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Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
We're awakened to our insatiable longing for heaven
through both beauty and the painful marring of it.
For beauty hints to us of that for which we are truly made,
and its marring shouts that we are truly not meant to find it here.

We can be eternally grateful for beauty lost when we realize
that it's one of the great secret-tellers of the universe.
Still we fear it so and often fear even to hope for the beauty itself,
though they are a necessary cycle that fuels us on and drives us home.

We cannot deny or diminish our intense longing for beauty--
to see it and have it and be it, and we cannot pretend that its
dreadful loss does not press down upon us like a crushing weight.
We must let it crush us until our ache for heaven is excruciating.
Jimmy King Aug 2013
A pulsing electricity
Fuels your computer
Which takes you to websites
You'd rather not visit
But that you visit
Anyway

It's that same electricity
That fuels the cameras
Which we covered with boxes,
A last ditch attempt
To reconcile ideals
With the world
We really live in

And when you think about
What fuels our hearts
And concequently our minds
You  might
Come the conclusion
That we
Are not products
Of the modern world-
The modern world
Is a product
Of us
Thia Jones Apr 2014
This is how it goes
your hands will be proxy for mine
my hands will be proxy for yours
your fingers my fingers
and my fingers yours
what I describe, you enact
told in detail so exact

Just to begin
I squeeze your *******
knead and pinch
tweak a ******
give it a tug

Stroke your tummy
work over your thighs
move up the inner
where skin is smooth
circle around, moving in
till soft contours are caressed
through pants that burn
to be removed
that pain you to wear
and I see in my mind
as you describe
the spreading, darkening patch
that fills the gusset

Now they're pulled down
removed quickly, completely
and you are revealed
spread, opened, shameless

Gentle fingertips tease
dance in circles, barely touching
yet the fire within grows
back and forth, round and round
dance the fingertips
as both reciprocate
with growing pace
and firmer touch

I hear you gasp down the line
and your breathing quickens
as you hear mine
as your excitement fuels mine
as mine fuels yours
in our feedback loop of lust

And I tell you how
my fingertip would give way
to tonguetip if I could
that I can taste you
in my imagination
fragrant, salty sweetness
with musky undertones
the tip of my tongue now circling
then flicking back and forth
beating out the rhythm
that you best harmonise with
bringing forth your moans

Then darting down, back
between wet, glistening folds
exploring each ridge and valley
working remorselessly

Breathing faster now
with animal grunts and moans
directions of pleasure gasped
breathless down the phone

As fingers again
take the lead
find the opening
slip readily within
probe, explore, ****
find that place
on your front wall
yes, just that spot
that's a little rougher
and feels sooo goood

Add a second finger
working and *******
licking and rubbing
moaning and gasping
barely intelligible now
...yess...more...yess...ohhh
are all that have meaning

Finger three joins one and two
then the pressure builds
demanding release
and shaking and thrusting
grows to shuddering
and...yes...yesss...sooo clooose

******* faster furiously
till we both explode
hearing each other's
voicing of our ecstasy
in language intelligible
only in this one context

Brains and voices return
as we bask in the afterglow
and what passes between us then
in those moments
is the deepest intimacy of all

Cynthia Pauline Jones 01/02/2014
In a world without technology,
can you imagine how it would be?
To not have any lights.
We'll probably stay home at night.

In a world without technology,
we'll lose forms of connectivity.
We'll not have wifi or 3G,
distance will be as it should be.

However, without technology,
We won't have people far away,
because we can only walk on foot.
Most will live at home for good.

Without technology,
perhaps there'll be more sincerity,
where more people would be seen,
not looking at their phone screens.

Instead they'll stop and listen,
giving undivided attention,
to the people by their side.

Perhaps without technology,
we would have to do things manually.
Life may be tough physically.

But with technology,
is our life really that easy?
Is the world really as it should be?
Are people living in harmony?

Or is there more strife?
More people losing their lives?
Or is there more pain,
more people dying in vain?

What about pollution?
Isn't it part of our contribution?
All the fuels and carbon,
it'll soon bring us to extinction.

Our earth today is now diseased,
life on earth is not at peace.
We can deny all this,

And this is the utter irony,
while it gives us mass connection,

It reduces engagement,
attention and perhaps even compassion.
"Across the globe, millions reported dying",
ends up being desensitizing.

Technology's connectivity,
leaves us more detached than we should be.
This is a poem on how technology gives us many conveniences and advantages, but it also robs us of many things.  I'm not saying life would definitely be better without it, this is to provoke thinking and to challenge the view that humanity is definitely better with technology.
Mohammad Skati Feb 2015
A lone wolf searches for                                                                                           Innocent victims just to replenish                                                                            One's inner world that one lived it                                                                          For a long,long time ...                                                                                             Hatred never builds glories                                                                                      Simply because it means only that                                                                         Huge collapse of one's morality anytime and                                                            It fuels others' anger for those bad things                                                               That come out of that ugly hatred anytime ....
Daniel Ruiz Aug 2018
Emotions fuels my writing,
Like gasoline fuels cars,
Like depression fueled the
Success of those good songs
That i listen to while
My mind is driving
Probably on his way towards
Thinking of you.

Do you know who I am?
Please tell me who I am,
Then I wouldn’t be so
Lost trying to find myself,
I try to find myself in other people,

I’m just a poet,
A college student
A “writer”
A person that lost an opportunity
To be with someone who cared about him,
A person that, without consent, loses friends,
Thinking it’ll be better for them,
That they don’t get to know more about me.

And as you can see,
Emotions are the raw energy that
Keeps me writing,
The same as writing keeps me sane
From these emotions that burn into my skull
As the same temperature the stars emit,
Those little flying rocks in the sky,
That without hesitation fall
From the place they find more dearest,

It’s a good thing the sun doesn’t let us
Escape his grip,
And keeps us around
So he can show the moon,
How much he cares about her.

That’s why I adore space so much,
The stars,
The fact that the light I see and adore,
Is probably a star that’s about to die,
Wishing me goodbye,

So farewell little star,
It’s a good thing,
That you can’t see my last shining moments
On this earth,

So Goodbye,
Goodbye to the constellations of dying stars,
That fueled with emotions
Shine the dark away.

Goodbye old friend,
I’ll keep observing you for a while,
Hope you still have more stories to tell.

Because I’ll keep listening,
Until my light fades away too.
Brooke Robinson Apr 2015
Stupidity fuels me.

It fuels my ego.

It needs to be destroyed before I become a god.
Being the only one able to solve a problem can destroy you.
samuel hdz Nov 2012
3153 miles away I lay with a mind that's clouded with thoughts. Past Scenarios playing out differently. Over analyzing the present. Anticipating the emotion that I will feel in the future. If ever I was consumed it has never been like this. Regret comes and fades. optimism shares that same cycle. Happiness And sadness come in doses like sedatives.  The voice of jealousy tells me that hope makes me weak. Anger fuels my fire and logic keeps it burning. Yet voices, Medication, and the embers fade. The constant variables   are only wondering and anxiety. Peace comes in sleep and yet its hardly enjoyed.
Big Virge Oct 2014
Folks ...
It is a ... " Fine Line " ... !!!
that ... Clearly ... Defines ...
the road that I ... Walk ...
with words that I ... Rhyme ...

cos' ... words that I ... talk ...
may see me ... in ... Court ... !!!

without ... " Sean " ...
or ... " Just Cause " ... !!!

because of YES ... " Them " ...
Those in ... Governments ...
and Those ... who they ... send ...
to enforce ... " Poor Judgements " ... !!!!!

but ofcourse ... They'll Contend ...
That ... My Wordplay ... OFFENDS ...
and may well stir up ... " Trouble " ... !!!
and cause .... " VIOLENCE " .... !!!!! ....

