” Once she’d broken the jinx, we were free to go on.  The next part can only be poetry.

Behind the bar were shelves of bottles, brightly lit,
with pastel glows that shame the merely silver moon.
Red rums, golden bourbons, begging you to commit,
elixirs that dull every pain and brighten every mood.
Give us your tired, your lonely, and like Houdini
we’ll invoke fun with mystical treats like martinis.

We were basking in those lantern-like glows, like tourists, in heaven, when a bartender said, “What can I get you?” How generous those words were, how open and inviting.

“What’s your name?” I asked, he was wearing a name tag but I leaned in and gave him my friendliest smile. It’s important to establish a personal connection - but you can’t get carried away. He might be gay and decide you’re trailer.

“Brian,” he said. Brian was talking to me, but then he’d noticed Lisa and suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes off her (Lisa’s an adriana). This bartender wasn’t gay at ALL.

I handed him my black, Centurion, American Express card “Can we set a tab for us?” I motioned to include Lisa, “and please include a 30% tip for yourself.” I smiled. He smiled.
“Oh, and there’ll be a gentleman joining us as well (Charles).”
“Sure.” he said, as he swiped the card on his iPad, adding, “now, what are you having?”

I’m a bit of a bon vivant, where cocktails are concerned but tonight, we’ll keep it vanilla.
“We’ll start with a Cherry coke (for Charles) and,” I looked at Lisa for approval, “Two American Martinis?” She smiled, “Please,” I added, putting my card away.
The coke is psychologically important; it gives the bartender what’s called 'plausible deniability.’
“Do you have a menu?” I said, as he turned to go. “Coming right up,” he said.

We were on a rooftop terrace that overlooked the Boston skyline. To the left, there were tables enclosed in glowing, geodesic bubbles that changed colors and off to the right, a dance space where couples were dancing, and a DJ was spinning ‘Sorja Smith’s - Little things.’

Our drinks arrived and Lisa and I laughingly toasted our covid survival.
At that moment, at least, everything seemed right with the world.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: A bon vivant:  a person with cultivated and refined tastes

slang…
sweeny = sweeny todd, the murderous demon barber of fleet street (Sondheim musical)
forgetaboutit = ‘forget about it,’ best said with a fake, somewhat racist, Italian accent.
trailer = as in trailer trash
adriana = a stunningly gorgeous girl
lulu Aug 2016
Sweater sleeves dangling past your cold fingertips;
leaves drifting soundlessly to your feet.
The air is so cool and crisp and it feels so clean
and fresh against your skin and in your lungs.
You can feel the past slipping away,
making way for the new and exciting things the autumn season brings you.

Long, intellectual, enlightening conversations
that happen in the coziest of places with the friendliest of people.
Warm coffees and teas drank next to equally as
warm fireplaces and comforters.
Ginger and spice scenting every home you enter.

Wishes being made and promises being kept.
Walking hand in hand with the love of your life,
wearing jackets and mittens and knowing that everything is finally alright.
Nose kisses and long hugs to chase away the cold.

I wouldn't call is autumn so much as the one time of year you ever feel at home.
** Write a poem inspired by autumn. What does it smell like? What does it feel like? What does it sound like? What does it look like? What does it mean to you? Send them to me! I would love to read them!!! **
Edward J Mis Mar 2010
When it rains, it pours;
A downpour less frequently wet, sure
Dancing a shambling, ill-dressed manticore
Who has barely the strength to shake anymore
Find the only chagrin of the forecast is yours
But you bring some fine wine, a handle of Dewar’s
Your mind ascending from improbable sewers
Searing tomatoes, aged beef on skewers
Burned-off or absorbed during barhopping tours
With whom you lounged on Mediterranean shores
In your history head: Mongols, Turkmen, and Moors
It hits you again ‘til another drink floors you
Sleep on a sofa where bad weather ignores you
And somewhere inside a girl asks, “From who
Comes a voice (yours) at night ambling the halls?”
The friendliest ghost, not haunting at all
Who’ll likely come by if you give him the call
But leave in the morning before sunlight is tall
Out of fear of breaking some protocol

Despite this, you’ve certainly seen so
They keep you around as part of this scene, so
This is your life, just how it should be, so
Thank you my dears, my beloved Piso
Tyler Zempel Dec 2018
The Historian

Rain falls steadily, wind torments the trees, thunder cracks the sky and lightening dancing paints the earth as I pull up and park outside of my boss’s home.
Tonight, is not a good night to be caught outside on a roam.
A positive note, my boss’s house has a front door made out of chrome.
His front yard is littered with creepy gnomes.

