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I
Through vines indeterminate
Red cherry eyes peeped,
And spied two forms,
Fleshy pink and brown
Trees, tangled at the roots,
kissing in the canopy.

II
The garden was our
Discotheque, the sullen
Moonlight reflected
On the Black Beauties,
Twisted black mirrors,
in the garden of joy.

III
O, to again be mov'd
By your heirloom lips,
I'd give it all, the earth,
the sun, and the water.
A sacrifice: my Homesteads,
for a home.

IV
Soil runs dry.
The sun scorches.
Plagues run rampant.
We burn, we are sacked
and pillaged, and destroyed.
Roma, Roma, Roma.

V.
Maybe the rain,
Or sweet shade,
Or gentle sun,
Or simply the need
To be so defiantly
alive, will bring us again,
And I will drink you up again,  
Brandywine.
I came upon a dandelion  
An ordinary, common ****.
Most people don't look twice
Unless it infected their gardens.
Then it is uprooted, stem and head.
Thrown away and then forgotten.

But that **** meant something different to me

It was sunshine and laughter
Bouquets made of thistle and lavender
Bunched together and given to my mother
It was rolled up jeans
That perfect summer breeze
Cuts and bruises on my knees

It was my childhood

Memories that I can't quite grasp
But what I can remember is the bright yellow,
Stark against the grass
oh, but look at what grew

all because of the dirt
that they once threw
(our souls were meant
to bruise in galaxies too)
With bamboo husks scattered,
My last bones shattered.
We mourn a loss of bliss,
Draped in fear learnt to dismiss,
I call for all to gather.

The stalks once in my heart,
Intertwined; and broke apart.
I never knew how weak I'd gotten,
As my glacial mind defrosted,
And from within; resilience departed.

My thoughts cannot grow,
Pierced by what I do not know.
I'm getting colder,
I am not a soldier,
I'm a victim to the blow.

As the last bit of me was hollowed out,
I spoke the words of hope through my mouth:
"I will learn to accept the pain,
Rather than soaking it in my veins,
I'll filter it to the ground."
--------------------------------------
I've been looking up what things symbolize feelings, and I've been so excited to write with them.
Apparently, (as far as I've read) bamboo is a symbol of strength in China. I just feel like weakness is such a common emotion, and it takes so much to grow out of.
I hope this isn't confusing.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!!:):)
David N Juboor Dec 2015
My mom
Tells me I'm a gift.

She says love
Is what keeps the atoms
In you and I
Is the moment
She caught my
Father's eye
Is the day
My grandfather died
With a candy kiss on his cheek
She had never tasted something so sweet.

When we were little
We played kickball,
The ground is lava
And hide-and-go-seek.
As I grew I knew most days,
It was harder to find myself;
Let alone somebody else.

And I have been around
Enough center city playgrounds
To see the rich
Pump every bit of spare change
In their veins fighting
A cancer that they
Never learned to put in their past.
To see the poor
Wage wars with themselves
Trying to pick up
Way too much,
Way too fast;

Nobody really knows how to make love last.

So put your prism your heart
Beneath the moonlight.
Refract the wavelengths
Of your wonders
Into ROYGB-eautiful like the sea,
It took a lot of jellyfish to let
people see through me.

And even more mirrors
To find a place I was comfortable
Praying in.

Fraying in doorways
Where I learned hope,
Is looking both ways
On a one way street
Cause it can be so easy to thank God
While you still have bread to eat.

I have never prayed
So hard for a healthy meal
Than the days I remember
The heart is a muscle;
And sometimes the only
Thing we need
Is to "work it out."

And I know that some days,
My doubt hangs my
Smile like Jesus Christ
I never quite learned
How to bleed right.

But if there's one thing
I found from cleaning
The crosses out of the
Empty hallway of my character
Is that you haven't experienced loss
Until you've held two outstretched arms
For years waiting for your innocence to come back.
Nothing, weighs more than the guilt of your past
And nothing throws punches
Faster than the ghost of who you used to be.

And I know it's hard
To stop looking for yourself
Under every bed you
Left nightmares in
And I know it's hard
To be comfortable
In your own skin

But sometimes bars
Aren’t the only thing
That builds a cage
And sometimes
The only way to live
With yourself
Is to stop digging
Your own grave.

You can spend years
Listening to morticians
And never get grounded.
Surrounded by the
Square roots we all share,
By the same air,
We've all got to learn to let go.