But ....
It's okay for ... THEM ... ?!!!?
to say ... " What They Like " ... !???!
and Declare ... Their War Fights ...
as forms of .... " Defence " ....
when plans they ... Design ...
keep causing ... PROBLEMS ... !!?!!

Well ....
It doesn't seem like ... ?
their actions are ... Right ... !?!
When ... Every ... News Night
The Things ... In Our Sight ...
KEEP ... Showing Us ... VISIONS ...
of people who ... " DIE " ... !!!!! ...

Now ....
That's A ... "Fine Line" ...
I have ... Re-designed ...
from Princes' ... " Great Song "...
The ... " Sign 'o' The Times " ...

So ...
Don't get me ... wrong ... !!!
My lines are ... " Refined " ...
and Clearly ... "BELONG" ... !!!
where fine lines ... recline ...

Each line that I write ....
Proves my mind is ...

...... " Inclined " ......

to write about crimes
affecting .... Our lives ....

and it is a ... "Fine Line' ...
that helps me to ... FIND ...
a way to ... " Express " ... !!! ...

My ... " Anger and Stress " ...
About ... How We ... TRY ... !!!
to do ... what is ... "RIGHT" ... !!!!

But .....
What does this mean ?!?
in a world so ... "Unclean" ... !!!!!

What do we stand for ... ?
when going to ... WAR ... !?!

We should take a .................
.............................................

...... Pause ..............

and ... THINK of ... Our Cause ...
Is making .... Blood .... POUR ....
what we're ... Really here for ... ?!!!?

If you're thinking ... "YES" ...
Are you .... " Really Sure " .... ???

How would you feel ?

if the blood poured
was ..... YOURS ...... !!!

or ....
Someone ... YOU LOVED ... !!!
and Really ... Cared For ... !!!!!!

Well
As these lines ... State ...

It is a ... "Thin Line" ...
between YES .....

" Love and Hate " ...

but ....

"Hating" ... For REAL ... !!!
Won't help us ... Relate ... !!!

These days ...
it's quite ... CLEAR ...
The Dangers of ... FEAR ... !!!!!

But ...
That's ... Nothing New ... !!!

The past's given clues ...
of how ... IGNORANCE ... Fuels ...
individuals to ... USE ...
Torture and ... "Abuse" ...
Through crews filled with ... FOOLS ...
who think ... Hatred ... IS COOL ... !!!!?!!!!

Well ....
Hatred Profiled ...
Does NOT ... !!! ...
Lead to ... Smiles ...

It leads to a ... place ...
That's Not ... quite so great ...
and leads us ... though leaders ...
who like to .... DICTATE ....

Like those around .... NOW .... !!!
who want to ... "Clamp Down" ...
on people like .... me ....
whose wordplay's ... So Neat ...

That .... Our Poetry ....
Gives Policemen ... " A Beat " ...
That makes them ... RETREAT ... !!!!!

See what I mean ... !!!

My ... Poetry Seams ...
are ... Suitably ... Clean ...
and walk a ... Fine Line ...
of ... " Quality Rhymes " ...
that ... Bypass ... Extremes ...

because they're ... Inclined ...
to .... " UNIFY " .... minds ....

See .... that's how i'd like
My Wordplay ... DEFINED ... !!!!!

Speaking ... Your Mind ...
Should ... NOT BE ... A Crime ... !!!!!

Unless what you say ...
Divides and spreads ...

...... " HATE " ..... !!!!!

I'd rather spread ... " LOVE " ...
Through ... " Kisses and Hugs " ... !!!

while most now ... Indulge ...

In Acting like ... THUGS ...
and taking ... HARD DRUGS ...
when they've .... had ....
...  " Quite ENOUGH " ... !!!!!    

People like ... THESE ...
make me want to ... CUSS ... !!!!!!!

But ....
These days i'm ... TRYING ...
to ... Rise uP .... ABOVE ....

These ... " Wannabee Thugs "

Who spread talk of ... " Dying "
cos' their words ... NEED ... !!!

....... " Refining " ....... !!!!!!

Things you ... Put Out ...
Come back son ...

.... " Don't Doubt " .... !!!!!

Now, that's a ... Fine Line ...
that's got ... Lots of ... CLOUT ... !!!

So think ... CAREFULLY ... !!!
before ... Running Your Mouth ... !!!!!

Fine Lines ... that I write ...
of ... Upsetting Designs ...
are ... NOT to ... Start Fights ... !!!

So ....
REMEMBER ... That Line ... !!!!!

They may cause ... Offence ...
and may cause ... Arguments ...

But ......
USE .... " Common Sense " ....
and ... REJECT ... " Violence " ... !!!

Keep a ... " Cool Head " ...
Like ... "Des Dekker" ... said ... !!!!!

Then ... Pick up a ... PEN
rather than ... Make Attempts ...
to bring me .... DISTRESS .... !!!!!!!

cos' you ...
want to ... SUPPRESS
A view i've expressed ...
that's left you ... UPSET ... !!!!!

That message is ... SENT ...
to those ... " Jealous Gents " ...
Who Think they're the ... BEST ...
at writing ... Fine Lines ...
with words that they ... Rhyme ...

Well ... CLEARLY ...
They're ... "BLIND" ... !!! ...
and ... Out of Their ... Mind ... !!!!!!

to think that ... Their Rhymes ...
are ... Better Than ... MINE ...  ?!? ...

Those causing us ... STRESS ... !!! ...
are those in ... " Governments " ... !!!!!

They ... Plan to ... DIVIDE ...
NOT ... see us ... " UNITE " ... !!!!!

THINK ... about that ...
before starting ... FIGHTS ... !!!!!

" Black On Black " .... crime ...
has been ... " Long Designed " ...

Don't You  ... think it's time ...  ?!?

We start to fight ... THEM ... ?!?!?
and their ... " Bogus Systems " ... !!!

That's where .....

I will ... END ...
This simple ... Poem ...  

cos' ...

Words in ... " Those Lines " ...
May ... cause me ... PROBLEMS ... !!!!!

Even though ....

Their JUST ... Rhymes
that flow ... and ... DEFINE
How the words ... I Transcribe ...

REALLY WALK ... !!! ...

.... " A Fine Line " ....
My words do walk one .....
Leigh Oct 2018
I shake and people worry
I pretend I'm normal and okay
but inside I'm dead  
and while I have my normal mask on
they treat me like I am a person
not some depressed, psychopath
when I am normal to them
they hug me and this feels like ants
they touch my shoulder i shutter
it all fuels my anxiety
my leg begins to shake
my mind begins to race
I hear every noise in the crowed
it fuels it from
the sniffle to
the bobby pin that fell out of her hair
the world is so loud  
the words in the world come to me so negatively
maybes gives me no hope  
when people tell me I'm alright
**** when I tell myself I'm okay and I'm not
laughter makes me want to give up  on every thing
its the one thing I would give the world to do again
is real laughter
a smile that is not fake
because I know that I'm broken
when people think I'm normal it scares me
and i don't know how normal people do it
I don't know how to feel but I feel bad
Brianna Sep 2014
Tell me about your lavender eyes and your vanilla hair.
Tell me about you sandalwood smile and coal black stare.
How does the rain wash away your hatred for other so easily?
But the soft breeze in the summer fuels your fire?

