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Jamie Riley Apr 2018
They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

Sun beams brighten motley roofs
on tessellations which blacken beige
in blurry air.


An artificial cloud.

“Look,” she points, “Let’s go!”

She takes him and they fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

“They’re coming!
"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and drive the mute beasts's sounds.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;



he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner.

Long strides

too fast to follow.

She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and a beast crashed in.

She turns and the fear is paralysing.



He leaps down steps
and explodes
as it rams her
to and fro,
bashing her head
against the wall
where horns sin
and horns gore
cement and brick.

He grips the tail
heaving its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine,

he slips and slides
in fractured glass
and finds a horn
and yanks the head;

is yanked instead,
half dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to shout and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer
fast and frantic
flying flustered
by the frenzy
finding the





"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"

His hands bleed
and flesh breathes.

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy, she tends to him
with searching hands,
and scolding words.
Men and women
fuss and frown,
always making sure.

"Podria haber sido peor"

Another story for the herd.
This poem is about an incident which happened to my Grandparents, Fermin Yanguas Ochoa and Raimunda Ramos Frias.

It was during a bull run in their village (Fitero) in Navarra, Northern Spain. 1972
Donna Dec 2018
I love days indoors
Tottering around my house
Loving my quietness
Finished work now till the new year wow it’s been non stop lately especially with Christmas just round the corner ,  so it’s  so nice to be at home now just unwinding  , makes me appreciate my life even more :)
Donna Aug 2018
Plates have all been washed
Coffee is brewing warmly
Raindrops have settled
It's been a Rainy afternoon but looks like it's stopping now :-)
Donna Nov 2018
Today the clouds met
For a long boring meeting
So I stayed indoors
Relaxing day indoors pottering about been nice x
would you listen or laugh at me
           for claiming love's an ocean?
neither a knife, nor a blindfold
                                                      .­..but a sea.
there's a human-borne catastrophe.
                       cast your eye upon those with no share.
          the contents of their buckets
are polluted and impure
                                yet all but 5%
                                goes unexplored.
do you find yourself choking in your sleep?
  why watch the waves from safe dry ground
                                                  when you could delve in deep?
do you live in fear of unchartered seas
                                                   and life still left unfound?
are you overheating if only not to drown?
we 'love addicts' are water children.
i run outside and taste the rain.
  let's go! let's drink! let's swim! let's bathe
                   and watch it seep into our pores
                         -- it escapes me how you stay indoors!
a little something optimistic
the winter in her heart
My bare skin
Her love stripped away
In prison
I want her to say
Stay with me every day
So I can watch the sunrise indoors
Hear the crowd applause when we kiss
Instead now
silence exists

I hide and resist
my wish
to unify with her lips
but shes dismissed
like kids in summer school

The blue ocean inside my head
my mind a minnow drowning to death
when she neglects
my heart begins to freeze
her absence impedes
weak in the knees
I need
to know why
shes left me, and I won't cry for her.
I would die for her if she'd let me
s Nov 2017
Picking tics
off kitten fur
sprawled on bed-
the warm bass purr
of four sleepy heads;

Laces waiting
to be criss-crossed
on shoes
that smell like detergent;
And guava flavoured
lying unattended.

An afternoon spent
looking at frames
in a wooden store
with a European name,
(and french customers).

Two fresh books sold -
with crisp leaves cut inside,
sealed with a 'B' mould -
to an old friend, wide-eyed.
And one to her room-mate
who wore a lotus nose-pin
bought from levitate
As they served tapioca chips
in a pink bowl -
the quirks of a
three bedroom home
with a beautiful wooden table
and white-washed indoors.

Chocolate crepe with kiwi -
a familiar walk
ate up the evening -
before Sunday almost arrived
at an unexpected sit down
welcoming old mates
newly in town;
where paan flavoured pipes
and old rap songs
made the rounds.

A movie - Black Friday -
I'd been meaning to see,
and Om Shanti Om revised
for its tenth year anniversary;
Savoury yellow wraps
with hot ****** tea
Alongside Britain's favourite
Family cooking reality tv.

