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Morgan Mercury Jul 2013
I found you in the cracks of winter. On our first date, we drank tea from cups bigger than our faces. You also told me you wrote poetry. I noticed how every time you would lick your lips before you would speak. The first time you read me a poem your window was open and it was raining. Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat six times. I was smitten. After our third date, I showed you my favorite place in the world. I took you to a bay on the outskirts of town. I told you the stories I carved into the sand a long time ago. I told you I came here every time the world kept turning but I felt as though I've fallen off, waiting for a guitar solo crash or a midnight knock on my window.

I wanted to tell you, you were my midnight knock. You let me hold your book of poems that night. There were bite marks in them from when you said you climbed up in trees back when you were as tall as the kitchen counter. We had conversations of Bon Iver and soccer as we laid on the sandy bay.

I realized that night I wanted to be there with you when the clock swallows up your time and watch indie movies on Netflix when there is nothing good on TV. I turned to look into space and swallowed all my feelings. I felt hollow when I looked at you and noticed your skin was old and tired. But you looked at me like you were young. You said I was the first to make you feel this way. I was smitten.

At first, I looked at you like a star but ended up seeing the whole solar system.
kgl Nov 2015
i tried to write a poem
i've been trying for a while
to write the ways in which you always
seem to make me smile

i've tried to tell our stories
through the medium of rhyme
but every time i start to type
the words fall out of time

it's always been so simple
i can write when i feel wrong
but it all seems so unnatural
now i feel like i belong

i don't think i can do it
'cause i don't know where to start
so if i see you in my poems
it will mean you broke my heart.
i genuinely can't write when i'm feeling so **** happy all the time
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
She's like devil himself
Except she's real
I ask her how she looks at me
What she thinks and how she feels
She just smiles
And says "That's not the deal"

She can't be trusted
But she's all I have
And like an old rusted car
She's the best but breaks my back
And when it's over
I'll realize that I love being trapped

I'm bound to fall
It's just who I am and what I do
And when I tell her so
She will laugh and sleep with you
And stumble home
Smelling of someone else's truth

I think I like it
When she tells me she's not in love
Because if I'm being honest
I have never really been enough
And I've made my peace with that
Just as long as she likes it rough
we're all just after
the space where we plug in

over and over
mismatched switchboard
unfit cords and sockets

you can jam it in forcibly
breaking both parts
not meant to collide

but sometimes
two tools magnetize
gravitational field owned

by both

like the driver
screws itself in
compelled
intuitive spin

genius designs, aligned
moving compulsive

tugged hypnotic
beyond mind
Poetemkin May 2018
When I before the LORD will stand
and fall o'erpowered by glory grand
I know that, yet unworthy, I'll go free

My sin deserves a judgement fierce
my soul with pangs of torment pierce
in death and hell for all eternity

I know my guilt; I am ashamed
'twas by my hand God's Christ was maimed
I am the one led Him to Calvary

I built His cross, I drove the nails
by my spear was His side impaled
and my mouth mocked and jeered His agony

I live my life, day in, day out
my liberty, my freedom flout
as if I am my own authority

Angér and malice, vengeance too
bittérness, lust, to name a few
are fruits that I bear — Ah! too frequently

But on a cross, atonement made
the Son of God in stone tomb laid
then raised again in mighty victory

I am not worthy LORD to share
the triumph, nor to be an heir
of majesty; but say Thou "Come to me?"

Thou art exalted on the throne
all-glorious, lifted up alone
all falling, bowing to Thy sov'reignty

What credit dare I claim to own?
what merit have I ever shown
that Thou wouldst come to bleed and die for me?

O! Praise the Lamb Who paid the debt!
the ransom met, the sinner set
in place of blood-washed, snow-white purity

O! Praise the man who in my stead
was beaten, smitten, slaughtered dead!
This miracle: that God would die for me!

Thou art The Life, The Truth, The Way
Thou art the Everlasting Day
Thou art the Son of blesséd Trinity

Thou art Creator of the world
Thou art expressed though Thy Son: Word
Thou art the Father in the Trinity

Thou art our Comfort, and the Breath
of Life that comes at our sin's death
Thou Holy Spirit — third in Trinity

We cry "Holy, holy, holy!
only Thou art LORD Almighty
Thou Father, Son, and Spirit; Trinity!"