Tell me about your wandering mind and your benevolent heart.
Tell me about your gypsy spirit and harnessed passion.
How does the ocean calm sadness so easily?
But the autumn smell makes you cry in the night?

Can you tell me why it's so easy to fall for you but so hard to make you stay?
Bryan Lunsford Apr 2018
Every once in a while you mix gasoline with fire,
Just to see what happens, like you and me in our love-filled desires,
With your body's heat, and the curves that sit within your attire,
I touch your skin where I feel my heart get set on fire,
As it's with fuming fuels within your eyes that tell me you are far from tired,
We kiss as that sparks a flame like a match or a lighter,
And creates a firestorm that can be put out by no firefighter,
With our love that is like mixing gasoline with fire
howard brace Oct 2012
Stood rigidly to attention either side of the hearth, the two bronze fire-dogs had been struggling to maintain that British stiff upper lipidness, which up until earlier that evening had best befitted their station in life... indeed, for the last half hour at least had become brothers in arms to the dying embers filtering through the bars of the cast-iron grate, passing from the present here and now, having lost every thermal attribute necessary to sustain any further vestige of life... to the shortly forthcoming and being at oneness with the Universe... only to fall foul of the overflowing ash-pan below.  This premature cashing in of the coal fire's chips could only be attributed to the recent and prolonged thrashing from the Baronial poker... and a distinct lack of enthusiasm from the family retainer, whom it appeared, required spurring along in a like manner... and while unseen mechanisms were heard to be engaging, then resonating deep within the Hall... that unless summoned... and quickly, the housekeeper had little intention of making an appearance of her own choosing and re-stoke the Study fire while the BBC Home Service were airing 'Your 100 Best Tunes' on the wireless, leaving the heavily tarnished pendulum to continue measuring the hour.

     An indistinct mutter and snap of a closing door latch sounded in the immediate distance as the unhurried shuffle of domestic footsteps... not too dissimilar from those of Jacob Marley's spectral visitation to Scrooge... echoed ever closer along the ancient, oak panelled hallway without.  Their sudden cessation, allowing the housekeeper ingress to  the book lined Study, was by way of sporadic groans from unoiled hinges, door furniture that voiced the same overwhelming lack of attention as that of the fire-grate set in the wall opposite and presumably, from the same overwhelming lack of domestic servitude.
                                        
     "Had his Lordship rang...?" the Housekeeper wailed dolefully, giving her employer what might casually pass for a courteous bob... and in lieu no doubt, of Marley's rattling chains, padlocks and dusty ledgers... "and would there be anything further his Lordship required..." before she took her leave for the evening.  The notion of a sticky mint humbug warming the cockles of his ancient, aristocratic heart gave her pause for thought as she rummaged through her pinafore pockets, then thought better of it, after all, confectionary didn't grow on trees...  In bobbing a second time she noticed the malnourished, yet strangely twinkling coal-scuttle lounging over by the hearth, whose insubstantial contents had taken on an ethereal quality earlier that evening and had now transferred its undivided attention to the recently summoned Housekeeper, who was quite prepared to offer up a candle in supplication come next Evensong were she mistaken, but the coal-scuttle's twinkle bore every intimation of giving what appeared to be a very suggestive 'come-on' in return... and had been doing so since she first entered the room... 'and did she have any plans of her own that particular evening', the coal-scuttle twinkled suavely, 'perchance a leisurely stroll down by the old coal cellar steps...'  Now perhaps it was the lateness of the hour which had caused the Housekeeper's confusion that evening, or perhaps an over stretched imagination, brought on through domestic inactivity, but it wouldn't take a great deal to hazard that a lingering fondness for Gin and tonic played no small part towards her next curtsey, which she did, albeit unwittingly, in the unerring direction of the winking coal-scuttle.

     With the household keys as her badge-of-office, jangling defiantly from the chain around her waist, the housekeeper began inching back the same way she came, back towards the study door and freedom... and back into the welcoming arms of her 1/4 lb. bag of peppermint humbugs and the pint of best London Gin she'd had to relinquish prior to 'Songs of Praise...' and which was now to be found... should you happen to be an inquisitive fly on a particular piece of floral wallpaper... half-cut, locked arm in arm with the bottle of Indian tonic water and in the final, intoxicating throws of William Blake's, 'Jerusalem...' hic.

     "Ha-arrumph..." the elderly gentleman cleared his throat... "ah Gabby" he said, lowering his book and placing it face down upon the occasional table set beside him.  The flatulent groan of tired leather upholstery made itself heard above the steady monotony of the mantle-piece clock as he stood and chaffed his hands in the direction of the bereft fire, "Oh! I'm sorry your Lordship, then there was something...?" as she maintained her steady but relentless backwards retreat unabated, the double-barrelled bunch of keys taking up a strong rear-guard action and away from the well disposed coal scuttle... "and was his Lordship quite certain that he required the fire stoking at such a late hour..." she dared, "perhaps a nice warming glass of port and brandy instead" gesturing towards the salver, long since tarnished by the half hearted attentions of a proprietary metal polish... "and would he care for..." then thought better of offering to plump the chair cushions herself, having discovered Mort, the household mouser in the final stages of claiming them as his own, deftly rearranging the Victorian Plush with far more than any noble airs or graces.

     "Poor Mrs Alabaster, you will recall Sir, I'm sure..." a pained expression crossed the Housekeepers face as she collided with a corner of the Georgian writing bureau and bringing her to an abrupt halt... "her late Ladyships lady" she continued, indiscreetly rubbing her derriere, "whose services your Lordship dispensed with at the onset of last Winter, shortly after the funeral, God rest her late Ladyship... when you made her redundant... and how she's been unable to find a new situation ever since on account of her lumbago flaring up again, seeing as how it's been the coldest January in living memory", which in all likelihood meant since records began... "and SHE didn't have any coal either... or a roof over her head for all anyone cared... begging yer' pardon, yer' Lordship", letting her tongue slip as she attempted yet one more curtsey... "and it's wicked-cruel outside this time of year Sir, you wouldn't turn a dog out in it..." and how ordering the coal used to be Mrs Alabaster's responsibility...

     "Oh no, Sir", as she unsuccessfully stifled a hiccup...she would be only too delighted to rouse the Cook, especially after that dodgy piece of scrag-end they'd all had to suffer during Epiphany, but it was only last week that the Doctor had confined Cookie to bed with the croup... "as I'm sure your Lordship will recall..." as she attempted a double curtsey for effect, the despondent coal-scuttle now all but forgotten, "that below-stairs had been dining on pottage since a week Friday gone... and it tends to get a little moribund after almost a fortnight your Honour... and that Mrs Cotswold's rheumatism was still showing no signs of improvement either by the looks of things... and was having to visit the Chiropodist every fortnight for her bunions scraping... and how she's been advised to keep taking the embrocation as required".