An Italian film
set around dinner conversations,
For weeks it will pass
As my favourite recommendation.

A drone from China
and a story from Chennai;
And the comfort of appam
with mutton stew,
before tackling the oncoming
Monday blue.
Sam the lynx Dec 2018
I’m locked indoors,
waiting for my plant to grow.
There’s time, ticking heavily,
echoing in the living room.
I’m unable to move,
the room breathes with me.
You know it
ottaross Dec 2018
Melting away the crystalline snow underfoot
I spread crystals of salt
Scattered across the icy walkway.
Overhead Bohemian-glass icicles
Hang like stalactites
Like for the tenuous Damocles.
My beard is frozen, encrusted in the blizzard
But indoors soon I'll shed my layers.
And sit to warm my throat
With a bit of Scotch whisky
No ice in mine, please.
She was a fragile little girl,
Dreams of wondering the world.
A pretty smile to whom she see,
Such loving voice to those she plea.

As sorrows came and all joy goes,
She became pale and white as show.
"What a beautiful ring," her dad would say,
Knowing he's giving her away.

Trapped indoors, a woman to be.
With no hope of joy, who can she be?
Once a smile but know often pain.
Will she ever be free again.

Her life is now torn apart and forever bent,
Like trees that sway with no balance and strength.
Her heart will speak to whom she seek.
But who will answer to a poor child's plea.
A ten-year-old boy and his two brothers up in the cerro for three months during the rainy season, with their herd of goats. You camped inside a little house made of rocks with a roof of large leaves and every so often you or one of your brothers ventured down the mountain to your mother’s house to bring back food.
You who as a teenager helped your family keep bees. I wonder how you have managed to live in a city for 30 some years. How you have become accustomed to the L.A morning commute. HOW.

I have outgrown the linen tops you bought me as a child
but not running barefoot & spreading my toes in the mud.
I still like to climb the trees, and lay on the grass and if
I ever find a bee indoors I cup one palm over the other, and take it outside.
Me who as a teenager helped you plant the tomatoes, cut the pumpkins and who’d run outside to snip some leaves from the cedron for tea. How do I live in a city again? How do I breathe deeply enough to find the traffic on the highway “ another” part of life? HOW.
Hasan Maruf Apr 2017
The last kiss from you
Lasted like a huddle in
The snow blitz
Rocking my anatomy
In the frosty glitz

The last words from you
That barged in my eardrum
You were in a hurry
To smell a new leaf
Draped in a diamond dew

The last gifts from you
Was an instrument
Which still I use
To recognize people
Or to refuse!

The last time
You said I love you
I remember I was laughing
Hysterically as if I was watching
Jared Leto’s jaded mimicry of Joker in YouTube

Intriguingly, when the last time I saw you ****
It felt like pretty Ivanka’s embarrassment
Noticing her dad is a lewd

The last time I was chatting
With you on Facebook
I was wondering why
I shouldn't hack your account?
To check your inbox

Yea, it was filled with the message of *******
F- Bombs, **** shaming and tagging you as harlot
All they were asking was your service of escort
Either in full discount or in hefty cash drops!

The last time I wrote
A letter of love to you
I discovered my Keyboard
Began to blurt out
No more, No more, No more…

The last time I had a chit-chat
With you in the Burger King or Pizza Hut
I listened to your hissing clack-clack
That someone else has become your puppy cat…

The last time I became sick
When I was with you
I heard you threw a party
Where you were whispering
To your besties, how
I become your double whammy!

The last time I was
With you in the bed
I felt like I was indentured
To **** a dummy toy
Sans spirit and flesh!

Loving you was like
Santa Claus gifted me
With a Pandora’s Box
As soon as I opened it
You decided to release
Our *** tape of your having ******
In pornhub’s forum of interracial!

