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SG Holter May 2014
There's room for your every
Blade between my ribs.
I have a thousand other
Cheeks to turn when

You need to fling
Frustration from the channels
Of your heart's palms.
I can take all your punches.

I am a statue to your weathers.
I am the sound of handfulls of
Dirt and pebbles against an empty
Casket. I can take out my every

Nerve, my heart, my pain centre
And place it in a pocket; take it
All back out when you need to
Dillute your tears with mine

Over some matter that weighs
Heavy on the hearts of little
Girls playing with big boys; falling
From swings designed for

Denser bones and hands rough
From climbing. I am the teddy
Bear missing an eye and a limb,
Exposing stuffing through seams

Torn from being dragged over
Stairs and through sandboxes,
Always a thump behind little legs
That carry love for it, unequal to

Any.
jeremy wyatt Feb 2011
february 1943

Two still bodies embrace
snow-clad where they died
won't anyone move them
or push them aside
passed away looking deep
into each others eyes
a last look of love
no time to cry

2 days before

Father wanted to **** and eat her little cat
like he killed her wee brother
when the drink made his demon come out
Joshua tried to stop father climbing into her bed
so he beat his head to porridge then took her to his room..
but now he wanted to **** the wee cat so she ran into the storm
clutching the poor sick thing to her inside her thin clothes
like she wished she could clutch joshua again
they hadn't eaten for days the cold bit hard and deep
the liquidation squads were all around
he made her carry food for him
gave her some which she shared with the cat
she always ran fast and hard noone to match her
deep into the woods till she could run no more
lying in the snow storm blown out jewels of ice
strewn far and wide handfulls of magic star-diamonds
she counted them till she saw the grey light rise in the south east
the poor cat was dead passed in the night
to weak and small to fight another day of fear and cold
she cried knives of grief for hours
then scratched a deep hole in the ice and ran on leaving it behind

No cat soul falls away unseen
slowly paced the spirit queen
paused above light on the snow
eyes on fire with an ancient glow
the  kitten climbs out of it's tomb
spirit flows cat mother womb
an eternity  of play and sleep
so for this cat-soul do not weep

she was at the end of her endurance when they found her
a ***** bunch of Russian soldiers and peasant refugees
the men would have treated her badly but there were women there
they warmed and tried to feed her
she wouldn't eat
just stared at the youngest of the soldiers and moved her lips slowly
"Hey Pavel, she thinks your name is Joshua, are you a jew too?"
That gave them a laugh at his expense
He was sorry for her she was alone and dying

They moved on the next day left her to die wrapped in a blanket
Pavel had gone missing by midday noone gave a ****
maybe he fell into the snow and went to sleep
maybe he went to sit by the 10 year-old girl
who thought he was her brother
maybe he smiled as she smiled
little cat spirit rubbing her dying legs
maybe he smiled as he pulled the pin from his grenade
and held it to their chests
Pikachu Nov 2015
Ok, you can laugh, 'cause this might seem absurd,
it's weird and very crazy, yes, weird is what you heard,
I like to think they bring tons, and handfulls full of luck,
'cause I much want to collect every type of rubber duck!

From the original to the modern type,
from monster ducks to ducks that skype,
from ducks that are theives and like to rob,
to angel ducks that do their job.

There's so many to collect and buy,
to say I have them all would be a lie,
I'll tell you when I get six more,
but for now my number is ninety four!

Rubber ducks are cool and rubber ducks are great,
rubber ducks I appreciate!
To say my last line, I will not stall,
but to describe this poem, I have to say LOL!
XD
SG Holter Jun 2014
I walk around touching.
I walk around touching objects
-Hanging or resting-
That carry shards of our
History in their origin.
My hands remember
The warmth of your back
Against my palm.
Sun lotion between my fingers,  
Denmark. Summer.
You tasted like xcide and your  
Mother's Marlboro Light.
Laughed.
Kissed me;
Soft but hard. Soul to my soul.
We were so completely happy.

This quill pen you made me
To inspire my words.
Draw us with your poetry.
To write about you drawing
A picture of me writing
About you.
Taking in; transferring.
I've written you
Volumes.
Volumes.

Picture.
I touch and smile.
Trace your face with
My fingers, your
Mouth. My God, your
Mouth...
You let me touch your
Teeth when you smiled.
I cried then, even during the
Good years.