O! LORD my God show my Thy face!
Encompass me with Thy great grace!
"Behold, my child, there is a place by me"

O God I long to hear Thy voice!
I aim to make of Thee my choice!
"Seek my face is my message unto thee"

I did not know — could not foresee —
that by His death I'd be set free
that through His wounds my path to heaven be

He knew the pain, He knew the loss
He knew that shame came with the cross
yet bore the sin His Father would not see

What will it take keep me true
to Thee, the One Who bore me through
in love took on Thee my just penalty?

What can I say? Where can I go?
Which poor souls can I make to know
the gospel of Thy great act of mercý?

I could have been Thy servant sent
unto the world, if I but went
when Thy call came to me with clarity

I cried that I would surely go
if where Your call was I did know
but in Thy Word Thou saidst to all "go ye"

I claimed I'll spend and will be spent
affirmed to serve whate'er it meant —
if only I had spoken truthfully

When I for Thy pure presence cry
I still yet by my life belie
that this request is made in honesty

I walk the race; I beat the air
I wallow deep in my despair
I live in sham of Christianity

Discontent, self-satisfied
I ought to be contrariwise
and grant to myself base ignominy

Without I am not seen profane
in heart I have with many lain
they — innocent — are ravaged lustfully

My eyes my master, I, the slave
feign to resist, then comes the cave-
in to that thing from which I ought to flee

In grief I curse my wicked heart
I hide, afraid to seek new start
ashamed of my great sinful misery

I strive to make the outside clean
within the bones of dead men lean
on white-washed walls of stone-cold vanity

Depravéd I keep under lid
those sins to which men's eyes are hid
confessing not, to liberated be

Just yesterday, lift' up in pride
of holiness (but my heart lied)
I thought was in me; my great piety

The fool! I, ignoble soul
my mind under fleshlý control
why do I not surrender now to Thee?

Surrender true? Surrender not?
Surrenders of the past forgot:
surrender now with freshened fervency

Jehovah — Thou the Holy God
original, uniquely odd
the awesome fullness of all Deity

My God Thou must by Thy hand draw
me to Thy side and I in awe
must simply yield and fall in faith on Thee

My God, the Master, Lord of Peace
My King, the source of all increase
The Faithful One, and my security

The Great and Mighty Holy One
Who sent to us His only Son
The One with Whom I will forever be

In my dark past, a world of shame
Where I — unworthy — wore Thy name
Thou in Thy mercy drew me unto Thee

But still within my wicked heart
Lay sins from which I would not part
The lusts which I have clung to desperately

Thy peace I cannot ever know
When still the seeds of sin I sow
When I yet practice flesh-fruit husbandry

I know Thy Word doth fully show
For Thee to come my sin must go
Thou wilt not stomach my coregency

My body's temple, my heart's throne
But one may have it; one may own
And only I can ever take the knee

Thy sovereignty will bow to none
At our world's end we'll bow as one
I must submit — so why not willingly?
labyrinths Dec 2016
like the cool summer wind you came as the sun fell beneath the horizon
and the moon poked its shiny bald head out, in a vague attempt
to make everything  right you held my hand from dusk until dawn
we named constellations and spoke of imaginary lives
that you promised would come true should i have the patience to wait

but as the sun began to rise, you packed my bags,
you rushed me to the station,
you bought my train ticket
with the words good riddance
underneath your breath
like a smack in the face
with desperation
i begged
you
to let me stay

you left before the train did and as it pulled out of its tracks
with the sound of speed, the sight of powerlines and blurry trees

and i am (another broken promise, another mistake,
another you, another me, another ex, another us,
another one that bit the dust) gone
Francis Rowell Mar 2018
she uses smallish words
medium, i guess
she wears converse
and she’s nice, i guess
she’s funny
and she cares
she’s stylish,
sight-impaired

and i love her
but she doesn’t know
to what extent
i guess
wow.
Zoe G Dec 2018
I pull him closer
my head is on his shoulder
he's stroking my hand
and I tell him we were meant to be
we can recite each other's
wishes
on command
we know each other's secrets
and we have plans
to make each other better
sitting on the rocks
some place far away
watching the waves
crash
that day
in my dreams
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
Tanya May 9
i hate the fact,
we held hands
on the cold January night-
we kept each other warm.

i hate the fact,
i let Your lips kiss mine-
i’m sorry
if i did it wrong.

i hate the fact,
your hands held my body
as if it was the most beautiful
violin in the world-
my strings broke,

i’m hurt.

i hate the fact,
we cooked together -
now i can’t look at food.

i hate the fact,
Your fingers ran through my hair,
as if it was silk and You, a sewer-
I want to cut it short.

i hate the fact,
I opened myself to You,
my home -
and You left;
please, come back,
You didn’t close the door.

i hate the fact,
my ears were so used to
the words you spoke
that Van Gogh no longer seems
like a man done wrong.

i hate the fact,
your eyes stared at mine
like a blind man saw the sky;
i can no longer find the constellations
at night.

i hate the fact,
Your soul hugged mine
so warm,
i felt home.

i hate the fact,
You came and took from me,
and like a foolish girl-
i’m still crying over memories.

lastly,

i hate the fact
You had to leave
and so did all my parts
You’ve ever touched,
You’ve ever kissed.

