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Osiria Melody Feb 23
Gray, lifeless desk of blank vastness
Reserved for papers scattered
across its cool surface,
Like a disarray of blankets, leaving
unsuspecting feet neglected


Writing utensils yearning to
engage in a race of writing,
Cannot take off from a jar of
confinement: mini-prison
Liberated from their incarceration,
I pick up a writing utensil and write
Freedom, at last, to write without the
worry of apoplectic judgement

Writing is conversing with yourself,
No fear of judgement except from
your own doing
Lingering for hours like a tree
that's  trying to pull itself
out from the ground

[writer's block]

Black coffee envelopes the room
with a smoky touch
Atrocious LED lamp light glares at me
hard enough to hurt my eyes
Dissonance resonates beyond my
window, a border of security from
letting my creative thoughts
wandering too much
Car music blaring with
Doppler Effect (dissonance)


Frustration, more wary than my
stomach growls, signals that
I've been "out-of-it" for too long
Thought that my work
would be appreciated,
Only to get blank stares as lifeless
as the deceased that repose beneath me
(I hope that I've made them happy)

writer's block?

'Tis nothing eccentric about
being a poet, suppose I

i write in SOLITUDE

My eyes are like camera lenses.
Flo Jul 2018
German is a harsh language
An opinion that prevails
A strong rolled “R”
Noises, making you think
Something is stuck down your throat
Talking, in everlasting anger

Let me tell you something
Let me introduce you
To the beauty of the German language
To the words of “Wanderlust”, “Weltschmerz” or “Geborgenheit”
Many words so unique

Their meaning poetic
Using them yet so difficult
Listen to us closely and you will find out
German is not German
It comes in many forms
It varies by the region, state, country

Every form has its own character
Every accent has its own thrill
Determinable in the way it’s spoken
And sometimes hard to understand
Differences so great,
Yet compromised in a single tongue

German is not as harsh as you think
No anger lies in our tone
Nothing is stuck down our throat
And spoken by the right person
It can be quite melodic
Trying to overcome the stereotypes...
English Jam Feb 2018
The eyes of a supernova seeping into mine
So harsh, so hot, but so soft, so loving
Passionate but patient
So much in so few
It’s so warm

Cheeky grins and burning desire taunt me
So painful, so explosive but so comforting, so alluring
Painstaking but playful
Ablaze though we’re scared
It’s extraordinary

There’s no words to match this melodic image
So sweaty, so intense but so quiet, so calm
Dreamy but real
Like a fantasy
It’s blissful

The sensation of fire melting to stardust
Embrace it, taste it, love it, feel it
Crafted and delicate
Two stars colliding
His pulsating heartbeat needs me
My longing kiss needs him

He’s my lover boy
And I’m his
It’s so warm
Lorrin Feb 12
What’s the point
What’s the ******* point in any of this
What we do what we say
No one gives a ****
Everything is meaningless
Everyone will leave
What’s the point of trying
When all we do is grieve

This endless ******* circle
That eats away my brain
I hate the way I’m feeling
My soul is steeped in pain

But there’s not a way to fix it
It’s just round and round again
I wish that I could do it
I wish that I was brave
I’d pull the ******* trigger
I’d slice the sharpest blade

But here I sit, a coward
Lonely and aware
That nothing really matters
And no one really cares
Purcy Flaherty Jul 2017
I was just in the closet July 1988
Not a word was said; 'sept a couple of whispers and an obvious desire to ****!
Mop buckets, the heat and the stink of her *****,
Harsh staggered breaths tell the tale;
Petulant hands and harsh fingers.
Nickers and pants half pulled down,
Hard truths pushing through,
I had to **** her from behind,
Very confined, quick, clumsy, ******, release.
We both staggered out;  her mate much older waiting outside, bold as brass, she looks me up and down all tough and barks assertively "i'm next!" and **** I was back in the closet 1988
Two brazen cleaners take the new boy in the closet in 1988 extract from my diary.
Amoy Feb 28
I said it once or maybe it was thrice
My words are not nice they cut like knife
What did I say? is it a big slice?
My words are not nice they cut like knife
Can’t I be bold? without paying a price
My words are not nice they cut like knife
I thought was being nice and not mean and cold like ice
My words are not nice they cut like knife
What was the line that pierced through you?
My words are not nice they cut knife
My words change the mood and now you brood
My words are not nice they cut like knife
Why do the lyrics to my song always comes out wrong?
My words are not nice they cut like knife
My words creates an uproar in our vibrational sing-along
My words are not nice they cut like knife
Forgive me my love I know I was wrong
My words are not nice they cut like knife
I’m not trying to create a mash up out of our perfect song
My words are not nice the cut like knife
I don’t want to be afraid to say what’s on my mind
My words are not nice they cut like knife
Don’t let these words make our relationship decline
My words are not nice the cut like knife
We have waited an eternity and now is our time
My words are not nice they cut like knife
I’m sorry Babes I was completely out of line
My words are not nice they cut like knife
I swear I’ll try, I’ll do better next time
My words are not nice they cut like knife
Words aren’t my strongest suit they get intertwined and messes with the baseline
My words are not nice they cut like knife
We are proud individuals
who feed into bold lies
spoonfed like we're blind
by deceitful leaders may they rise.

