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"grayish" poems
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle tones......gather words together in lines, uncertain in their ebbing and flowing... the results create surprise in many hues that could make one cry, grimace......frown......or smile readers are led to far, or near destinations...to the cool, sweet air and peaceful atmosphere of paradise, or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters, or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole, an unknown corner, where moribund souls are biding their time, maybe, they could now define by themselves, purgatory and hell, understand those sunken souls who have lost all...except their arms, and begging eyes... then, through appropriate words, a poet paints a laborious path, or a stairway...so an enlightened reader may climb back to safe, calm waters... a poet makes the mind see a human heart, beating in many rhythms...throbbing, .......aflame with longing and desire, bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments, then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts that cut deep....tormenting...crashing, ............gnashing the heart... a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine, later, to dip feet in celebrative pools. sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet, an inner force prevails, thereby paints a drooping soul...dying, in total surrender, ready to fall..............but, again, with a barrel of lively-colored words, a poet takes this despondent soul to berth, with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth... every human being is worth an effort ..............even those that have fallen .........................are worth savin' ..... a poet's palette is uniquely enriched with colorful experiences, a poet paints life in its truest colors, ..........could be dark...or bright .....nothing more......nothing less... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan January 29, 2017
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Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
Painter
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle tones......gather words together in lines, uncertain in their ebbing and flowing... the results create surprise in many hues that could make one cry, grimace......frown......or smile readers are led to far, or near destinations...to the cool, sweet air and peaceful atmosphere of paradise, or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters, or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole, an unknown corner, where moribund souls are biding their time, maybe, they could now define by themselves, purgatory and hell, understand those sunken souls who have lost all...except their arms, and begging eyes... then, through appropriate words, a poet paints a laborious path, or a stairway...so an enlightened reader may climb back to safe, calm waters... a poet makes the mind see a human heart, beating in many rhythms...throbbing, .......aflame with longing and desire, bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments, then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts that cut deep....tormenting...crashing, ............gnashing the heart... a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine, later, to dip feet in celebrative pools. sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet, an inner force prevails, thereby paints a drooping soul...dying, in total surrender, ready to fall..............but, again, with a barrel of lively-colored words, a poet takes this despondent soul to berth, with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth... every human being is worth an effort ..............even those that have fallen .........................are worth savin' ..... a poet's palette is uniquely enriched with colorful experiences, a poet paints life in its truest colors, ..........could be dark...or bright .....nothing more......nothing less... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan January 29, 2017
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48
A pale homemade dress hung to dry in the blazing sun; It's original color not quite clear but presumably purple. That stain that never faded, a spot of innocence... I closed my eyes and remembered the night she wore it, Childlike with that smile of hers. He threw promises of love and eternal bliss; She believed his words and followed him to the train-yard. An invisible moon hovered over them as they entered An old rusted cart, abandoned for years and years. He didn't bother taking her dress off, She couldn't wait to feel loved. Right there beneath a dark sky, a man stole a girl's innocence. But how can love find it's way through the Cairo Slums? Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks; They bleed. A grayish sleeveless undershirt hung to dry in the blazing sun, It's original color not quite clear but presumably white. That rip that was never mended, a tear of hope... I closed my eyes and remembered that morning he wore it, As he maneuvered through downtown traffic Trying to make easy money, as ordered by his jobless father. A child of seven or eight running around with beads of Sweat rolling down his tiny face. Mr. Policeman grabbed him by his shirt, slapped him around, Beat him to the ground for approaching Mrs. Businesswoman in Her air-conditioned car. But how can this child find hope for the future in the Cairo Slums? Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks; They bleed. Let me take you down to the Cairo Slums, Where people are animals in their nests Of carton-paper, waiting for the big bad wolf, To huff and to puff and to blow their lives away. But soon you'll realize that evil's not born but raised, That hate is brewed, and money is everything. Let us disregard this urban jungle under a glass jar, Let us use them for advertising or marketing our products, Products they could never afford. O' what irony, what strife. The girl and the child never had a chance, but they deserve one. They bleed. They bleed. So without further a adieu, Welcome to the Cairo Slums.