My wife gives me a look wondering why we are here and questioning my sanity.
I reassure her my boss is a good man and has a heart filled with love by Christianity.
She tells me believing in a mystical being is a form of insanity.
I tell her to stop with the blasphemy,
my boss is a good man whom has never uttered a single profanity.
My boss is better than both of us single handily.
Three months ago, he hired me into his company after a long period of unemployment and has ever since treated me like family.
He has exceeded all of my former bosses combined actually.
My wife has no need to worry, she needs to get over the delusional fantasy
she’s playing over and over again in her head callously.

I walk with my wife hand in hand up to the front door and knock.
My wife frowns at me and tells me we don’t belong on this block.
My boss invited us for dinner, we won’t be turning that down,
besides, he’s the only person I can truly call a friend in this town.
He picked me up from the ashes and filled my life with hope.
A few more days of struggle and hardship and I’m afraid you would have found me hanging from a rope.
This man saved my life in my most dire time of need.
We owe him more than we can ever pay, even if my wife may not agree.

My boss answers the door with a friendly hello and a warm smile.
I look at my wife and smile to show her she has no reason to be hostile.
***** needs to loosen up and enjoy the night,
but she’s put off by the fact that we are people of color and my boss is white.
Racist ******* she needs to get over because there is no place for it here,
or I will pierce her heart and soul with a slanders venom laced spear.

We walk inside where I immediately notice a large collection of historical artifacts.
Based on the outside, I was expecting an interior with a bit more pomp and circumstance.
Old flags and pictures line the interior.
Still, my home feels rather inferior.

“Thank you for coming tonight Antonio.
Dinner will be ready shortly.
If you don’t mind, allow me to show you a couple rooms of my beautiful home.
Outside of work, things work a little differently deep down in my dome.
I’m an history fanatic and have a large collection of historical artifacts.
My collection is so massive I often feel like I’ve gone slightly manic.
Here, follow me and I’ll give you a brief tour of a couple rooms.
I promise these rooms are fun to be in and are nothing like a tomb.”

We walk into a room where I discover it contains a large collection of American Revolutionary War artifacts.
They are many pictures hanging on the wall, each with a plague underneath it explaining some facts.
George Washington,
Thomas Jefferson,
Benjamin Franklin,
John Adams,
Thomas Hutchinson
Joseph Brant,
along with Thomas Paine and his common sense.
There are old fire arms, books, clothing and flags.
I’m sure all of these items costed a pretty little price tag.

I exit the room and walk into the next room to discover…
A **** themed room and dedication to the holocaust.
My wife walks in behind me, I can feel her heart skip a few beats.
She stares at me and gives me a glare that’s not so nice.
There is a large picture of Adolf ****** hanging on the wall.
I swallow my spit, take a deep breath as my nerves act up and fear begins to crawl
up my spinal cord.
There are many more rooms left in this house, but after this room I no longer feel a need to explore.
Multiple **** flags pollute the room.
This room is a lot to take in and consume.
My boss (Nathan Kline) has written speeches of Adolf ****** framed and hung on the wall.
I’m not sure how anyone would react to this room except with appall.

“Antonio, I see you found my **** artifact room.
The look on your face is concerning to me and I admit that this room can be a lot to consume,
but it’s not to be taken in a negative way.
I’m a history nut, both good history and the bad, what else can I say?
What the ****’s and ****** did were terrible and beyond words and this room is not to honor them.
This room is to preserve this part of our history, as bad as it is, so we learn from it and don’t make the same mistake ever again, that’s the place of my heart this room is coming from.
Listen, you guys must be starving, what do you say we go eat some delicious food and talk about some brighter topics?
Maybe you can tell me about some of your interests and hobbies and teach me about a topic in which I’m a novice.”
My wife looks at me, a fire burning in her eyes.
Once we leave here, she’s either going to rip me apart or break down and cry.
She forces a smile, grabs my arm and tells me it’s time to join our host for dinner.
She knows how to hide displeasure and fake kindness, she’s no beginner.