Technology is forever shoved in our face
hurry up n buy it
before it reaches it's expiration date.
Consuming gadgets at such a fast pace
may that be the devil
that determines your fait.

In the hands of the media we lay
side by side on a sinking ship they say
far, far and further away
we depart from our loved ones
and sink into a screen of shame.

Our children may be able fake a smile
but their tears don't lie.
And though we're letting them
remain on those sites
we sit, we sigh
and we spin our glass of wine
all the while wondering why.

Our elderly generation
worked all their life
hoping in their older years
they would be able to relax for a while
instead they have to sit there
with frail hands and ghostly smiles
overlooking us poison the planet
and see it turn cold and vile.

We drink until our heart is liquor
we love until our love turns bitter
our emptiness then begins to spread
until on the inside we are all are dead.
And it spreads quickly and painfully
like the plague
and everyone is too far gone to save.

"Men are to be machines"
We say with a hand on their shoulder
as we push them out the door
off to a war
which will scar them so much so
that they won't want to live anymore.
Take one last look at your family
and don't you miss them
while you're away!
Because you're a man you see,
your feelings are meant to be astray!

Mass confusion,
we look to the sky
for the answers we need finding
within this cold society.
We disagree until we die
about matters
which have no relevance to you or I
but conflict is the new joy
and may we fight until all is destroyed.

So many harsh whispers in the streets
so many expectations
no one dares to meet.
Some go insane
just to be the same
but just who is this madman that
we all aspire to be?
Does he have a name?
Has be ever been seen?

It's your time to die.
Are you happy
with the content of your life?
Or for the entire time,
were you living a lie?

If you're not happy with the way of
human "progression"
then be the light in a sea of grey
and this horrible game of society
you will no longer play,
and instead serve now to define
a new society.

Jazmine MacIntyre
Inspired by 'Iron Sky' by Paolo Nutini.
Debbie Brindley Aug 2018
My heart is breaking
Can you not hear
****** tears weep silently
life is to hard to bare
Through shattered shards
pockets of sadness
seep in
darkness creeps deeper
under my skin
Run from these feelings
but go where
My heart is breaking

This life's Harsh Lesson
Well yeah


In my face
Poking holes in my personal space
It hurts so bad when unable to fix
When life throws tragedy
into the mix
My heart is breaking
What can I do
But be here
beside the one I hold true
Feeling sad
Keith Collard Jan 2013
I want to be eternally young as my old wolf,
bearing color of the artic sky in the coat.
gray from birth, and gray on dying day.
with clouds of coal,  mist from the bay.
and that double fur, for seasons harsh,
bespeckled to red, with thawed out marsh.

If I was to die like my old wolf did,
Gray as the day I was born,
And in the artic sky will live.....

For my Siberian Princess--Sobaka.
harley rowe Nov 2018
i hope the sun dies and you can’t see
a world of empty opportunity
Esther Krenzin Jul 2018
The ocean booms and rages
And something inside me stirs
at the wild beauty,
ancient power,
and feeling,
that calls my name.

The warm salty breeze caresses
my face,
and as the sun slips into the sky
silhouettes of birds winging their way
amidst the glowing darkness
enter my mortal vision.

I lay in the soft sand,
and pull some into my open palm.
Are we like sand?
Soft and pretty at first,
but once rain falls
and the world throws hardship
at us,
we become harsh
and gritty.

If so, we must learn to
accept that there will
always be rain,
And learn to soften into the
person we are
deep down.

and yet still soft enough to
experience life's joys.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
You are strong. But it is okay to feel. It is okay to have strength that does not bow and does not break.
RK Apr 2016
My mind could never leave me to be.
It was always too busy making plans.
Plans to distract me from myself.
No matter where I went or how much money I spent,
the harsh questioning returned with me.

To the place of discontent...

Processing things with my mind, less,  I moved slowly, watching the progress. Desiring less, noticing a little more rest, a softening.  

A type of  mindfulness...