The last time I heard of you
Is that you were giving an interview
To The Cosmopolitan’s board of review

Facing the barrage of inquisitions
You calmly joked, the series
Of latest uproar about you
In the social media or Internet
Is because certain people always
Love to rave about Women’s body
Shoving in and out of their pigeonhole
With their one night stand queen trophy
To flavor your form in their fantasmic mouth

You also smirked in a raspy voice
Defiantly declaring “we (women)
Have been locked indoors
With no air, no food, no water”
My last boyfriend is also no exception
He certainly thinks I came this far
Through ******* and deception
Slightly anti feminist but a poem representing contemporaneity in our life in a balanced manner of looking into male female relationship.
Lou Jul 2017
At the Zoo

Patriots and faux exhibit and binge on synonyms of liberty printed on beer and underwear
Advertising what should be unspoken and inspired to pervert and romanticize
Preludes to the parades and finale above us all
Weeks of saturated irony
Cuckoo bird irony and BBQ
As they reform Phoenix, rebirth of distractions and thievery
Predators in ally ways pursing America's diamonds and legs

Then gunpowder
Gunpowder of colors and cuckoos
Layers of streets in gunpowder
Towns built of gunpowder
Sky is gunpowder
We are born addicted to led and gunpowder
Gunpowder ****** in the air
Success, display and diversion and more gunpowder to ingest.

The Grand Finale
The Volta of the evening
The hammer of the judge
*** appeal of death and nature flexing it's muscles-  
show us some skin!

Covering your ears
Eyes fastened-
Ready to burrow back to mothers womb
Binged and free
Chinese celebration hijacked
Red, White and Blue
And a moment of silence  

Orchestrated onomatopoeia in heaven
Chorus of arousal on Earth
Band marching war machines in hell

The showdown of 241 years!
This freedom we are all grateful to only talk about

Only free to battle shackling intoxication
Men and women tugging extra weighted offspring
Sulking for indoors and portable addiction  
Chanting three letter obedience
God being counted by his blessings
Fear and Statism in every breathe for salvation from our stick swatted enemies
Checkpoints that serve and protect asking for a toll;
liberty synonyms.
Arresting the too free

At the Zoo,

The cuckoos regaining reality.
The phoenix red eye and held under oath
To the next day where we are back
To hate each others freedom, again.
Written on the 4th of July.
Mary Gay Kearns Jan 2018
The skies have been overcast, lately.
Draining the flowers of colour,
Bringing Autumn varieties adjacent
To August stock.There is a tiredness
In the stormy winds, a dusting of dry leaf.
We bring water in cans to restore
The last of this Summer's glory.

And hope for just a few more days
When one can bask in the blueness
In ignorance of Winter's call;
With the months of indoors
When perfumed air is gone.
The dampness in spider's dew
Replacing our Summer song .

frosted Apr 2018
It's March 20th and
the ground is mushy but
the birds are singing
and their songs don't sound bad
so I take off last month's winter in exchange
for puddles and mud
whispering goodbyes under my breath,
telling the snow she will not be missed
every cell in my body begs for sunshine
and sunsets that come after 5 o'clock
but four days later and we are hit with
another 8 inches
and everything outside is white
but inside is dust
that piles simultaneously with the cold substance
that keeps me indoors.
I want to disappear but instead
I run outside, make a pile of snow
and sink into it
I have never been frozen before
and at first I feel cold
but not like the icicles hanging from rooftops
like the water that brushes up against a drift
but cannot quite hold on long enough
to become it.
It is April third and I am welcoming the snow with open arms
Madeleine Jan 21
Whispering of sweet
nothings from the pick up lines
to cute sweet nicknames

sweet elegant songs
from music, loud and gentle  
written just for you

from indoors to out
bird singing sweet melodies
thunderstorms rumbling

doors slamming all day
food sizzling on the stove top
people snoring late

your majestic voice
so cool, calm and Collective
your voice is my guide
Clare Coffey Mar 11
I am the warm air of spring
Heralding the time of rebirth
I caress the first shoots of growth
As they poke their way through the earth

I ponder nature’s resilience
As her landscape comes alive
I marvel at her citizens
And their will to survive

I dance over fields and rivers
Whispering to sky and sun
To all the hiding creatures
A new season has begun