0
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 12:21 PM UTC
Cairo Slums Blues
A pale homemade dress hung to dry in the blazing sun; It's original color not quite clear but presumably purple. That stain that never faded, a spot of innocence... I closed my eyes and remembered the night she wore it, Childlike with that smile of hers. He threw promises of love and eternal bliss; She believed his words and followed him to the train-yard. An invisible moon hovered over them as they entered An old rusted cart, abandoned for years and years. He didn't bother taking her dress off, She couldn't wait to feel loved. Right there beneath a dark sky, a man stole a girl's innocence. But how can love find it's way through the Cairo Slums? Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks; They bleed. A grayish sleeveless undershirt hung to dry in the blazing sun, It's original color not quite clear but presumably white. That rip that was never mended, a tear of hope... I closed my eyes and remembered that morning he wore it, As he maneuvered through downtown traffic Trying to make easy money, as ordered by his jobless father. A child of seven or eight running around with beads of Sweat rolling down his tiny face. Mr. Policeman grabbed him by his shirt, slapped him around, Beat him to the ground for approaching Mrs. Businesswoman in Her air-conditioned car. But how can this child find hope for the future in the Cairo Slums? Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks; They bleed. Let me take you down to the Cairo Slums, Where people are animals in their nests Of carton-paper, waiting for the big bad wolf, To huff and to puff and to blow their lives away. But soon you'll realize that evil's not born but raised, That hate is brewed, and money is everything. Let us disregard this urban jungle under a glass jar, Let us use them for advertising or marketing our products, Products they could never afford. O' what irony, what strife. The girl and the child never had a chance, but they deserve one. They bleed. They bleed. So without further a adieu, Welcome to the Cairo Slums.
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45
I awoke with mountains in their heights that spoke of memories that wove through knees thighs and ***** bone -- to the inky waters of the lake below. In that cabin where the sable pines enclose and all about from coral-white to grayish turquoise-blue snow. That scene: on the edge where the stillness Knows.
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Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
Knows
They would have given a lot those paste-skinned kids with straw for hair and knobby knees Not that frail— it seems Beneath grayish strings through black rims one cracked lens screams— Gets nothing! Changes nothing! Ritual words fall— a rusted refrigerator shoved over a railing from the second floor Barking dogs tied to the radiator of misery fed on rough-house excuses for kindness Why do people keep children? Larger than average eyes huge foreheads of genetic wrong ******* childhood downstairs while mother is sleeping I can get used to the smell of cats Human ***** is not so— different? and if I didn’t change my clothes for a week What do children know? Jenny cuddles a starving kitten then releases it to where they disappear... one generation after another Famished eyes devour anything offered words...food...sex...God Screams from the mats of string and gray Scald the frantic instant badly I watch her bolt beyond explanation Night gives no reason to let her live.... My faith went the way the kittens go Hope and a small girl blend beyond blackness
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Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
Bread on the Water
Like seeing the ghosts of the people I loved I scan through crowds and avoid their faces Faces as magnets attract my eyes My vision is blurry, it's time to go I stumble through hallways My head hangs low, Avoiding those faces as magnets. The girl with the piercings The guy with tattoos That person whose hair is a dark grayish blue Those people have faces as magnets.
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Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
faces as magnets
I told you I didn't do anything wrong, Yet you believed their lies all along I was the love of your life remember? You promised to cherish me forever. One mistake - and not even on my part, Tales told viciously just to break my heart I was on my knees on that 23rd of July I begged you to listen to my soulful cries. What did you say on that bleak rainy day? That I cheated on you and I must pay Again You never wanted to see my face And You would never offer a saving grace. I accepted your harsh decision in blind tears My heart bled from your punishment severe I bowed my head not in shame nor regret I had no dues to pay nor did I have debts. Years passed and we met accidentally in a store Your look of shock or surprise I just ignored I pretended that I never saw nor heard you But my heart beat faster for you oh so true! Two years I suffered in silence and fears Clinging only to my twin boys oh so dear Proof of our affair to you was suddenly revealed My pride won, I've my sons from you to shield. Tell me frankly, what did I ever do to you? You have your eyes set on me to pursue Grayish pupils which always left me on trance Now, You are asking for a second chance?