Leaving the mind alone, and I spoke to my soul softly.
My heart warmed to the gentle caress, liked the peace, 


filled me more,
with less..

It's called blessed.
Cindy Long Aug 2017
I look at my purple and yellow flesh.
Smile at the memory of where you have been.
The harsh and heavy marks of our love.
I bite my bottom lip and press my thighs tight.
Stifle moans from the ache it brings.
Explosions raddle my brain and i wish to be with you again.
I trace the indention of rope along my wrists.
The thin line between pain and pleasure.
How we crossed it; played hop-scotch with it.
I giggle to the excitement of my battered soul.
The snap and ***** of a flogger on my back.
Spiders crawl down my spine with the words,
"You are mine."
N Oct 2017
My bedroom is my prison.
I am locked up with high surveillance.
My guards watching my every move,
yet somehow they see nothing.
A place where misconduct is common,
although the boss never sees.
A cold, harsh feeling always present.
Marks on the wall counting the days until i'm free.
My bedroom is my prison.
And there is no escaping until i'm out.
cv Nov 2016
pressed against the cold bricks
outside the church,
she smiles around your lips,
her breath harsh on your face,
her scent compelling you with want;
you ravish her mouth,
thinking that maybe if you went deep enough,
you could stay inside her forever.
the drizzle comes to a stop,
and you hear nothing but the pastor saying:
Refrain from sin,
and He will let you in His Kingdom
paradise means nothing if i'm not with you, darling
Lore and Legend Jul 2018
Down, down pours the rain
Producing on all a jewel-like stain.
Tear drops of Angels or deep sign of love?
Thundering fury or tranquil dove?

Each tiny drop glimmers with life
Creating a river to succor wildlife.
Now soft on skin, now harsh as rock
See how they shine on leaves of hemlock.

Down, down pours the rain
Pitter-pattering down the lane.
Hush, Dear Child, and do not cry,
Sleep to Nature's lullaby.
Midnight Sun Jul 2018
I've traveled through cold blue
painted my wounded wings to aglow
shimmering yet breathless dark
beneath your harsh silence and
warm sighs for the sacred scratch....

Listening To: Ray LaMontagne - Empty
Cindra Carr Dec 2010
Harsh light falls on my fearful face
She stop thumped against my heart
Gliding night on crinkled tights
She worked and quirked her way in to me
Shoulders clinched as she spun her drift
She stomped trod on my soul
Set aloft in the ***** air
My eyes slopped their tears
Wet down her hair as she clenched
Lips dragged drug down my neck
Lamp lit light flung down and low
Fearful thoughts because I’ll crawl back
Fearsome thoughts as she works again.

Lizzy Oct 2016
deep inside me
there are words
that have been buried
under mountains of anxiety.

they make me sick
as i try to fight them,
hold them down,
keep them silent.

they're begging me
to uncover them,
to throw away fear
so they can breathe.

but i can't
i can't
i can't let them see the sun
its much too harsh for
how fragile they are
I need to tell you of things, love
both harsh and beautiful
things that weigh heavy on the soul
and threaten to stain the sun

A world like ours, is full of shadows
never let that dim your eyes, stars like those
were born to sparkle and shine rebelliously

Let them rage, against the night and those
who seek to keep the world in darkness
let them rage, my child
until the blinded see

Life is seldom fair or just
but vengeance and hatred
should never be given the chance
to call a heart as beautiful as yours, home

Remember, you are not
just pretty words spoken
but every deed done, in light
and in every dark corner
A poem to my daughter Madison.
Kathryn Maurine Mar 2017
How horrible it was
to wake up to your cries for help.
I came to find you had fallen,
your oxygen disconnected,
the clear tubes lying in a tangle
on your bedroom floor.

At first, you had been conscious,
your beautiful brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly,
and then you were gone.

I was alone and terrified,
having dealt with this before
I couldn’t say it was anything new,
but this time was different than the script of
past events.

Wishing I could escape like a bird in flight,
I knew I had no power to save you,
The harsh truth of my reality
suffocated me. My walls closing in
as I realized what was happening
in this moment.

Prior to this,
you had always made it to the hospital alright,
arguing with paramedics,
but this time,
you were motionless and cold.

I’ll never forget the blue stillness of your lips,
or the way the light left your eyes
as you departed the material world
and finally found peace in eternal rest.
requiescat in pace
Gemma May 2018
Take your shoes off ,
Unclip you bra ,
Hang your hopes on a washing line,
And spend some time inside , absorbed by the harsh reality of not feeling comfortable about who you are.
They can't judge behind closed doors ,
And invitations are the only way of entrance ,
The fake smile can be consumed by your quiet habitation,
You can return to your own version of normal.
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