To learn that
Holding your breath
Has never been how
Living things
Learn to
Grow
"We're all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we're going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't"
r m b May 2017
It's strange
how childhood felt
like a train ride
that would never stop
like reading a book
with an infinite number of pages

But now you're 19-turning-twenty
and the train has finally
come to a definite stop
the tracks have changed its path
and you've reached the end
the epilogue

It's time to move on
move along and grow up
step off that train
and on to the next adventure
close that book
and start a new chapter

Be brave and brace yourself
for there is more to come
beginnings can be daunting
because it also means
saying goodbye to a life
you've lived and loved.
Note to self.
Happy 20th to me.
hello adulthood I don't want to be here
Colin Tuckett Sep 2010
Mock not my indiscretions.
Much can come from errored choice.
lessons oft come by misdirection,
So give me not the taunting voice.

Ask me when I am older
If my dreams have proven true.
Perhaps by then shall I be bolder,
Humbled e'en, maybe grateful too.

Should I never reach that status
Hold me not with disrespect.
Ask instead how life would shape us
Were we all so circumspect.

Do love me please for what I am.
Hold me dear for all I give you.
I really do the best I can,
Judge me not on what I should do.
CR Franklin Feb 2014
Behind my sternum, exists a void.
Made long ago on this voyage.
Trail and error; attempting remedies
From school, to art, to melodies
Continue to spirits, and Buddha
All these attempts: futile
Confusion, anger, melancholy
They say, "look in to find it's seed"
But how would they react
If they heard what I retract.
That I've looked introspectively,
From sphenoid to chest cavity
And found nothing but a void
Lexi Harwick Jan 2016
a plant grows towards
the sun
as we grow towards
happiness
but the sun is 93 million miles
away
and happiness is out of reach
kaitlyn joy Jul 2018
Closing your eyes
While feeling your skin burn
You've come to despise
The lessons you can't learn

Silently sinking
Through an infinite space
Closing your eyes
As you come face to face

With the water that drowns you
Seeps through your hair
Open your eyes
As you breathe it like air
Cordelia Copson Jul 2015
i suppose that i am like a writing desk,
but in the way that i am like the desk
of the ******* the bus
who whispered "schizoid pop"
and "oh wow" into your stubble
after having downed a bottle of ***** and
attempted to consume you up against a fence

i am like the writing desk of a girl who did never
quite commit herself to anything
no subject nor man, only to pretty girls that would never
ever love her back
i am like the writing desk in the way that i am like the
secret garden, in that i have made myself up
inside my head to be the most beautiful thing

i am only to be unlocked with that key
y'know, the one we fought over it's beauty, before
i threw it into a black bag at the meagre age of thirteen
then learning the sentiment of "if i can't have you, no one will"
that key that had a sordid past that my mother was too afraid to
talk about and too choked up to even cry about so
i guess we were really ******

and now i've learnt the sordid past and the stagnant
nature of letters and i am like a writing desk
in the way i know that i do not have an answer
to anything at all, but least of all myself
i am like a writing desk in the way that i am bright as the sun
and in love with life and suddenly,
devastatingly aware that nothing at all
is what i ever thought it could be
i'm drunk and sad and ******* mr. carroll
Hannah Christina Sep 2018
I bought myself a kite to fly
I tossed it up and ran around
I tried to pull it through the sky
But found it just dragged on the ground.

It landed in the mud, it was mangled, it was done
And thus concludes the tragic tale of the kite I numbered one.

My second kite was different.
It caught a mighty gale
I flew it well, then let it go
And in the end I failed.

It joined released balloons and leaves, whatever else is there
In the *****, lonely cloudland in the out-of-picture air.

I still had hope and so I bought
My final silken bird
I told myself that I would soon
Unleash it to the word.

The kite's debut date got pushed back and further back until
It found a final resting place untested in its skill.

I bought myself three kites to fly
The first two meet ill fates
The third one has a dusty shelf
Where it keeps very safe.
Of dreams and men.

I'll probably change the title and maybe edit more, we'll see.  This was honestly in my drafts for like over two months.  I wanted to finally publish it.
Mikaila Jun 2014
It's true that I never really knew you.
But I did love you
In a certain, breathless way.
In a hushed way.
I was very small, then. And very sad.
And I looked out on a great, green, vivid world,
And I was afraid, even, to whisper into it
As if my breath would push the color out.
I watched. I noticed.
I perched on the edge of myself,
On the line between me
And the air around me,
Too cautious to slip into either fully.
I was used to looking.
I was used to being a shadow, and I enjoyed it.
I thought I enjoyed it.

The day I met you, you looked back at me.
You were the first.
Imagine that- all those years, and you were the first person
To wonder what it was like behind my eyes
Enough to really look into them.