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Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
You are asking for a second chance?
Blue-grayish waves lap summer's sun-drenched beaches, eternal, soothing rhythm, an enduring melody, into the soul it reaches. Neighboring celestial bodies, conductors of the tides, creating eon's symphony, embracing, pacifying music: a choral harmony. Placid, glistening lake with fall moon's luminescent splendor, silvery, reflective mirror, still and serene, lying quietly in slumber. Bright, streaming rays, upon the surface, become as two entwined eternally, brilliantly flowing: a beacon of tranquility. White, pristine snow upon the meadow on a winter's early morning, softly sown, caressing Mother Earth, pure and alluring. Sol's rays shimmering on crystal flakes, a mosaic luminosity, sparkling diamond facets: a blanket of serenity. Dew-covered fields patched with spring's wild flowers, dazzling array, vibrant and alive, displaying rainbow's colors. A zephyr stirs bouquets of aromatic splendor, emerging reality, a living portrait masterpiece--a canvas of vitality. Nature, an ageless composer, conceiving kaleidoscope showcases, perennial seasons casting actors on scores of different stages. Wise is it, from time to time, to pause in awe and humble reverence, and view a master artist's majestic, grand performance.
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Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 5:32 PM UTC
Kaleidoscope
*On the top of rationality Remains an abyss to insanity That I persist to climb Until I reach my prime Until I grasp all the rains in my veins Until I rein the reins As I contemplate all the plains Of grayish fate, thru trees of clocks Leaves of wish and apples of Eve Thru rocks weightless as chants And thru ants and doves verging chess Hazy mortals with gloves of hate Lazy and crazy mortals, In such rare lands of bliss, Obliterating the glow... **So, I knead the canvas with my bare hands And threw myself into the abyss.***
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Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
The Alps of Demise
(monsoon moments 1) The lively colors of summer have faded Blazing May afternoons have ended, Clear skies are now ash-blue, sometimes blae Blooming with soggy grayish ***** of cotton, Ever ready to burst with crystal drops... Monsoon winds blow.......then rain follows Big, heavy, noisy raindrops hit the roof, They pour longer........inundate the streets Making them impassable.......................but I'm raring to be out there when it falls, Let its cold touch, give me goose bumps... And waken every nerve in me... Let it wash away the heat and humidity from my body Let its steady flow, drench my short hair, flat to my skull, Let it compress my long-running indecision: do I, or do I not? I'd wait for all these to slide down and join the wet ground For, I want to walk around....soaking wet, and barefooted, Feel the grass.......subservient to the downpour I want to dip and wiggle my toes in the softened soil, 'til floodwater reaches my ankle 'til I'm one with earth and water And then I... Would feel unburdened, When I come in From the rain... Sally Copyright June 9, 2016 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
MONSOON
off the asphalt five miles down south she catches prawn her skirt the catching net feet quietly feather weight she looks a muddy heron beneath sky grayish pale swimming wind with fishy smell on her no man's patch intent on her solo search head bowed down cutely arch she must have her catch streaks of mud on her hair only what she does care a bunch of wriggling store fire it up when day is dead have the catch thinly spread and nothing more
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Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Catch
Darkness breaks, Moon awakes, night now brings the stars it makes. Moon beams fall, Light up all, From silvery woods there comes a call. Grayish blur, Shaggy fur, Food is this night creatures lure. Brown deer, Very near, It is brought down full of fear. Deadly bite, Very tight, Every wolf will feast tonight ~Zaynah Nadeem (an undiscovered poet)
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Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
Wolves
And the emptiness now lets the memory howl and bang its head off the sheer walls of never— Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in fog or smoke? In any case— lonely looks like this-- numb and cool and slow-moving grayish-white fingers reaching for molecules of air while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle over springtime over.... Desire perishing in a crisis of will In the thickets of panic— bronchial spasms expand seconds at an open window Choking, congestive, failure of heart! in the face of what it means to be... not being ...as I came into this world breach and not breathing to my mother’s horror! Alone Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath I love life I LOVE-- life! Love— inexpressible, inessential fool of a child Love ripped apart at the v
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Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
To God or Job or Whoever Reads this First....