They ripped apart  
so hard,
so painfully,
away from me
that i’m still

                      bleeding.
I hope You find happiness.
harlee kae Feb 2014
Back before anyone knew
there was something between me and you.
It was a secret kept,
for just us two.
I would hold your hand, given the chance,
And no one gave us a secod glance.
They didn't think it was strange or queer
That when you were around, I was near.
You weren't filled with anger.
I wasn't filled with hate.
And march the 12th wasn't even an important date.
Back then was the time that you and hattie were the best of friends,
And sleepovers weren't questioned with "i don't know... depends"
Now my life is different.
Your life is different too.
I really miss the time when it was only me and you.
September Roses Jul 2018
A little box
Without a key
You hold an air
Of mystery
To sit and glare
Right up there
Flashing red in front of me

I am the one who fills it
And I fill it with myself
No one would guess what's in you
Sitting up atop my shelf

I have thought of your discovery
The pros
And all the cons
But looking at my history
All candidates are wrong

So I suppose you'll stay a secret
I'll keep you to myself
Painted red,
Flashing dread
Little box on my shelf
Please forget you saw this
Yall feel free to tell me why you guys all like this poem so much. Curious
harlee kae Jun 2014
everything makes me think of you
and i guess thats my fault
for holding on too long.
Ken Pepiton Aug 23
drumm drumm drummed in two
ranks of
auto-
filers whacking keys and levers and springs
slamming
edged
quantum of scripture
i e o u y vowels of no need-- back in cunieforming time
then came those monkeys with the typesetters
whose keys never got stuck
uno
marko per stroke
five 'undred per bit of etaoinshrdlu
click click cliche'
time measured by degrees in fractual
sym-metry wit' bio me

Tumeric kicks in,
eases the swelling of the bubble.

Imagine the imaginings of a child reading
funny papers
in the privy, smokin' grapevine for no

known reason, or,
maybe it appeased the flies, while I sat
upon the throne
in a tower of my own

wandering through memories of
Terry and the Pirates saving Dalai Lama
from the clutches of
the abomb-in-abled snowman,

Yet-i isis now, the Prince of Persia, once more?

No, this battle is not mine. This
war
was
won;

at that crossroad in Perry's Cafe
when the offer was made: star a footnote here
aster-risks have not been invented... we must reduce opacity.
histoical he refused the deal but  did Write the course
"The Internet in One Day"

work for hire, a good gig, then Netscape went public,

reality validated verification of the efficacy
of Feynman's reversible NAND gates,

the future was super positioned
No taxes, tarriffs or tithes; pay flat
twenty percent
for eighty in return, guaranteed in for by of
we, the people's adaptation to

Paredo's Principle versed in Solomonic Wisdom,
re-de-clearing no non new things
under the sun,
trial by

total emersion in a sea of green sans
yellah submarine,

acid etched re
collectibles dust and debris,
flotsam jetsome wetsome old girls dream

it's now, the future, 2019, and some
of us
survived the seventies in hiding,

we're back.
wee voices you ignore at your peril,

not every inspiration is from for by good.

Some are.
Some words live in the sounds they make,
hocus pocus
abra
cadabra, for instance... is heard by children

as the leaven-less wafer
transmogrifates at
the spoken words Hoc es Corpus

Genutim, non factum
magic
thinking is nothing like

what you thought, child.

The message is believable, the messengers
may
be otherwise. EH? ***-eye-say-- eee- eh?

Self-evidence is acceptible, take a hold,
get agrippa comprehension

sweet-almost
persuasive enough to mask the bitter
ever
after taste of century eggs left in the fridge too long

Biome, bio-me, self-effident-icacious
conch-ious
ness, ac
knowledged... these words lived
once,
the eggish-isms egging us on, go
on, only you...
not me, I'll wait
I've slipped, I've fallen... where's the beef? Was this a common quest?