I take it in. Dig deeper in memories
To strain my soul, and tattoo... and
Claim these moments as
Mine forever; graven into
The marble tablets of
My mourning mind.
Feeling the farewell with
My every fibre
And gaping, face soaking wet,
At the Heavens in a
Silent scream of
**** You God! She's gone!
GONE! FUUUUUUUCK!


Like some kind of miner or
****** of some sorts
Craving pain and beauty in
Equal handfulls,
Tearing and ripping
At the remains of something
That just days ago
Wasn't dead.
ryan Nov 2016
Edge of the bed, glasses on nightstands,
Clickings of lamps, handfulls of medicine,
Blankets rising, clothes falling,
Darkness falling, eyes adjusting,
Toes curling, laughing ensuing,
Warmth enveloping, snoring crescendo,
Fan spinning, grips tightening.
jSweptson Feb 2011
TURBLENT WATERS ON THE BOIL
BUBBLING UP FROM DEEP BELOW
BLOOD OF NATIONS
JUST A DROP OR TWO
WILL FIT THE TASTE
TOSS IN GOOD SIZED CHUNKS
OF THE FORGOTTEN
SLOWLY TURNING UP THE BLAZE
THREE PINCHES OF HALF TRUTHS
A CUP OF MISTRUST
WHILST THE BOBBLE HEADS STIR ALL THE WHILE
A POUND OF IGNORANCE MIXED WITH LOTS OF STUPIDITY
AH! ITS A THING OF BEAUTY
ALL SET TO BOIL
THE SMELL OF HELPLESSNESS
PERMEATES ONES SENSES
ALL THE BOBBLE HEADS KEEP THE TURMOL A STUR
NEAR THE END TOSS IN SEVERAL HANDFULLS OF HATE
TO THICKEN THE BROTH
A CUP OR TWO OF RACISM
THREE QUARTERS CUP OF GREED
A HEAPING TABLESPOON OF RELIGIOUS CONFLICT
SERVE WITH A HUGE SLICE OF APATHY ON THE SIDE


jSweptson
YoungGentleman17 Dec 2014
Family what family mane me my brothers and mom been struggling for years
When we needed yall yall disappered
Most of them dont even calls
But feel guilty once one falls

I can honestly count maybe two handfulls of people as my real fam
While the others Prolly wouldn't give a ****
What kind of family talks bad about others
Like my mom for example people in the family judged her along with me and my brothers
To those who did it remember God dont like ugly

Yall better learn soon
We struggled our whole life
We never had the silver spoon
To whom reads this i dont mean to sound mean
But i got a sister cousin and relatives i haven't even seen

To my brother L Christopher Haynes-Rhodes speedy and sisters Ashley Rhodes maury and LarChelle Haynes we know our other mom to faces pain but as i write this poem i want us to build upon each others struggle for a happiness to regain its not like the others really care we dont even have get togethers nor reunions to

Smh we gotta do better as a family right now my mom has been in the hostpital for nearly a week for the ones Who came to see her who texed her and sent gifts i thank you all it's good to see that a small amount of people care and even the ones who said they ll pray as well
To everyone who is family on my mom and dad side if you can i want you all to share this if not spread the word  because this is not only a poem but this is a message

The day we become one whole will be a moment. Of truth i dont know how long it ll take but the only way that ll come true is if we all be real with one another besides fake thats all i have to say
I thought a family was suppose to bring happiness seems like mine is the opposite
Mike Bergeron Sep 2012
Let the teeth rot from my skull,
And drop like culls
From a rack that's too old,
The house is cold
So failing, full
Of mold,
Let me go
Please,
It's just one request,
Only one
Chance to
Emulsify my best
Efforts
And fill your glass
With inadequate
Drops
Of a hard rain
That's difficult
To swallow,
Follow me outside,
Let's walk among
The silhouetted
Sunset trees,
The storms
Of gnats
And mosquitoes
That hover
Over gravel
Paths,
And remark,
As if we don't know,
"Unmarked graves
Where flowers grow."
And watch
As ghosts of
Shuffled feet
Fill the air
With clouds of dust,
Still glistening
With the heat of the day,
Please,
Just please stay,
Stay with me, marionette,
Till the wolves come and play,
They'll hide as we seek
And whisper
While we speak
Of whiskey dreams
And the reasons
We have to keep
Digging in sand,
Scooping handfulls
Of teeth,
Filling the gaps
In between
With phosphene
Screams.
Quote credit to Arcade Fire
Kittridge James Oct 2012
My fists repeatedly striking her face,
oh, how right it feels.
The way her nose crunches when it breaks,
oh, how right it feels.
The chunks of her skin under my nails,
oh how right it feels.
These handfulls of hair that I clutch,
oh, how right it feels.
Her screams of pain and suffering,
oh, how right it feels.
How her face turns purple as my grip tightens,
oh, how right it feels.
How her heartbeat starts to slow down,
oh, how right it feels.
When her eyes roll back,
oh how right it feels.
When her chest falls for the last time,