I could have loved you
Just for that
And maybe I did, originally.
I remember small things, small wakings-up,
Tiny moments that made me realize who I was.
I never lived inside myself before that year.
When I met you I discovered
That I had hands
That when the breeze was warm
I felt it
That my fingers could read the world I so loved to look at-
Change it
Mold it,
Have it.
I discovered that maybe I didn't have to exist alone
And for that knowledge
I must bitterly thank you,
For ever since then I have craved to be held,
Every second
And it has been wonderful and terrible.

I remember snapshots of that time.

The first time, when you looked at me, when you stood close to me
And I was so surprised that I forgot to recoil
And I discovered that I didn't want to.
Your eyes,
Pale and warm, a clear grey-blue, sparkling with mischief,
And what was behind them-
Pain, fear, love, wit and imagination.
You.

I didn't know you,
But I saw you.
I was looking. I always look.
I rarely see anything I wish I could write poetry about.
When I do, it keeps on coming, even years later.
Go figure.

I remember going home and laying awake in the dark
And your face wouldn't leave my mind.
You were leaving within the week,
And I didn't want to forget it, somehow.
I didn't know what made me want to look at you.
Thinking of you-
The curtain of dark hair you hid beneath a hat,
Your softly freckled skin,
Your low, husky voice that always made my head turn
As if everyone else was just background noise.
Maybe it was the way your lips would quirk up in a half smile
Whenever you said something witty and knew it.
(I loved that you knew it.)
Somehow the sum-total of you
Stuck with me and wouldn't leave.
I'd met handsome men.
I'd met beautiful women.
I'd met many people, by then,
But none I'd wanted to know quite like I wanted to know you.

It had never occurred to me
Before that summer
That I would ever want to kiss anybody.
When I discovered that I wanted to kiss you...
I didn't know what to do.
So I said nothing.
Did nothing.
I passionately looked at you
As you told your mesmerizing stories and laughed and looked elsewhere.
I didn't mind.

That was the year
Two weeks later
That I rolled over in bed and asked my best friend to kiss me.
That was the year I discovered why I'd never fantasized a white wedding
(It wasn't legal yet.)

In the years after, I searched for you.
Sometimes I found you.
Sometimes
I couldn't stop telling you you were beautiful.
Sometimes I felt close to you
And my heart would race.
Sometimes you chose a boy
Over my small, dainty face and my eyelashes and my high heeled boots
And that was the first time I felt
The now familiar aching shame- the fear
That maybe that would always happen.
The fear I still grapple with, if I am to be honest.

Still, there were moments when you and I were close, and I treasured them.
Once, I asked you for a hug
And you pulled me down onto the bed beside you
And that was the first time
I ever felt my stomach fall through my feet
In a delicious way,
In a thrilling way.
All I did was hug you,
And looked at your soft, brown eyelashes
Casting shadows down your cheeks.
And then somebody walked in and the moment was over
But I never quite forgot it.

You were kind to me.
You were kind to me in a way I hadn't experienced before,
And I wanted to make you smile.

I remember the day you told us why you wore shorts at the pool.
I remember the white hashmarks shining in the sun
All the way up your thighs.
I remember I thought a thousand things in that second.
I wanted to tell you that you didn't have to hide them.
I wanted to show you that you were beautiful.
I've kissed scars since then, you know.
Because of that moment, I've kissed scars before I've kissed lips.
I've left people loved instead of wounded.
If I'd have let myself think such things about people back then,
I'd have wanted to touch those long-healed cuts with my fingertips,
Feel the smooth hills and valleys of a chaotic heart
Made damaged flesh.
I'd have wanted to kiss them, too, like I did to different skin-
Softly and without lust, looking into the eyes that witnessed their creation.
It was a very, very personal thought. A very, very private longing.
So confusing that I locked it up and didn't think of it for years to come.
And when I did once more,
I was raising a pale white wrist to my lips, tracing a wax-white pattern of healed hatred with soft kisses
And I saw what I wanted to see in the surprised, vulnerable brown eyes I was looking into.
That moment for her
Was your fault.

I remember when I realized why you had such trouble eating.
I never did hear all the details.
I couldn't presume to ask.
All I did was watch you walk away from the table,
Burning with the desire to comfort you
But
I was so used to looking
And not touching
And so I watched you go
And thought of you all night.