1972. Sheizbomb, pirate orange sunshine.
1973. We reached escape velocity
1974. Trajectory changed
1975. Lost contact, she's near Cuyguna
1976. Prego
1977. Aha, the reason is born

Future 2019 will seem as real as you may
imagine. I promise,

Ever after, all, as real as you may
imagine. I promise

look, see self evident truth, act asif you know
and understand
angel talk

there remains a rest for the cadabre we inhabit,
"Dancing Queen" "Fernando"
Abba's body of disco hits, missed
by missing one decade and a half,

in sanct-if-ication vacation
to become a hermit when I grew old, if ever,

hoc corpus, eh, as long as faith remains
rememe-r-able post Sini-ification of Suffering,

(the Dragon from the East is not the beast
embodied in the west with golden head,
silver breast, brazen *****, iron legs
and flaking rusting feet of steel
stuck
in sludge ponds and stump ponds and undrained
swamps and sloughs {called wet lands by frogs and ducks})
Ah, so

The golden-green-blue dragons gracing slotmachines,
lure hopers to the slime, not
green Nickleodean slime, real slime from century eggs white
jelly gone dark, dark brown and stinky...

even if i'd tried, I'd never have imagined
eating a century egg
sans chewing, just
gulp
swallow it whole. Din't choke gk kg.

deja vu? no, you missed something.

waiting is being
Dalai Lama, half-scientist, half-otherwise aware
there, in exile,
remains hoping a peace past standing under the
acknowledging of good
and evil,

new mercies on one side, meaculpa, mea
maxima culpa,
on the other.

Who pays? Me or Jesu or the pariah one step
up from a cockroach?
Wait and see. Be still.

Don't ask Mother Teresa, she had no clue.
But she finished what she began,
that was her plan,

skip as much purgatory as abody can stand
imagining worth it all.

Me, says the hermit,
I took the grace Noah found. Wait and see. Get ready.

Google translate the Latin Mass, then imagine it
being a message you must hearken to

drum drumm drummmed into your brain before
your prefrontal
cortextual tester circuits formed and your responses

were ever etched
on the tables of your faith belivin' childheart,
sweetheart,

just think, what if good news gathering is
even-jelly-if I can. Evangelical, if I say-tion sugar pi,
event-tually we see, fine,
details, points to every true story

a bed of nails no liar may rest upon

'fi say so, semper fi.

{evangelicum laude graduates bher no bad news in ever}
--phi beta kappa, key that opens what?-- do you know

what meaning signals breathe? beat?

Take great gulping gasps of air,
affording your self
evident right

to surface, as a bubble you can breathe in.
I think we're alone now

there doesn't seem to be any one around, now

1977, that was four whole decades ago?

Right. And whenever you are, dear reader, this was
ever ago. I testify, I examined this life.

It has been worth the effort. Now I wait. Still.
Try it. Here, there,

no condemnation, the act it self just
is null-ift before asif goes whatif and we lose our value,

we balance madness. We work closely with Cleo,
she handles historical re visioning.

time out-- essential term screams for discretion, get to the grain---
What noise is this... mmmmm
Muse- muse- just, muse like
music, drummm drummm hummmmm
Define, fine, granularity, like salt or sand or sugar
but qualia
mysterium familiarus

Term definition. Lord means h'laf weardan, {Welsh}
warden,
protector of our bread,
by which man does not live alone,
owner of the tower in the vinyard where your captive enemies
languish in your wishless hate.

We wait,

we companions be, joined by the leaven from the sky

leaving footprints in granulated sugar salted sand,
feel it,

sorta sticky, like toe-jam. like mebbe toejam spreader
and the Walrus was
CS Lewis level mere signposts at degrees of little thinker
steps tick tic tic
spiraling
clock wise from up,
counter-clockwise from down

forward, ever onward, off is impossible in the land of on,
here for ever is
too much good stuff,

but that lasts (to the same level of qualia judgment degree)
mere mortal moments

flash. Here we be, wondering and wandering, to an fro,
to get a feel,

for real. This can't go on for ever, they say.
Shall we see, I say... as I passed away.
Life goes on, and no lie follows

Listen,
it's finished, that's all we need say. Live on. Be good,
or die trying. No lying about anything.

What if ever did begin and you simply failed to be aware?
Musing, as a pass time, not a wast of time nor a killing of time, but a use by right of time. This is my examined life. I find it worth living more loudly as I age. The ripeningin, reminds me of cheesy-ness.
Undone Jul 2018
I guess she was the one
And I was just for fun








I don’t blame you
I don’t want me either
I wish I was good enough
swaggmaster Feb 7
sometimes it seems too easy
slurping into a man who pleases me
makes me feel queasy
but all he does is tease me
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