I can't be patient for any longer because I've been waiting for too long Everything I've ever done feels worthless and like a disaster I don't know who will love me when things get bad Because things are bad And the people that I need the most are too far away or too consumed to notice To notice that I'm drowning in a sea of misery and paranoia My breaths have become shorter and my pupils are dilated I gaze into other people's eyes and I see nothing A long time ago, I made a conscious decision to see nothing And now I'm blind But with blindness comes increase sensitivity of my other senses So now my tears fall down my face and they feel like acid on my skin Every whisper falls into... This isn't living This isn't life Because life happens and this is something else This is bigger than me This is something that will still hover over my head when I wake up And it will haunt me till I go to sleep The worst part is that I don't know how to effectively cope With everything life has bestowed upon me So I'm left on the curb Staring at a finish line And I'm paralyzed I'm alone with the thoughts and the voices that brought me to this state of recklessness This state of unrevealed truth and blanketed wounds My feelings aren't gone because I chose to share them Shared they were, but only two people recognized the cry for help I was transparent and found But we're all too lost And I'm too broken to win another battle Weight is on my chest and I'm bitter over someone I have been in a dark place for so long, that I've forgotten what light looks like I want to scream at the top of my lungs and never stop crying I don't think I'll ever stop crying These droplets will forever fall from my grayish irises onto pavement and rocks and nothingness Pain doesn't go away Pain becomes me I am tired and I cannot sleep and I'm afraid of what the future holds Because at moments like this I question the existence of a future "I drank coffee, and read old books, and waited for the year to end" But I've been doing that for 6 years, and I'm tired So I need to be held and helped by someone or something I need to remember what sweetness tastes like And I need to piece together this puzzle called life There are no leaves on the trees Don't mistake it for fall Because the leaves were never there I need to be closer to love than I am right now To love that is requited The love that I've felt before The love that is sweaty palms and mumbled giggles Rhapsodies of savior Someone,save me Help me save myself
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Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Rhapsodies of Savior
I can't be patient for any longer because I've been waiting for too long Everything I've ever done feels worthless and like a disaster I don't know who will love me when things get bad Because things are bad And the people that I need the most are too far away or too consumed to notice To notice that I'm drowning in a sea of misery and paranoia My breaths have become shorter and my pupils are dilated I gaze into other people's eyes and I see nothing A long time ago, I made a conscious decision to see nothing And now I'm blind But with blindness comes increase sensitivity of my other senses So now my tears fall down my face and they feel like acid on my skin Every whisper falls into... This isn't living This isn't life Because life happens and this is something else This is bigger than me This is something that will still hover over my head when I wake up And it will haunt me till I go to sleep The worst part is that I don't know how to effectively cope With everything life has bestowed upon me So I'm left on the curb Staring at a finish line And I'm paralyzed I'm alone with the thoughts and the voices that brought me to this state of recklessness This state of unrevealed truth and blanketed wounds My feelings aren't gone because I chose to share them Shared they were, but only two people recognized the cry for help I was transparent and found But we're all too lost And I'm too broken to win another battle Weight is on my chest and I'm bitter over someone I have been in a dark place for so long, that I've forgotten what light looks like I want to scream at the top of my lungs and never stop crying I don't think I'll ever stop crying These droplets will forever fall from my grayish irises onto pavement and rocks and nothingness Pain doesn't go away Pain becomes me I am tired and I cannot sleep and I'm afraid of what the future holds Because at moments like this I question the existence of a future "I drank coffee, and read old books, and waited for the year to end" But I've been doing that for 6 years, and I'm tired So I need to be held and helped by someone or something I need to remember what sweetness tastes like And I need to piece together this puzzle called life There are no leaves on the trees Don't mistake it for fall Because the leaves were never there I need to be closer to love than I am right now To love that is requited The love that I've felt before The love that is sweaty palms and mumbled giggles Rhapsodies of savior Someone,save me Help me save myself
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56
Grayish skies of silent mourning Clouds of regret, ennui, silence Wandering aimlessly A trickle, and another... A raindrop Then a tear... The skies mirror my loneliness.