HOW ******* RIGHT THIS FEELS!!
Atlas Jan 2014
I am lost.
How can I fix this?
Which pills work the best?
Handfuls upon handfuls
Of tainted emotion
Robotic and soulless.
I dream and pretend
With justification
And self denials.
I need help.
I have been drawn
Towards my old habits
Of blissful *****
And handfulls of fixed happiness.
Jeff Dingler Jan 2015
Too Many Smiling People Blues

Before I was a nobody slinking by,
a real skink-body nobody.
Now they give me handfulls
of money and call me a genius.

Thanks, thanks very much, I’ll take this.
I’ll take your money that slithers to no ends
but wait… my friends, where are my precious friends?
There’s nothing but pink smiles all around….

I used to sing songs in the dark.
Now they put a shiny guitar in my hands,
and I make music to shiny coins, crank it out, and when
it’s all over they say, “that’s good, now can you stand

on your hands?” And there’s not even
enough energy to frown. O’ ain’t it a bringdown,
when everybody’s got a piece of you
and there’s nothing but smiles all around.

And it used to be the only one
I could get to listen was you, baby blue…..
You and me alone all those windy, sleepy years,
and when I sang a tune you were the only one that got it.

Now I look through the screaming crowd,
who eat my energy, shouting, “We get it! We get it!”
But your smile is nowhere to be found, and O’
ain’t it a bringdown when everybody’s got a piece of you

and there’s nothing
          but smiles all around….
Muck monster Feb 2016
We're just tic tacs
Stuck toppled over each other

In a box
In a pocket
In a purse
Or a socket

Just tic tacs waiting
We'll be bought and eaten

Used selfishly
Eaten in ones
In pairs
In threes
In handfulls

As a snack
To be sold
Freshen breath
Eaten when bored

Just tic tacs in a box
Juggled on the road
By people bigger than us
Who can use and abuse

Dispensable tic tacs
One after the other

All the same
Abigail Sedgwick Jul 2017
Picture it:
a frenzied,
perhaps slightly insane,
blur of a woman
organizing blankets
by their color
and folding socks
so tiny that they
end up looking
like cherry tomatoes.

Picture it:
mint green walls
covered in lambs
and handfulls of
un-filled picture
frames (plus a
hidden smudge
and nail, because
I'm no good with
a hammer).

Picture it:
a belly so big
and beautiful
it takes up more
space technically
than it does
physically because
it outshines
itself with vibrant
life and punches
and rolls.

Picture it.

Oh.
Just picture it.
4 weeks and counting! So in love with this baby boy.
I loved my gardening but as well the oldies
Nothing much went to the tip filled it so
My favourite Bearded Iris loved them
But always the old Snap Dragons to grow

Buckets old boots wheel barrows too
Jonquils and Snow drops loved my roses
Fragrent always strong in masses where ever
At times annoy delicate and touchy noses

Merigols pretty and very useful where they
Buttercups loved them throwing then around
Handfulls of wildflower seeds I'd throw about
Digging in wet newspaper for worms in the ground

My garden my home outside  loved as much as any
Little nooks to sit and read think awhile under trees
Magnolia's port wine pink and white I loved ever so
Even upon a lovely springtime night and breeze

Anything no longer useful I filled it up with Azalias
Loved blosom on the fruit trees where ever I could
If I still lived in the Snowy Valley I'd still do these things
Planting mosses in any old piece of rotting wood

https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/06/b0/11/0b/prairie-gardens-adventure.jpg

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

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