     As a young woman, any disposition her grandmother may have had towards sobriety or moral virtue had quickly been prevailed upon by the former Master's son taking intimacy to the next level with the saucy Parlour Maid's good nature.   Shortly thereafter, having been obliged to marry the first available Gardener that came along, she was often heard to say "a bun in the oven's worth two in the bush" for it was with stories 'of such goings-on'  that made it abundantly clear to the Housekeeper, that it was far more than old age creeping up... and that if she didn't keep her wits wrapped tightly about her, as she threw a sideways glance at the winking philanderer... then who would.

     As for the Gardener, "well... he couldn't possibly manage the cellar steps at this late hour, yer' Lordship, wot' with the weather being the way it is right now Sir, seasonal... and him with his broken caliper... and bronchitis playing him up at every turn, even though his own ailing missus swore by a freshly grown rhubarb poultice first thing each morning", but oddly enough, "how it always seemed to work better if the young barmaid down in the village rubbed it on, especially around opening time..." even his brother, Mr Potts Senior, ever since their Dad passed away... "God rest his eternal soul", as she whirled, twice in as many seconds, a mystical finger in the air... had said how surprised he'd been to discover that it could be used as a ground mulch for seed-cucumbers... it was truly amazing how The Good Lord provided for the righteous... and even as she spoke, was working in mysterious ways, His Wonders to Behold... "Praised-Be-The-Lord".

     And how the entire household, with the possible exception of Mrs Alabaster, her late Ladyships lady, who doggedly refused to be evicted from her 'Grace n' Favour cottage...' the one with pretty red roses growing around the door, that despite a string of eviction notices from the apoplectic Estate manager... had noticed what a fine upstanding Gentleman his Lordship had steadfastly remained since her late Ladyships sudden demise... "God-rest-her-immortal-soul..." and may she allow herself to say, "how refreshing it was to have such a progressively minded and discerning employer such as his Lordship at the helm, one filled with patient understanding and commitment towards the entire household..." much like herself...

     Fearing an uncontrollable attack of the ague, which invariably took the form of a selfless and unstinting dereliction to duty and always flared up at the slightest suggestion of having to roll her sleeves up and do something... which incidentally, was the first mutual attraction by common consent to which her parents, some forty years earlier had discovered they both held in tandem... and "would his Lordship take exception..." feigning a sudden relapse as she gestured towards the nearest chair, were she to take the weight off her feet... she plonked herself solidly upon the Chippendale before his Lordship could decline... "perhaps a recuperative drop of brandy" she volunteered, "just for medicinal purposes", she swept her feet onto the footstool, then crossed them with a flourish that would have caused Cyrano de Bergerac to hang up his sword... "the good stuff, if his Lordship would be so kind, in the lead-crystal decanter... over in the corner by the potted plant", she caught sight of the adjacent cigarette box, also tarnished... "just to keep body and soul together, may it please 'Him upon High'..." and just long enough to brave the coal cellar steps and refill the amorous scuttle... "if only it were a little less chilly", she gave an affected cough... on account of her diphtheria acting up again, she felt sure that his Lordship understood...  Moving over to one of the book lined alcoves, the elderly Gentleman lifted several tomes from the shelves... 'My Life in Anthracite', an illustrated compendium' "to begin with, I think... followed by... hmm!" 'The History of Fossil-Fuels, a comprehensive study in twelve breath taking volumes' "and we'll take it from there" as he threw the first on the barely smouldering embers...

                                                      ­     ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                         1859
ryn Sep 2014
Doom train hurtling along
Through the fog in my mind
Towing freight, rectangular and oblong
Dim headlights, you're travelling blind

Five carriages long, excluding engine and caboose
Metal against metal, spitting sparks on steel
Undetermined path, rails will choose
Chugging along on dirt covered wheels

In the cabin, I see the light
Emanating from your furnace
Swallowing up coals in your gaping bite
Tongues of flames licking the surface

Fire breathing, spewing thick black smoke
Almost unseen, against the dark of night
A long plumy arm as if extending to choke
And plug the remaining sources of light

Meandering precariously on tracks that weave
Over uncharted, unfathomable terrain
Your store, so reliably you heave
Worming your way through my brain

What's in that cargo of yours?
What lies within those boxcars?
What drives you to diligently run your course?
What fuels you to travel near and far?

Loads of self pity, self loathing and self reproach
Snaking your way to an unknown destination
Screeching brakes as if a stop you approach
Herald the train of dubious intentions

Light is upon you, dark will dissipate
Your plumes starting to lessen from your stack
The dawn breaking horizon you didn't anticipate
To see another charging towards you on this very same track...
See "Light Train"
See "Collision Course"
Jack May 2014
~

Parched and dry, this barren field stretches,
I wander…head hung low,
staring at the emptiness eclipsing my thoughts
Brittle blades of grass disappear beneath
my worn out Chuck Taylors,
black and white crushing beige
in slow fashioned footprints ~ blistered dust

“My sanity for some cool water.”

When upon my shoulders, reddened by solar intensity,
wet from exerted energy, comes a breeze
as if Autumn has come to claim her colors,
to gather her brown and sepia landscape,
pull the lifeless trees, with little leaf
from the chalk textured ground
taking it where it would suit another ~ for this is my luck

“Take my shade a beg not, for it is merely a branch.”

Like fingers of a silken web’s reach,
a soft caress of skin is not understood, though very pleasant
nature finds me a shiver, a small comfort in this arid place
once crawling with snakes of assorted length, now
green as if lush has just been defined
with sweet air and pomegranate skies
featuring a glow, pristine shades of which I’ve never seen ~ heavenly

“To whom might I thank for such a gift?”

When before me stands, as my eyes saturated and lost
slowly focus, a beauty of winged loveliness now smiling within my own
personal oasis, which quickly forms in my heart
An angel, a goddess, extends a hand…to me?
My cracked and weathered palm touches, smooth, gentle
her hand as she lifts me, I am weightless, floating
to her, my breath leaves me as I wonder ~ is this my end

“If this beauty shall be my final curtain, let it be dropped slowly.”

A voice of velvet speaks, as I fade in and out of reality
now steadied by her touch and the sweet scent of lavender and lime,
“I have come to you as a verse...for poetry is thy keeper,
thy words have been heard,”
lyrically she sings
melodic and harmonious, rhythm’d to the beat of my heart
the race of my pulse, the love of my life ~ my muse

“Eternal to you I shall write, for your beauty fuels my pen.”
Don't discriminate
Just don't do it
All it is, is hate
Hate is made out of other hate
and hate only fuels more hatred
You pour gasoline on a blaze of loathing
with every discriminatory comment you make
It doesn't matter
if they have done something you believe is wrong
because you have done many things that are wrong too
it is not for you to judge
so black white brown both or polka dotted for all I care
gay les straight bi or into adhesive sloths (we adhesified furry little sloths need a little love too)
man or woman or sloth
punk emo crazy nerdy weird loser REALLY weird bookworm or literal worm sloth or adhesive sloths (like me)
nature freak or homebody
axe murderer or a cereal killer or a cheerio killer
it does not matter who or what they are
they are all human too. or all sloths. that too.
Just don't discriminate
and share the slothified love of adhesiveness
accept everyone as they are
even if they hang from trees and move in slow motion all day like me
even if they are rocks
because rocks are great
in fact this one time, I found this rock and man, it was absolutely hilarious it should have been a stand up comedian
okay well not a STAND UP comedian, because I mean... rocks can't actually stand up... but like a really hard and Sedimentary roundish stone shaped sit down (well more like lay around like a rock all day) comedian
Wait, what was I talking about?
oh right, don't discriminate!! :)
against other humans or other sloths.
or adhesive sloths.