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Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 11:44 PM UTC
Lonely Morning
Take me up. Let the devil take me up, like the morning when we left ourselves. The ides are upon our lives, maybe backstabbing partners really won't pay the bills. The irreverent god, the irrelevant clause that speaks too soon, comes upon the midnight waning sky. Like the moonful of ham in the stock of the flesh, second helpings because I could not resist. Pick me up. Pick me up. Like a devil born again in the flesh. Your womb is a rotten tomb of forced reclusion, I'm wide awake before I can even sleep. The Time, our heaven is pyre, we're in it now like you thought it had been. But the flesh never whispers when I tried to break it in, it only clung to me like pre-used clothing. Write it up, tomorrow we make Japan. Tomorrow, the island is our vesper. Your nine lives have come, and you'd decided to trade all of your needs to please me. We intertwined into an elusive butterfly, you're dead inside my beak, chewy, squishy, crunchy meat. You're eleven but you've never tasted better. Your lies are so stupid, I had to have you in supine. I had to lie to myself to placate me. I survived by being a witness to a life. A dusky, grayish shadow four feet yonder.
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Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
Jew Carcasss Lampshade
I became jealous of my friend; He hung around the intersections Just a bit too long. He used to slump around In the corners of my eyes And I didn't notice him when he'd frown-- We didn't notice him--until he hung around That intersection for longer than we'd care to think. I became jealous Because he vanished Right to that street corner When he thought No one would care but the coroner, Right to the asphalt that received him-- Soft, As I hoped my own Last moments Would be. When I saw him, Mama said he was sleeping. He looked like he was, But the lights were dim; His arm cradled his head The way he used to sleep On his desk, in class And for all I knew, He was. They said he was driving Like he was late for something, Like had he not been driving Exactly 65.32 miles per hour He'd have been late, And it was only afterwards That he'd figured out that he was Right on time. And when he arrived, his car blossomed into A beautiful metal flower, and when it fully bloomed He was the fruit Which fell. And all I could do was recruit the strength I'd left at home on accident by the drain The same one that ****** him into that downward cyclone, Confused him and made him believe he was alone-- Not to just think or to have a hunch, But to really believe it To the point where he needed to expunge Himself. No. No, no, no. Not like this. And so, now, I sit at the intersection Chucking rocks with my weepy hand At my grayish concrete reflection Trying to see if he'll come around again. I'm still And still kind of mad within Because life's not fair, I'm jealous because he found the answer And left us all to figure it out On shards of glass Pieces of metal and intersections, Which too long He hung about.