We follow Nathan to the dining room to discover an older gentleman already seated at the table.
He radiates a warm smile in our direction, he seems rather graceful.

“Antonio, Katrina, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to world renowned neurosurgeon, Dr. James Allen Blake.
I invited him here tonight to enjoy this wonderful feast we are about to share that’s center pieced by a one of a kind steak.
Dr. Blake and I have been friends for many years.
He knows all of my darkest secrets, all of my loves and fears.”

“Antonio, Katrina, it’s my pleasure the meet the two of you.
I am a neurosurgeon, that part is true,
but what Nathan has neglected to tell you is…I’m retired!
Just recently actually and now I’m trying to find new activities to do to fill all of my new found free time that I’ve acquired rather undesired.
This dinner is a celebration of my long career and also a celebration of making new friends,
so, cheers to the two of you and thank you for joining us here tonight.”
We shake Dr. Burke’s hand then take a seat at the table ready to eat.
I’m glad to hear we are having steak, it’s my favorite meat.
A gentleman of color walks in from out of the kitchen carrying a bottle of the finest wine.
His eyes are cold, he doesn’t smile, I wonder if he’s mentally fine.
He pours the four of us a glass of wine then departs without saying a word.
Do I bring up his demeanor with Nathan or do I defer?
**** it, I’ll ask.
I want to know why his face looks like he just got done surviving doomsday.

“Not the friendliest person is he,” I mention nodding in the direction of the man from the kitchen.

“That’s just how Robert is, it takes him awhile to warm up to new people.
Once he opens up you will realize his heart is full of love and not evil.
Besides, he is the best cook I have ever met.
I made his acquaintance during a time when he was working 60 hours a week and still struggling to pay rent.
I went out eat at this run-down restaurant over on 9th and hilltop and the food was fantastic.
Honestly, I was expecting it to taste like plastic.
I was so impressed that I asked the waitress if I could talk with the cook.
He came out, I told him how great his food was.  He thanked me then told me that no matter how hard he worked there, every day he was still broke.
I made him an offer to come cook dinner for me five nights a week and he accepted and walked out the restaurant right then and there with me.
When he walked out of that place, it was like a giant weight was lifted off of him and suddenly he was free.
He started cooking for me the very next day and has been here ever since.
He may have been taken for granted at that restaurant, but here he’s treated like a prince.
Sure, he’s a bit rough around the edges but he’s a good man.
Taking care of him like he takes care of me is my plan.
Now that we have wine, how about a toast.
Here is to my new friends Antonio and Katrina, to you Dr. Burke and to our wonderful cook…cheers!”

Katrina and I take a big sip of the wine then set the glass down.
The wine is good enough to serve to the royal crown.
Nathan and James sit their glasses down without taking a drink.
That’s strange…I begin to think.
I go to ask why they didn’t take a drink but begin to feel light headed.
Katrina looks at me frightful, eyes cold blooded.
She tells me she doesn’t feel well, stands up to go to the bathroom but collapses and falls hard to the floor.
I go to get up to help her but I’m suddenly brought down to all fours.
I crawl over to her as Nathan appears over us.
He tells us we have something to discuss.

“Antonio, Katrina, please look each other in the eyes.
Take a moment because this is your only chance to say goodbye.
You are about to pass out and when you awake…
well you will no longer be you.
Dr. Burke is going to rewire your brains to make you perfectly obedient slaves for me.
The life you know it is over, you will no longer be free.
You two won’t even recognize each other after this, you will be complete strangers who’s only objective is to serve me without question.
I’m sorry if you feel like this is oppression.
It was actually Dr. Burke’s suggestion
to rewire *******’ brains to make them slaves again.
I must admit, with Robert, it turned out to be a great plan.
With you two, I’m sure it will work just as well.
Well enjoy the last few seconds you have left to dwell.”