...I'm not crazy! my mother sloth had me tested!
yeah, I kind of need a life. I've lost a lot of brain cells falling out of my tree when I confuse my arm with a tree branch, grab it and almost fall to my death... anyway, hope the underlying message here gets across.
lots of love to the adhesive sloths out there! repost if you are an adhesive sloth lover!!!
ryn Sep 2014
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight

Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants

Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due

Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind

Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry

What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?

Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth

Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels

Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by

Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
See "Doom Train"
See "Collision Course"
MST Feb 2014
Currently there are:
Thousands of cars zooming down the highway at breakneck speeds,
Millions of lights illuminating the dreary road,
With the power of a hundred valiant steeds,
Causing the cement to corrode and erode,
Thousands of fossil fuels burnt merely to transport other fossil fuels,
Pollutants filling the air and altering our environment,
But these are the worlds most precious jewels,
All to feel the capitalist tyrant.
But hey... At least I have air conditioning in my F150 while heading to set off Chinese fireworks while celebrating the 4th of July.
The American Dream.
Francie Lynch Jul 2014
The world is losing
Gravity,
But no one can escape,
We're hurtling on our petrie dish
In a gel that seals our fate;
Gravitating
Towards black holes;
They're closer than you think.

In China
There's a wall of dust,
Seen clear from outer space;
Our living waters die
In a legacy of disgrace.
We're citizens
Wearing masks;
We should hide our faces,
But we're running daily tasks.
We're fossils burning
Fossil fuels
Found in cremation gas.

The amphibians
Are on the fringe;
Whales can't sound,
They run aground.
It's an environmental slaughter.

Our world has lost
Some gravity.
We need to plant our feet,
But  charnel fires
And greenhouse gas
Have hastened our retreat.
Migrating birds lose sense of time,
Confused by the lights.
The morning dove coos at night,
The nightingale at dawn;
We're like
New turtles muddling,
Under lost starlight.
We must grasp
The gravity
Of burning
Burning  light.
Edit, repost.
Joe Workman Aug 2014
The radio alarm is a bit too strong
for his afternoon hangover taste.
He goes downstairs, sets the coffee to brewing,
rubs his hands through the hair on his face.
As he sits and he smokes, he can't quite think of the joke
she once told him about wooden eyes.

The coffee is ready, his hands are unsteady
as he pours his first cup of cure.
He tries to be happy he woke up today,
but whether being awake's good, he's not sure.
Outside it's raining, but he's gallantly straining
to keep his head and his spirits held high.

As soft as the flower bending out in its shower,
fiercer than hornets defending their hives,
the memories of sharing her secrets and sheets
run him through like sharp rusty knives.
He decides that his cup isn't quite strong enough,
takes the ***** from the shelf, gives a sigh.

He goes to the porch to put words to the torch
he still carries and knows whiskey just fuels.
Thunder puts a voice to his hammering heart.
Through ink, his knotted mind unspools,
writing of butterflies and of how his love lies
cocooned under unreachable skies.

From teardrops to streams to winter moonbeams
to a peach, firm and sweet, in the spring,
he writes of pilgrims and language and soft dew-damp grass
and how he sees her in everything.
He rambles and grieves, and he just can't believe
how much he has bottled inside.

He writes how the leaves, when they whisper in the breeze,
bring to mind her warm breath in his mouth,
how when walking through woods he loves the birdsong
when they fly back in the summer from the south
because she would sing too and he always knew
he wanted that sound in his ears when he died.

He writes even the streetlights, fluorescent and bright,
make him miss the diamond chips in her eyes,
how the fountain in the park plays watersongs in the dark
when he goes to make wishes on pennies
and while he's there he gets hoping
there will be some spare wishes
but so far there haven't been any.

He writes that the cold makes him think of the old
hotel where they spent most of a week,
lazing and gazing quite lovingly,
and how he brushed an eyelash off her cheek.
The crickets and frogs and all of the dogs
sound as mournful as he feels each night.

He writes about chocolate and fun in arcades,
he writes about stairwells and butchers' blades,
and closed-casket funerals, and Christmas parades,
then sad flightless birds and tiny brigades
of ants taking crumbs from the toast he had made,
and political goons with their soulless tirades,
old-timey duels and terrible grades,
strangers on  buses, harp music, maids,
the weird afterimages when all the light fades,
the pleasure of dinnertime serenades,
sidewalk chalk, wine, and hand grenades.

He writes of how much fun it would be to fly,
and saltwater taffy and ferryboat rides,

sitting on couches, scratched CD's
pets gone too soon and overdraft fees,

the beach, the lake, the mountains, the fog,
David Bowie's funny, ill-smelling bog,

jewelry, perfume, sushi, and swans,
the smell of the pavement when the rain's come and gone,

and shots and opera, and Oprah and ***,
and tiny bikinis with yellow dots,

stained glass lamps, and gum and stamps,
her dancing shoes on wheelchair ramps,
that overstrange feeling of déjà vu,
filet mignon and cordon bleu,

bad haircuts at county fairs,
honey and clover, stockmarket shares,
the comfort of nestling in overstuffed chairs,
and her poking fun at the clothes that he wears,
and giraffes and hippos and polar bears,
cumbersome car consoles, monsters' lairs,
singing in public and ignoring the stares,
botching it badly while making éclairs,
misspelled tattoos, socks not in pairs,
people who take something that isn't theirs,
the future of man, and man's future cares,

why people so frequently lie
and bury themselves so deep in the mire
of monetary profits when money won't buy
a single next second because time's not for hire,
and that he sees her in everything.

Then unexpectedly, unbidden from where it was hidden
comes the punchline to the joke she had told him.
He laughs -- it's too much and his heart finally tears
as a blackness rolls in to enfold him.
The last thing he hears is birdsong in his ears --
the sound brings hope and is sweet as he dies.
Terry O'Leary Mar 2016
The typewriters tap,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
like a fourth estate rap
to provide us the pap
(that serves as a snack with a rat-a-tat-tat)
in a newspaper scrap
crammed with meaningless crap
from the editor's yap
(spewing flimflamy flak, booming rat-a-tat-tat)
after gashing a gap
in the daily recap
with a snip in a snap-
sounding thundery clap
crackng rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

And the talking heads speak
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
of the news of the week,
tweaking tongue in the cheek
(with a click and a clack like a rat-a-tat-tat),
thus ignoring critique
'cause they're mild and too meek
in the midst of the reek
to report of the wrack (except rat-a-tat-tat)
whilst the pundits (oblique
when protecting the chic
of the upper class clique
at the top of the peak)
chatter rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

The NRA ghouls
plug a rat-a-tat-tat
while their blood money tools
fill the Hill’s vestibules
(where deceit behind drapes drips a rat-a-tat-tat),
spreading folly that fuels
frenzied hands of young fools
bringing guns into schools
(at the drop of a hat there's a rat-a-tat-tat
splashing blood in warm pools)
for now anarchy rules
(which the hype ridicules
'til the temperature cools)
hailing rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

Lawless cops, cutting loose
with a rat-a-tat-tat
spraying bullets profuse
without any excuse
(just a split second splat with a rat-a-tat-tat),
splay a rattled recluse
like a Thanksgiving goose
gushing cranberry juice
from six slugs in the back (with a rat-a-tat-tat).
To redress such abuse,
bend the branch of a spruce
with a neck in a noose
while Death's drums beat diffuse’
rolling rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

War brings freedom to all
with a rat-a-tat-tat
(well, excluding the thrall
with fear, facing the wall
[ often smacked with a bat, throbbing rat-a-tat-tat ],
until feeling the call
to creep out of the kraal
biting back with a gall
[ with a *** for a tat and a rat-a-tat-tat ],
or to mangle and maul
if still able to crawl
and be part of the brawl
in a freak free-for-all,
midst a rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat).