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Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
Intersection
I became jealous of my friend; He hung around the intersections Just a bit too long. He used to slump around In the corners of my eyes And I didn't notice him when he'd frown-- We didn't notice him--until he hung around That intersection for longer than we'd care to think. I became jealous Because he vanished Right to that street corner When he thought No one would care but the coroner, Right to the asphalt that received him-- Soft, As I hoped my own Last moments Would be. When I saw him, Mama said he was sleeping. He looked like he was, But the lights were dim; His arm cradled his head The way he used to sleep On his desk, in class And for all I knew, He was. They said he was driving Like he was late for something, Like had he not been driving Exactly 65.32 miles per hour He'd have been late, And it was only afterwards That he'd figured out that he was Right on time. And when he arrived, his car blossomed into A beautiful metal flower, and when it fully bloomed He was the fruit Which fell. And all I could do was recruit the strength I'd left at home on accident by the drain The same one that ****** him into that downward cyclone, Confused him and made him believe he was alone-- Not to just think or to have a hunch, But to really believe it To the point where he needed to expunge Himself. No. No, no, no. Not like this. And so, now, I sit at the intersection Chucking rocks with my weepy hand At my grayish concrete reflection Trying to see if he'll come around again. I'm still And still kind of mad within Because life's not fair, I'm jealous because he found the answer And left us all to figure it out On shards of glass Pieces of metal and intersections, Which too long He hung about.
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64
palette russet, olive hues yellow ochre bird's egg blue vastness held within a bowl turned over earth to heal and hold moisture from the morning rain thus the painter's eye is trained cadmium white a fan-like brush sketch mare's-tail clouds an artist's touch far horizon grayish blue a woman reclines in the **** her form reveals the breasting hills her hips the mountains hushed and still mid-ground blurs of olive cacti the saguaro rise like hackles Palo Verde lie in lumps yellow flowers bloom in clumps point of brush tweaks out the trees turn of branches stippled leaves small are they to catch the light but the moisture loss is slight ochre foreground brownish stones blue-gray shadows light source shown grayish purple prickly pears ocotillo here and there spindly with splash of red barrel cacti nod their heads buff highlights saguaro flowers I could sit and paint for hours there's time to write but now I pray look upon these words today they paint the desert you will find If only in the poet's mind! SoulSurvivor aka Write of Passage 2017
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Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 5:42 AM UTC
painted desert
People said Romanticizing is too dramatic And sad poetries Are kind of untold suicidal notes And poets Are too broken, bluer than a bruise Blacker than old stretches As miserable as a grayish dark cloudy sky As heavy as the hazy rainfalls on a rooftop Little know they realize That words hurt And sharp, Like a knife twisted in a soul.
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Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Words and Mouths
Four seated around a table, four proper place settings. Napkins on laps, forks in hands jabbing pasta and grayish meat, unused spoons and knives on the right. Casual conversation, metal clinking porcelain. Occasional slurps and crunches, paper wiping skin. The household cat mews in the background. Father. *Bills are late, mortgage is due next week. Is there even enough in the checking to pay them?* Mother. Tuna helper for the third night in a row. Daughter. *I’ll just say I’m just sick of eating this stuff. Maybe that, or…* Son. *I’ve seen her journal. Do I say something? But…* Father. $89.45. Mother. Tomorrow will make it four. Daughter. *… I’ll “get sick” again. It seems to be working.* Son. *…she’d **** me if I told. I guess I’ll keep quiet.* Four plates form a circle, their propriety slowly weakened. Food blotches have tinted the once pure white napkins, forks, spoons and knives are laid lazily on tuna scraps. Meaningless words have turned to awkward glances, throat clearing and thumb twiddling signals another meal over. The cat patiently waits in the kitchen, still whining. He wants the leftover tuna.