I look my wife in the eye and can see the terror that has overcome her.
Never in my wildest imagination did I think something like this would occur.
Nathan treated me like family, but it was all for show.
He will ultimately pay the price for his actions here tonight after he dies and Satan ***** him in the *** while playing a banjo!
I reach out my arm and hold my wife’s hand one final time
as the world around fades to black.

“James, when you are done and have them ready for me, meet me in the master bedroom with them.”
----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------

I enter the master bedroom the admire the work James has done for me.

“Pretty impressive, don’t you agree?”

Antonio and Katrina appear emotionless and cold.
They are firmly under my control.
I say hello to greet the pair.
They respond with a hello master then bow down and kiss my shoe.

“I’m very happy to have the two of you here.”

“We are here to serve you and satisfy you in every way possible master.”

“Antonio, I would like you to begin cleaning all of the toilets in the house using a toothbrush and cleaner.”
He promptly agrees and departs to do just that, “thank you Antonio I love your demeanor.
Katrina, you sure are you cute little thing.
What would you do to please your king?”

“Anything you wish sir; your happiness is all I care about.”

“That is the correct answer Katrina, now how about you get a little bit more comfortable and take your clothes off.”

Katrina immediately stirps down to nothing and stands **** in front of me.
This is the way I always want her to be…
Naked and pleasing me in my bed.
I hope she gives great head.
Don’t patronage me for this.
Washington, Jefferson and all of our forefathers had slaves and procreated with the females.
They had many children with them.
Katrina will provide me with many of my own.
She is a fine little specimen.
Nice tight body, firm ***, perky ****, she’s going to be a fun ride.

“Get in bed Katrina and start ******* yourself I’ll be right there to make love to you.
Thank you for everything you have done here James, I can’t ever express my gratitude in the appropriate way.”

“Well when the time comes for you to return the favor I will call on you.
As for now, I will leave you be with your new toy so get busy kid!”
Yael Apr 2014
I have three and a half dark-haired fellows of ardor

The first
Plays guitar like an angel does a harp
Watches the same nerdy tv shows as I do
His smile lights up any room.

The second
Is the star of drama class
Is one of the friendliest guys I know
His smile lights up any room.

The third
I dont talk to much
My friend fancies his too
His smile lights up any room.

And the half...
He broke my heart long ago
But I somehow find myself thinking of him late at night, when all is quiet and dark
His smile lights up any room.
Idk...
That shortest visit
reaches infinity
miracle so true
never has end in sight

a most difficult task
i do not ask
but begging you
as you've always been
the friendliest, the nicest
like in the old days
when life still had many opportunities
to soar, to fly
peregrination sans limits
to all wind sighs

always think
that ocean glued to the lovely town
is not a small puddle
immensely large and deep,
this great aqua is not to be trusted,
but no need to weep.

Only human beings you wish to cuddle
people in their dust
born on the same ground
and hearts are found

greatest compassion
keeping that knowledge
all at your own

thy existence
as precious as can be
for me
mainly marvelous present memories

drizzling rains
unexpectedly
for you and me

fortunately not painful
nor for you or for me

in my mind and me
the Birthday stay
so sweet, tremendous crackling cozy
due to the efforts thou doth

i say it this way
baby, it was an unforgettable stay
thank you !