Holy warmongers praise,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
any soldier that slays
and all rockets that raze
(the drones zoom with a vroom and a rat-a-tat-tat)
leaving smoky arrays
of gray ghosts in the haze
cloaking mute cabarets
(hushed, the hip and the hop, by the rat-a-tat-tat)
while ol’ Cerberus bays
with mankind in his gaze,
so society prays  
as it rots and decays
(Satan's trumpets of doom blare a rat-a-tat-tat)
until one of these days
in a flash through the maze
mighty mushrooms will blaze
with invisible  rays,
fin’lly braising the craze
of the rat-a-tat-tat,
   and the
            rat-
                 a-
                    tat-
                          tat.
Feel Sep 2012
I feel close to you,
Though far,
I feel the chill down the spine.
Like raindrops falling on leaves,
you slipped right through me.
You slipped right into me.

I imagine your hands
and how it would feel like to hold them,
I imagine your eyes,
and how it could read my play by play.
Imagination fuels curiosity,
Curiosity fuels death – death in your hands.

Unique relationship of a thousand purposes,
We walk towards an oriental sun,
I remember your perfume
like memorizing keyboard characters.
But we have dismembered physicality.
We have configured a disfigured mentality.

Let’s not go outside,
Beauty has its way to disconnection,
I know it too well from you.
I feel detached from my consciousness,
In this dream, rationality became serendipity.
I turned to sleep – only to stay awake.
Nolan Davis Mar 2014
Howl at the moon, lone wolf.
For your anger fuels your cry.
Left to roam, but without a home.
Your voice echoes to the sky.

Howl at the moon, lone wolf.
For you have left the pack.
Prideful and strong, you refuse to follow.
And for you there's no turning back.

Howl at the moon, lone wolf.
For the forest will spread fear.
Late at night, with no hope in sight.
Your call will catch their ear.

Howl at the moon, lone wolf.
The blood flows through your core.
The flesh of your enemy torn to shreds,
Leaves you only wanting more.

So howl at the moon, my dear lone wolf.
For it's they only way you know.
You'll cry to the unforgiving sky.
And never find where to go.
Mandalina Oct 2018
I'm scared of a lot of things;

The night; for it keeps tricking me into bad situations

My dreams; for they keep turning into nightmares I can't escape

But most of all I'm terrified of my thoughts.
My mind is twisted,
messed up,
and I can't untangle it.

I don't want to,
but I'm so mislead.

I'm scared,
and I need your help.

For the root and spark in all my fears is also a friend I keep near.
It's sharp,
made of steel,
and fuels my dreams.

It's always there in the dark night
and keeps me company.
It paints my canvas red
and it makes me feel again.

My biggest fear is to cut.



-j.m.k
Umi Apr 2018
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.

~ Umi
Edinette Feb 2018
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish.
Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak.
She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in.

* *
Sensitivity is deemed feeble.
Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet?

*
That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave?
No.
Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet.
They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else.

*
People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it.
In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair.
When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her.
In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses.

*
Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet.
Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear.


*
In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons.
After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open.
She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today.
The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways.

* *
She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings.
The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense.
However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
Mosaic Apr 2015
I've written soo much
But I haven't posted
Like marshmallows
Instead of I've roasted
KG Dec 2015
Sopor fuels the pen
Darkness devours the sun
As she carves the page

With beautiful words
Ethereal, Opulent
Sonder, syzygy


Vellichor, Gambol
Efflorescence, Effluence

Words without meaning

Lurk in the shadows
And hovels of ambition
Creep onto the page

But the mind embraced
In a blanket of obscurity
Cannot find their worth

Her Mellifluous song
Ensorcelled her lover
Bliss in limerence


How can the stagnant
Heart waltz with stars, write of love,
Beat in unison?

How can the lifeless
Soul connect with humanity?

*My words are worthless
Reworking this piece.
The Elitist Aug 2010
A time comes in your life when you finally get it. When in the midst of all your fears and insanity you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out ENOUGH!  Enough fighting and crying or struggling to hold on and, like a child quieting down after a blind tantrum, your sobs begin to subside, you shudder once or twice, you blink back your tears and through a mantle of wet lashes you begin to look at the world through new eyes.  


This is your awakening.  You realize that its time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change, or for happiness, safety and security to come galloping over the next horizon.  You come to terms with the fact the he is not Prince Charming and you are not Cinderella and that in the real world there arent always fairy tale endings (or beginnings for that matter).  And that any guarantee of happily ever after must begin with you, and in the process a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.


You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect, and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve of who or what you are and its OK.  (They are entitled to their own views and opinions.)  And you learn the importance of loving and championing yourself, and in the process a sense of newly found confidence is born of self-approval.


You stop whining and blaming other people for the things they did to you (or didnt do for you) and you realize the only thing you can count on is the unexpected.  You learn that not everyone will always be there for you, and that its not always about you.  So, you learn to take care of yourself and in the process a sense of safety and security is born of self-reliance.  


You stop judging and pointing fingers, and you begin to accept people as they are, and to over look their shortcomings and human frailties and in the process a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.


You realize that much of the way you view yourself, and the world around you, is a result of all the messages and opinions that have been ingrained into your psyche.  And you begin to sift through all the junk youve been fed about how you should behave, how you should look, how much you shouldnt weigh, what you should wear, where you should shop, what you should drive, how and where you should live, what you should do for a living, who you should sleep with, who you should marry, what you should expect of a marriage, the importance of having and raising children, or what you owe your parents.


You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view.  And you begin reassessing and redefining who you are and what you really stand for.  


You learn the difference between wanting and needing, and you begin to discard the doctrines and values youve outgrown, or should never have bought into to begin with, and in the process you learn to go with your instincts.  You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility, and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO.  You learn the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry, and that martyrs get burned at the stake.


Then you learn about love.  Romantic love and familial love.  How to love, how much to give in love, when to stop giving, and when to walk away.  You learn not to project your needs or your feelings onto a relationship.  You learn that you will not be more beautiful, more intelligent, more lovable, or important because of the man on your arm or the child that bears your name.  


You learn to look at relationships as they really are and not as you would have them be.  You stop trying to control people, situations, and outcomes.  You learn that just as people grow and change, so it is with love.  And you learn that you dont have the right to demand love on your terms just to make you happy.  And, you learn that ALONE does not mean lonely.