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Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
Family Dinner
Through Rain, Sleet, and Snow         by Tom Mach          Drops of cold rain dot the landscape,     and the ice-glazed roads hate car especially mine when I have to pamper my tire and coax them not to slide off the road. The grayish sky is also angry as it continues to discourage me so I turn on the radio only to hear weatherman drone on about a predicted historical snowfall but I don't give a **** about that. The hospital doors never close and I may be needed in ER today to save the life of a child
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Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
Rain/ Sleet/ Snow
In misplaced demographics, an underlying figure Gets lost in the middle of double-helixed bound’ry lines Dissolving past parameters, confounding to the mind, A deadlocked debate decides if pain or love is bigger It’s like the world’s hardest riddle, answers buried deftly That no savant or prodigy is able to surmise And the truth does differ from what words can now describe. I’ve learned that one can tread life’s forest with a steady course And with the best of intentions and stark, concerted path Turn winding bends ambiguous: mistake a birch for ash So to end the tiring journey in tangent to its source The nature of the Earth is neither white nor black It’s more like the palate used when blue becomes grayish sky But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe Inside my head there lies a circuit, closed unto itself So, through this loop I’ve learned to see the difference between Progress and regression, what has been and has never been, Is like finding from a deck why each hand differs that is dealt But the answer matters not, for the circle spins again It’s kind of like the ocean where the calm and break collides But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. I’ve watched a daunting fog descend upon my clouded eyes It curbs the hue of ev’rything to darker spectrum shades So this shroud submerges light until definition fades, Frustrates the sense of passion; luster steadily subsides When the mind’s only window is comprised of rippled glass, It’s like a drunkard’s double vision having not imbibed But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. Each step I take grows even more uncertain than the last If I could convey to you the shape of this confusion If I could draw a diagram or picture of delusion Then you and I might, together, construct and raise a mast So with to steer life’s wayward ship back toward a purpose At times, I’m unsure if living’s just learning to survive So, in this pall, I reach you now, and in you I confide.
0
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
In Medias Res
In misplaced demographics, an underlying figure Gets lost in the middle of double-helixed bound’ry lines Dissolving past parameters, confounding to the mind, A deadlocked debate decides if pain or love is bigger It’s like the world’s hardest riddle, answers buried deftly That no savant or prodigy is able to surmise And the truth does differ from what words can now describe. I’ve learned that one can tread life’s forest with a steady course And with the best of intentions and stark, concerted path Turn winding bends ambiguous: mistake a birch for ash So to end the tiring journey in tangent to its source The nature of the Earth is neither white nor black It’s more like the palate used when blue becomes grayish sky But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe Inside my head there lies a circuit, closed unto itself So, through this loop I’ve learned to see the difference between Progress and regression, what has been and has never been, Is like finding from a deck why each hand differs that is dealt But the answer matters not, for the circle spins again It’s kind of like the ocean where the calm and break collides But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. I’ve watched a daunting fog descend upon my clouded eyes It curbs the hue of ev’rything to darker spectrum shades So this shroud submerges light until definition fades, Frustrates the sense of passion; luster steadily subsides When the mind’s only window is comprised of rippled glass, It’s like a drunkard’s double vision having not imbibed But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe. Each step I take grows even more uncertain than the last If I could convey to you the shape of this confusion If I could draw a diagram or picture of delusion Then you and I might, together, construct and raise a mast So with to steer life’s wayward ship back toward a purpose At times, I’m unsure if living’s just learning to survive So, in this pall, I reach you now, and in you I confide.