© Sylvia Frances Chan
AD. Sunday, 25th Sept 2016 - 1.30 hrs.PM.
Sunny weather, beautiful rays
happy hearts @J's Inn and more
Celebrating my baby's Birthday on the Day before.
Originally from Dutch dd. on PF 28 Sept.
Nathan Porter May 2018
Mother Dearest, Dearest of all
A helper and lover, to all who call
Mother Dearest, Life-Giver to ourselves
I don't know how to tell you
Your love is life to all of us
Mother Dearest, Kindest to the world
You'll rebuild what has been broken,
Like toy blocks fallen on the floor
Mother Loveliest, most beautiful of life
Your smile whiles away the pain,
it cures me of strife
Mother Friendliest, most caring in my heart
You've turned words into a treasure trove
A gorgeous work of art
Mother Wisest, most guiding and most fair
Although I'd object to grounding
You most of all make it seem better just to share
Mother Kindest, most helpful and most sweet,
You have changed the fields of ashen crops
To bounties filled with wheat
Mother Dearest, You're all around the best
And if you'll permit, at your behest
Mother Dearest, I'd like to carry on
For pages and pages, as ever you read on
But Mother, can't you see? The greatest Love I'll ever know, is the one you give to me.
Happy Mother's day all!
Maahv Z Nov 2014
when the night plunged
darkness took me in its closet
i begin to vouch for the taste
my delights, my dreams
we've got nowhere to go
we've got no secrets
and i stand alone with solitary soul
its a consolation
where else you see real picture
the dusky shadows
and murky humor ..
it does not submersed me in its charm
neither voices
nor people..the happening
it never has..it never did
living in cracked life is a joy
pursuing myself
day by day- endless
to get what i lost
i thank heaven
for the mercy he bestowed me with
staying with me..in my worn out heart
it did mend..it did get widen
and the songs of my wonderings persist
without a desire to be heard or
to be understood
it was a solitary ride
about a soulful thought ..forgetful of any cares
they all turned out to be my weary companions
my the loyalist- the friendliest of all
i slowly took everything out of me
minute to minute..it profoundly wounded my affections
and pinched my soul; all my profane profanity stir up
I refuted with all my confessions; and made it be absent!!
samuel ck Nov 2011
A Nightmare*

In my dreams I am the melting man.
Through tinted glass I am without senses.
With eyes that feel the sting of sight and fever of hearing,
I am allowed into the killing ground.

I followed my friendliest faces through some foggy
thick soup that does tickle my eyes
and vex them to lower.

Up again to this lonely temple
Where so many familiarities touch the ground and
my vessel with fatal hands.

First kiss and polystyrene men;
synthetic and terrifying.

Where have I seen you before?-

December 11th
Close your eyes.-

Here we are again.
there are sweats all over
i have been here so many times before and i sweat and cry

the killing grounds
dear mother, take me home, i sweat and cry for i have come here again
take me away? where have you gone?
the killing grounds

the pile of death
hopeless death that is violent and
my poor fragile eyes sweat and cry and
drip away

see those empty faces
of first kiss and polystyrene man
i reach for mothers hand
but i must linger in the mess of filth

December 11
please let me leave

i am losing
skin falls in drips
like cream or paint
and i must join the filth

no crying may save me.
Shaun Yee May 2021
I am moving constantly, never stop,    
And no matter what you have to decide,  
I won’t wait for you; so understand that    
I can be, or I can’t be, on your side.  

In whatever manner you are wounded,  
And are hurting inwards or outwards still,    
You can reduce the wounds and heal yourself,  
To help you ease away your pains, I will.  

Along the way if you have loved and lost,  
Feelings which you cannot cope anymore,  
You can depend on me to set you free,  
With the minutes and hours from my store.

I will be your faithful friendliest foe,  
Or I will be a most unfaithful friend,  
I am forever extremely precise,  
Right from the Beginning until the End.    

You can remember me from a clock’s chime,
I am cold and heartless, for I am TIME.
Time moves on forever irregardless
Lucy Tonic May 2015
Once upon a time
There was a kaleidoscope of colors
But I only longed to see the white light
I was waiting for grace
Soon it was med-time before bed-time
And a bunch of pills under the mattress
And an insatiable *** drive
Coupled with a sweet tooth
Speak now or forever hold your vices
Dream of the wise men, the stars and the spices
The promises we keep even after death
As everything breaks down in a red bubble bath
Pillow fights and report cards
Off-white lab coats and crazy blondes
Only the end of the book knows best
Even God needed rest
Slit vertical and split the scars
Go and begin your journey to the stars
Sweat out your demons or pray that they beat you
Hope that the friendliest shark will eat you
Ride the wild horses into the darkness
Gaze at the twisted Mandela on the ceiling
Fight the minister in a wrestling match
Self-destruct once more, this time with feeling
My Pangaea ultima is falling apart
As the plate tectonics inside me collide
The craters on my skin outweigh the Grand Canyon
With nothing to lose, pain is a landslide
A chemical imbalance, a childhood trauma,
An improper diet, heterosexual drama-
It might seem dysfunctional at the end of it all
But some were meant to fly, I was meant to fall
Victor Thorn Jul 2010
April's flames made the friendliest fire,
although I feared they would
char and consume my life
and leave it but smoking cinders.