It rained a lot, those years.
It never seems to rain like that anymore.
Whenever I saw you it seemed to rain at least once,
The sky turning the same grey blue as your eyes when you were thinking
And thought nobody was looking
And cracking open with a rush of rain and lightning and the sweet, low rumble of thunder crackling through the hot clouds high above.
The holes in the road would fill with water
And the whole place would become a river.
It was so free.
Somehow I began to think of you whenever it rained.

I'm almost sure it was your eyes. They were so deep and stormy, sometimes.
Sometimes they were bright blue, like those summer days when the clouds skip along the sky, pushed by warm winds and shattered by sunlight.
Sometimes they looked very, very pale, like the tide when it folds up in satiny layers against the sand.
I always felt a little strange, looking at your eyes like I did.
I couldn't stop.
That was probably why I rarely touched you.
I was afraid that I was already invading, already pushing too much
To see what was inside of you.

I remember listening to you learn lines late at night,
The way your voice would rise and fall,
And I didn't even know why I was listening-
It just pulled me in, a sound I was partial to,
A tone I wanted to feel on my skin.

I remember tagging along for countless adventures,
Making up excuses to be here or there that I knew you'd be
Just so that I could be a bit closer.
I didn't have an end game.
Didn't have a goal.
I wasn't me enough yet. I acted from fascination.
I wanted to stand near you and watch you be.

I have the most vivid memory of you taking off running
One hot, hot summer day
Into a field of tall grass,
Your laughs and shouts echoing further away
And sometimes I'd see your pale arms stretch above the wildflowers and underbrush,
Waving a gauzy net after the white butterflies that rode the sunbeams.
What a happy field that was.
I didn't run.
I watched.
I always watched.
But I remember that the smile that touched my face
Filled my bones.

I remember when you cut your hair
And I could finally see your face in full
And I wanted to photograph it
In black and white
And maybe catch the way your laughter lived in your gaze.

That was when
You started to fade away.
I saw you less,
And you saw me... much less.
Perhaps I should have let you turn away
And never said a thing,
But
You were the first thing I ever really wanted
Enough to reach for in any way.
I spoke, and you heard me.
And even though you pretended you didn't
It was still the first time
I ever shouted.

Now... now I'm not sure what I think of you
Or what
You think of me.
But I know what you were when I knew you
And I love that girl
And that girl
Created much of what I love about who I am.
And most of the time
I think she grew up.
Found a man, found a life, found a place.
Most of the time I think it's okay that we don't talk
Because you probably aren't her anymore.
I wish I could say
I thought I'd grow up like that and leave my skin behind
But
I am the girl who looked at you back then.
And I have been her ever since,
Only added to.
I know I will never outgrow how I love,
Who I love,
Whatever woke up when I first realized how I felt about you.
I will only learn to wield it.

Sometimes I wish I knew you now.
Sometimes I wish I'd known you then.
Just because... look at all the firsts you were, to me,
And for years into knowing you
I didn't even know your real name.
Imagine if you'd let me in, how we could have changed each other.
I wonder who I'd be
If I'd done more than just watch you silently and smile.

What I learned
From years of gazing at you across picnic tables and bunk beds is that
You can love somebody you don't know.
You can give to someone you haven't taken from.
And you can be changed by someone who never even touched you.
And I'd like you to know that.
And I'd like to remind you
That you never quite know who out there
Is quietly writing you poetry.
Tommy Randell Mar 2017
Found your heart in a stone
As I was walking near home
On a beach that was made out of glass
I remember the grief in
You trying to teach me
That moments just couldn’t last
And though we had many
The moments of plenty
They never were going to ring true
Does it matter at all now
I never found out how
There was love in the meaning of you?

‘Cos you lived in a world
That had always been turned
By ambition and ambition’s plans
You had always been deaf to
Those trying to test you
Speaking aloud with their hands
But If there is love in meaning
It is all about leaving
And fire will always burn cold
And the singing of songs
Is where sadness belongs
When Truth is a heart turned to stone

Take the heat from your eyes
Where it never looked nice
And use it to keep yourself warm
I am safe from you stealing
The best of my feelings
My beaches will never be yours
And though there are reasons
To know all of love’s seasons
I like it now winter is done
Along shorelines of glass
I am learning to laugh
By holding you up to the sun

And if life is a maze
I will walk it with grace
And not try to take it with greed
Though I will not forget, love
Those times were the best of
Our bravest attempts to be free
Your heart is a stone then
I’ll take it back home then
To keep as a archive of truth
It can’t hurt me at all now
To at last come to know how
There is love in the meaning of you.
A Song of sorts ... sung to the metre of 'To Ramona' by Bob Dylan (almost) - The first time I learned a chorus wasn't necessary.
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