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35
not a morning person she’s content to hide in leafy shadows wildly overgrown purple and green vines surround and ensnare her beneath a canopy of pink antique tea roses she stands inside a maple platform designed and handcrafted with care three asymmetrically positioned 2 by 4 risers raise her about a foot off the ground two golden plaster cherubs hover above her on either side fine grayish wood grain, like carpenter’s fingerprints peek out through faded cerulean backboards a painted backdrop made translucent by exposure fresh cut miniature roses in miniature vases brighten the stage like foot lights behind the platform, at the back of the cave clumps of ferns intermittently reveal mud swirls splashed on a mint colored wall up front, a row of marigolds and strawberry plants embank a retaining wall border of cabana-like sculpted brick glistening white quartz stream before her like a river of rocks at her feet completing the grotto she comes alive as the afternoon sun brings out the color in her cheeks she steps out from the shadows and stretches her arms out close by her sides palms facing outward fingers pointing down as if something were emanating from her hands while she blesses us with peaceful contemplation
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Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
OUR LADY OF THE GARDEN
Thy innocence, thy innocence is more than what words have to say Passionate face with youth that shall never decay Oh, and stay mute amongst those bitter roses of May; vanished worlds are real to me today. Yester' firmly thou startled the wooden door And grinningly stepped into the carpeted floor. Vibrant speeches then thou began to tell; thy voice silenced souls like a spell! And how nature celebrated thy sound- ah! as I could feel it on my bare ground. Look! How those wheels just whirled round and round- but bits of thy keen presence they never found. Windy were just the dusky moors Just as the brisk rainfalls turned worse. Rattling against frail, murky hedges, sweeping over cross, old shaky branches. O! But shy, shy were thy glistening cheeks- with shadows that were genuinely sweet! Charming thy crowds with pretty wit- as the new night grew darker and bleak. Ah! But times for thou are forever; while songs to thee are just curious and everlasting. As death thou shalt never encounter; with a life as long and unbending. Aye! With that gaze so listless and melancholy- but days so suspicious and full of poesy! Thy steps still light but not playful; amongst those tasks too hasty and dreadful. Oh! Vivid clarity, and its colourful rainbows are like the talents thou decently show. Thy modesty might they but adore Lightly and gaily, later and before. O my willow! Thou art the fir tree to my green ferns; dust and pale fire are thy dignified young heirs. Last time when their suffering was hard and stern- resolve thou did, their lonesome affairs. And how dreary this smoky haze- that once put me in grayish days! But now strangely it has it been lifted- and my whole conscience has now returned. Ah! And how thou, thou wert there, once more! As soon as I escaped from my dry stupor and to safe convenience I restored; thou wert within, just behind the door. But like singing clouds thou drifted away again- undead and undying, just like souls shalt always remain. For thou there might never be tomorrow; for thou art still, in thy here and now.
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Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Undead
Thy innocence, thy innocence is more than what words have to say Passionate face with youth that shall never decay Oh, and stay mute amongst those bitter roses of May; vanished worlds are real to me today. Yester' firmly thou startled the wooden door And grinningly stepped into the carpeted floor. Vibrant speeches then thou began to tell; thy voice silenced souls like a spell! And how nature celebrated thy sound- ah! as I could feel it on my bare ground. Look! How those wheels just whirled round and round- but bits of thy keen presence they never found. Windy were just the dusky moors Just as the brisk rainfalls turned worse. Rattling against frail, murky hedges, sweeping over cross, old shaky branches. O! But shy, shy were thy glistening cheeks- with shadows that were genuinely sweet! Charming thy crowds with pretty wit- as the new night grew darker and bleak. Ah! But times for thou are forever; while songs to thee are just curious and everlasting. As death thou shalt never encounter; with a life as long and unbending. Aye! With that gaze so listless and melancholy- but days so suspicious and full of poesy! Thy steps still light but not playful; amongst those tasks too hasty and dreadful. Oh! Vivid clarity, and its colourful rainbows are like the talents thou decently show. Thy modesty might they but adore Lightly and gaily, later and before. O my willow! Thou art the fir tree to my green ferns; dust and pale fire are thy dignified young heirs. Last time when their suffering was hard and stern- resolve thou did, their lonesome affairs. And how dreary this smoky haze- that once put me in grayish days! But now strangely it has it been lifted- and my whole conscience has now returned. Ah! And how thou, thou wert there, once more! As soon as I escaped from my dry stupor and to safe convenience I restored; thou wert within, just behind the door. But like singing clouds thou drifted away again- undead and undying, just like souls shalt always remain. For thou there might never be tomorrow; for thou art still, in thy here and now.
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48
The sunlight before a thunderstorm. How it seems to break and falter with a grayish darkness in some areas, while others hold a nostalgic, yellow light ray that seems to reflect the warmth of the past, and its' contents. This is where I find you, with your mysterious mind, sometimes contradicting your quick smiles. This is where I'll keep you, in the middle of a paradox. My golden, stormy sunlight.
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Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC
Land of Milk & Honey