And you look in the mirror and come to terms with the fact that you will never be a size 5 or a perfect 10 and you stop trying to compete with the image inside your head and agonizing over how you stack up.  You also stop working so hard at putting feelings aside, smoothing things over, and ignoring your needs.


You learn that feelings of entitlement are perfectly OK . . . and that it is your right to want things that you want.  And that sometimes it is necessary to make demands.  You come to the realization that you deserve to be treated with love, kindness, sensitivity, and respect and you will not settle for less.  And you allow only the hands of a lover who cherishes you, to glorify you with his touch.  And in the process you internalize the meaning of self-respect.  


And you learn that your body really is your temple.  And you begin eating a balanced diet, drinking more water, and taking more time to exercise.  You learn that fatigue diminishes the spirit and can create doubt and fear, so you take more time to rest.  And, just as food fuels the body, laughter fuels our soul, so you take more time to laugh and to play.


You learn that, for the most part, in life you get what you believe you deserve.  And that much of life is a self-fulfilling prophecy.  You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for, and that wishing for something to happen is different from working toward making it happen.  More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success, you need direction, discipline, and perseverance.


You also learn that no one can do it all alone and its OK to risk asking for help.  You learn that the only thing you must truly fear is the great robber baron of all time:  FEAR itself.  You learn to step right into and through your fears, because you know that whatever happens you can handle it, and to give into fear is to give away the right to live life on your terms.


You learn to fight for your life and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom.  You learn that life isnt always fair, you dont always get what you think you deserve, and that sometimes bad things happen to unsuspecting, good people.  On these occasions you learn not to personalize things.  You learn that God isnt punishing you or failing to answer your prayers.  Its just life happening.  And you learn to deal with evil in its most primal state the ego.


You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy, and resentment must be understood and redirected, or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison the universe that surrounds you.


You learn to admit when you are wrong and to build bridges instead of walls.  You learn to be thankful and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.  Slowly, you begin to take responsibility for yourself, by yourself, and you try to make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never ever settle for less than your hearts desire.  And you hang a wind chime outside your window so you can listen to the wind.  And you make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting, and to stay open to every wonderful possibility.


Finally, with courage in your heart and with God by your side, you take a stand, you take a deep breath, and you begin to design the life you want to live as best as you can
Alice Burns May 2013
We've had a turbulent journey together
And as he pushed the bike, slowly did his hand release me
Riding the crashing waves I admit my struggle
And my childish naivety gave passage to worser threats
Yet still he stands there, waving me on my way
Even to this day, despite questionable confidences, I still turn
And still he stands there

A rebel I didn't mean to be, but I am cursed with escalating emotions
Or maybe he would say a blessing, to empathize and find strength
As memories haunt me at night, teaming with those of ill will
The sensitivity he passed on to me prevails, Innocently I am slowed
But my wheels continue turning, and my heart stays true
Though my eyes and ears remain obstructed, my heart makes a turn
And yes, he still stands there

His presence unpurposefully commands attention
And his knowledge, he gives without catch
I understand the wars he must encounter, and yet he stays calm
Giving peace to the tide, he offers nothing, but gives everything
I unconditionally love him
I honestly hold respect for him,
He indirectly teaches me
And fuels me with his love

In this moment, I turn back, not for fear of falling,
But to wave back to the man who let me go
He is no longer there, standing firm in his spot
No
My friend, my father, he rides by my side.
Sarah Spang Jun 2014
She is a solemn wanderer,
A daughter of the road
The crunch of moving gravel
Is like balm upon her soul.

Each rambling, easy footstep,
Within each languid stride,
Keeps the poison thoughts
From taking root inside her mind.

Each footstep is a triumph
That pushes her along
Each gasping breath that fuels her
Is a lyric to her song.

At times she is a vagrant
When there is no place to go
When nothing feels familiar but
The stone that coats the road.

At times she is a traveler
That thirsts for foreign lands
Her mind drifts off to mountain sides,
Or golden sprawling sands.

And most times she’s a dreamer
Thinking of the day
She’ll let her restless, resolute legs
Take her far away.

In all, she is a wanderer,
A daughter of the road
Putting space between her thoughts
Upon the open road.
You know, there's always a song that takes me back
To a year, so long before
It's not always a top ten song
That hits my very core
It just grabs me and transports me
Back in time while standing still
It might take me to a good place
Release a memory I should ****

But, my soundtrack is different
It's not just music in my mind
There's sounds that make my playlist up
Sounds of a different kind
A baseball smacking leather
God, that sets me free
Some good, some bad, some coaching
Some involve my ******* up knee
The click on every eight track
When it switches channels to play on
Brings back those early mornings
when the house cleaning was done

But, music, yes the music
makes a large part of my list
Some take me back to dances
And the girls I never kissed
The good songs stretch my senses
Make me smell things from the past
The memories still linger
While the music didn't last

Sirens, car wrecks, yelling
Have their place on my list too
It's not music to most people
It made my list though, who knew?
A sound as small as raindrops
Take me back to a morning when
I stood on line with a hundred others
Brave women and brave men

Cornwallis, Nova Scotia
rain and U2 take me on a track
To basic training on the east coast
Wow, that's 25 years back
A car crash and a siren
Takes me to when I met my wife
This was on the television
when Princess Di, she lost her life

So, my soundtrack is eclectic
It's not just music fuels my trips
It might be a golf ball bouncing
That takes me through a time warp slip
A song, that's just too easy
Everyone has one of those
But, can you travel back, oh, 30 years
When someone blows their nose?

There's more sounds that effect me
But, those I think I'll hide
I will write about them later
And I will take you on that ride
In 50 years of living
Lots of sounds have hit my ears
We'll  sit and chat about them
One day over a few beers....
Andrew Rueter Oct 2017
I'm on the run
And not for fun
The police are chasing
My heart is racing
When my life is at stake
My morality I'll break

The police release the hounds
I can hear their deadly sounds
They want to maim me
I want to stay me
I decide to fight the charging canines
Because I just snorted a ******* line
My judgement loses length
To my influx of strength
I break the dogs' legs
Until they beg
That's not enough
Sorry Scruff
The steel gun I fire
A furry cop retired

The police attack me
For defending myself
They refuse to see
The danger to my health
They chose to use crazy canines
So I feel the fault isn't mine
That doesn't change their decision
For me to die slowly in prison
I am in the teeth of the government
Much to my human wonderment
This is the way I'll spend the rest of my life
For the decisions I made at the end of a knife

The irony is cops **** dogs all the time
Yet they obstruct their vision of the line
Where it ceases to be man versus society
And becomes man versus nature
When a man is in peril
He must turn feral
But in a country that blindly idolizes aggression
The police don't acknowledge this discretion
They dig their teeth into our skin
While draining us financially
The only way we'll ever win
Is if things change substantially
Sadism fervently fuels the flames of conflict
With an exasperated public sick of being kicked
Cruelty is what they witness
To lose their mental fitness
How can they protect their babies
When the police have rabies?
The police relationship with the effected public will never shift
When there's a Cereberus between them maintaining the rift
CK Baker Aug 2017
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose

California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise

Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore

The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky

Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod

Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise

Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed

Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge

Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung

Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV

Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind

Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)

Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!

Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85

The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll

Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!

Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ

Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track

Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch

A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel

Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Bellis Tart Oct 2010
I am stoner,
watch me soar!

I am a handle,
that opens your door.

I am the sunshine,
which keeps you so warm.

I am the wind,
that fuels this storm.

I am a smile,
to a stranger on the street.

I am a cupcake,
too pretty to eat.

I am a lake
for you to escape from heat.

I am a steak,
though I don't condone eating meat.

I am a girl,
the madonna and the *****.

I am stoner,
and so much more.
(c)  05/10/10
Jeopardised Jane Apr 2016
I don't want to drown among the lovesick poets--
They wax lyrical about love all day
Moan in pleasure in the night
Convert to a religion of romanticism--
Fuels them high on romantic idealism
till they fall back down to grounds of realism;
Turning into the brokenhearted poets I want to avoid--
They wax lyrical of their 'wounds' all day
Moan about their pain all night
as if the sky fell down;
To these poets, I'll give you a word of advice:-
Yours is not the worst on the plate;
*be prepared to suffer pain if you only want pleasure.
Yes, I lost count of how many lovesick or heartbroken poems I've seen on this site. I don't get the why most people here are only inspired by romantic love.
Cheyenne Jan 2015
Emotion is not tangible--
But when The Poet speaks,
she stumbles upon sculptures of
the emotion that you seek.

Emotion is indescribable--
But in The Poet's lines,
it nestles up upon the words
and engulfs them in its tides.

Emotion is a fickle fiend:
unsure if friend or foe--
But when The Poet writes
it's as if they know.

Emotion and The Poet:
a conundrum to say the least.
Each tries to slay the other;
Each fuels the other's beast.
Steve D'Beard Apr 2013
Highland Nordic landscape
hands bound by twine
the smells of pine
wafting through the forest
the stranger awakes to their escorted fate
the judge, jury and executioner awaits
with bated breath and a heaving chest
behind the forever closed gates
just beyond the mist.

The Rebels want their Freedom
and the right to choose their destiny
The Empire want allegiance
and the spoils of war
to stroll their sequestered land
the suppression they hold unto thee

taken by force in an act of Union
intent on silencing the minority
but the quell of the rebel voice had failed
an unbridled passion and belief
that as natives they would never relinquish
not even under the purge of fire
nor the controls to decide
that resistance of existence is futile
in the face of a Colonial state
that all should bow and abide

emphatic on extending their reach
natives were but minions in their eyes
harvesting an ancient history
as you would brew heather mead
hounding the pilgrims of Talos
tending the ego's of the few over the many
laying claim to what lies beneath the sea
the fossil fuels they ache for
and on-demand that they have
the greatest need.

Dragon Slayer is in their midst
but they do not know that yet
not until this epic unfolds
like a warriors Tartan
laid out and stitched in war
the family crest emblazoned
hues of amber stained in years of fervor

the weight of the uninvited guest
who decided it was best
that they should take whatever they desired;
you land, your dreams, your women -
the nubile pale skin of a lovers breath
tarnished her name, pillaged her sanctuary
before you were able to take her hand
and under the arched stealth of moonlight
and under the eyes of your Gods
solemn oaths sworn and ritual pacts made
that they would never steal the memory
and that this would never fade.

Dragon Slayer would have you heed their name
in time to come when all must decide
make alliances of your own
or squander freedom in the name of history
let the past slip into the murky waters of shame
preserved in the wetland bogs to the west
till the soil broken by man's greed
to populate the last remains of nature
so that he may gorge his already fat belly
with the notion of carrying on his seed
in a world where more are alive today
than have ever been.

You decide:
what do your Elven ears hear
your Orcish eyes see
your Redguard heart feel
your Viking spirit wield
your Khajiit senses fear

the Argonian lizard
his forked tongue speaks in riddles
puzzles await
poisoned logic
and arcane magic
in a time before the world found its feet
when dragons ruled the skies
and breathed fire and ice

the artifacts of legend
lay hidden in the hall of stories
rewarding only the Dragon Slayer
with the wall of voices

will you accept the fate of history
or stand tall and embrace the change
will you go headlong into the cold night alone
whether you be the warrior or the mage
all that is yours by right to keep
your moment of glory awaits

the Greybeards will ask only this:
which destiny will you seek?
poem written in the style of the multi-award winning epic videogame Skyrim: The Elder Scrolls and makes reference to the 2014 historic moment when the people of Scotland will decide whether to stay in the Union or be its own nation
PrttyBrd Apr 2015
Innocent words of wonder
Burn the purest of souls to ash
The Goddess of love,
She spews her lyrics in tinkling sighs
Completed by the one whose light burns brightest
He lights the path of others
Consuming their shadows as they pass
A dragon of fire to fight the darkness
And she sings in sweet daffodils
Satin petals and the Heavens open wide
She sings of pain and the dragon feeds
She sings of joy and he watches
As the words are once again absorbed into her essence
The Goddess welcomes this guardian of light
Never knowing that her words
Pilot the fire that eats the shadows that surround him
Bitter pangs of abrasive truth
Wrapped in delightful ditties of eternal enamoration
He fights her darkness
She fuels his fire
4415
One4u2nv Feb 2012

I'm thoughtfully watching joyous pupils viciously coming across girlish phantoms.

Meanwhile you are watching me satanically bounding through fields of flaming stimulations, while riding on hope that depends on productivity. I won't ever find it. Productivity that is. 

Satisfaction might never be prioritized above facts. This is FACT-

The unknown needlessly attracts poetry.

Our reality abraded and unjust can be uncomfortable if it’s entangled with education. 

Moving at your own pace is a fountain of materialism and greedy lusts. 

Psychic ability favors pressure, and a random act of silliness can somehow mold in to self reform. 

Magic has been brought to you by Nikola Tesla and of course Prince...He is the true King, save Bowie of course. 

Sexology turns boring things into The American Dream.

Suggestively inter-dimensional paintings as a punch line to a tasteless joke for tasteless people. ----> See blog for details. Http://www.tasteforthetasteless.tumblr.com

Swiftly opulent inspectors for future generations leave no getaways for past generations. Thank your god for this..I certainly do. 

Feminist eruptions and Malibu Barbie are inexpensive expectations with crazed, maniacal plans for world *******. We fed the Illuminate to the space pirates and now we are the people. 

Enclosed in this excessively long mixture of nonesenical words are meanings of life like surgically altered violins fueled by bitterness and rage are the way to the Sneaker Pimps six-Underground. 

Our politicians are galavanting with over paid under appreciated butchers. 

Comfort is the leading cause of heroism and cancer. 

Electricity is a side-effect of greed. Greed fuels each and every home. 

Activism is another form of stigmata and self-confidence rests upon your soul's desire to be better. 

A perfect moment is ruined by mythology. Throw it away along with your **** of an ego. Learn what bogs you down and what helps to keep you afloat. 

****** tension can trigger an avalanche of vengeance and self loathing destruction 

Your energy can transcend in to a rouge wave larger than life and larger than Jesus Christ fanatics followed by Anti-Christ hopefuls.

Laughter gravitates towards ravenously healthy men and women. Follow that pack and you will find health awaiting your arrival with open arms. 


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