Friendly, fragile...
a single tear could put them all out.

April's flames shone brighter than the
sun.
They shed new light.
I could see things that
the shadows kept to themselves,
disguised as if some kind of treasure,
but the truth was that they were only
burdens.

April's flames lit two packs of cigarettes,
thirty-one thousand candles,
and a cozy fireplace
for thirty-one nights
where I would sit and rest knowing
the fire had not gone out.
I could feel it back then.

April's flames were lit in  March
and snuffed abruptly in mid-May,
but if I have some lighter fuel
I'll rekindle them some August day.
Copyright 2010 by Victor Thorn
- I wish it were still April.- From Losing It
Proviquis Feb 2015
I am
a loving lover when love loves to love me.
I am
the friendliest friend any friend could find.
I am
interested in interesting things that only interesting people find interesting.
I am
aggressively angry at anger itself.
I am
dreadfully dependent on a double dose of my drug.
I am
secretly sad, and always holding a sad secret.
I am
painfully imperfect.

But,

I am
Me,
and Me is the best I will ever be.
Embrace your imperfections
Rockie Jun 2015
My heart aches
For the May that never came
The prettiest month
The prettiest name
Oh, whoever heard of the friend I've never met
But always miss
It's a strange old thing,
But by far the most true.
I love you, May,
In the friendliest of ways.
David Ehrgott Nov 2014
She thinks I'm crazy
but, she thanks me just the same

sez, she's got dance class
and I say "I've got t.v."

She's gone about an hour
Now the bubbles blow my brain

I try to get her out of my head
but it's not easy

Not the friendliest face to look at
but, hey you know what they say

Beggars can't be choosy choo-choo
Climb aboard and ride that train

That crazy train train to nowhere
Oh! that was yesterday

and it's everywhere
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
We are assembled here
this May evening of 2006
to celebrate our own
Leading Lady of
American Letters.

The tall, slender author,
her classic looks
so reminiscent of
ladies in an elegant
Victorian era salon,
reads one of her
earlier short stories
at the Free Library
of Philadelphia.

She speaks with such
feeling and precision,
we close our eyes
and envision her
youthful heroine's
anxiety and naivete
in that familiar setting
of an upstate
New York town.

Later, in another room
of the library,
I will meet her
too briefly at a
book signing.
She stands to greet me,
smiling so pleasantly
and asks, "What do you do?"
in the friendliest way.
I reply "I'm a
proofreader," somewhat
embarrassed at my
flimsy Dickensian
credential.

This was my own
personal brush
with greatness
and I find myself
tongue-tied with
hero worship.
She is gracious
and fragile, exquisitely
feminine and warm and
I would learn I was
not the only groupie
in the library throng
that evening -
a multitude of fans
lined up to meet
the literary icon.

Joyce Carol Oates,
as her critics
rightly rhapsodize,
is a force of nature,
a uniquely powerful
writer whose brilliance
rests not just in the
singularly American
landscapes she paints,
not just in the
idiosyncratic
characters who people
her storytelling,
but in the creation
of rich personal
moments of intimacy,
of revelation and insight;
she makes us witnesses,
eavesdroppers, to her
characters' deepest
thoughts, longings,
her voice reaches out
to us from the pages,
a voice as poignant
as a mother's in the
gloom of night,
reading to her children
just before prayers
are murmured and
sleep tiptoes in.

The path of
literary greatness
leads us to her heroes...
James Joyce, Emily Bronte,
Thoreau, Faulkner,
Flaubert, Hemingway;
like each one of these
celebrated wordsmiths,
she is an iconoclast,
an original...
unique,
incomparable,
our own
quintessential
national treasure.
Tommy Jun 2015
Thoughts of an inconsequential nature
Don't actually listen
Or I'm afraid you'll really hear me
I just need to vent
And yours is the friendliest face
I can think of.

Please don't take them the wrong way.
about my blog
openletterstodt.blogspot.com
check it out and let me know what you think?

— The End —