I am the zephyr of summer
Come now and heed my call
Blowing sweetly from the west
The kindest wind of them all

Walk with me over hill and dale
Carpeted in joyous colour
Feeling my soft caresses
More tender than any lover

I will kiss your upturned face
Brushing it with rays of sun
Breathing warmth into your bones
Till the sunset says day is done

I am the wild gale of autumn
Stripping the leaves from the trees
Nothing withstands my fury
All bow to my desperate need

I whip the rain into torrents
Pouring water over all beneath
No quarter asked or given
I gift you the dying year’s grief

I move restlessly onwards
My dark tempests taking form
But the harvest is gathered
The bounty safe from my storms

I am the north wind of winter
Bringing the first flakes of snow
Scattering them with abandon
On the gardens and streets below

My blast is icy and chill
Freezing your toes and fingers
Sweeping away the last of the year
Not a single vestige lingers

Time for you to stay indoors
Cosying in front of the fire
Enjoying the comforts of home
Away from my insolent ire
A couple of days ago I got talking to a lovely lady about her poetry society - she invited my to go. The theme of the meeting is ‘wind’...
Thomas Mackie Jan 20
Fangs are sprouting from my skull,
you cannot stop what must be done.
Bound indoors with curtains drawn,
until moon takes the place of sun.

Needle sharp teeth puncture your skin,
the transformation has begun.
I whisper something in your ear,
your human form and gender, none.

When coven blood out-thickens water,
we have just started all the fun.
Vampires have to stick together,
no mother, father, daughter, son.
This poem is meant to create a parallel between the transgender experience and that of a vampire. The duality between two different transformations both fueled by puncture wounds, as well as the pattern that happens after you come out. Once one person in a community is out of the closet, oftentimes others follow because they feel safer to do so. This is not a critique of my community. Trans folks are not monsters. However, sometimes we are ostracized and treated as if we were. I think I'd be proud to be a vampire, too.
zen Nov 2018
Playing the waiting game,
one fiddles with his feet,
or twiddles with his thumbs,
As he fancies of a beach,
pressing his teeth against his gums,

Of the worlds he could explore,
he finds himself indoors,
and forms clouds of distant lands,
In the wait of kingdom's come
Terry Collett Aug 2018
Your old man
opened the door
and stood there smiling.

She won't be long
Benny boy
she's just making
herself beautiful
or haven't you
got that long?
and he laughed
and went back indoors
and left the door open ajar.

I stood there
on the red tiled doorstep
and waited
looking back
into the Square
seeing the man
with the boxer dog
walk past on his way
to the shop.

The milkman
was over the way
delivering milk to the flats
on the ground floor.

The door opened again
and your old man said
just off to the work
someone has to keep
the railways going
and he stepped off
down the steps
and away across
the Square
and down the *****.

Your brother Hem
came out the door
he stared at me
and went past
and around the corner
he didn't like me
since I beat him up
for throwing a firework
at my sister.

Then you came
to the door
in that white dress
and your hair in a mess.

Won't be long
you said
just got to have a wash
and be with you.

I said
see you soon
and you went back indoors
and closed the door.

I sat on the doorstep
watching the world go past
hoping you wouldnt be long
and sorted through
my small collection
of football cards
which ones to keep
and which ones to swap
at school on Monday.

I hoped you wouldnt be long
as the Saturday matinee
started in half an hour
and I hated
being late.
A boy and girl in London in 1957
Kay-Rosa May 8
You call and say I'm aberrant
You don't wanna be stuck indoors deviating
I don't like your storms
I miss your floodwaters
I need an affectional sleet
I miss your earthquakes
Then you came with all your quaking
You must think I'm an aftershock
You must think I'm abnormal
Now I can't find the volcanism without you
Volcanism without you
Queer and two
Like the ingenue over slew
Subthalamic and cuckoo
And I'm dancing because you're undue
Twisters ain't nothing when I'm betraying with ya
Do you mind if I steal a permafrost?
I miss your downdrafts
Calamities are not safe
I don't like your cataclysms
And every homosexuality is failsafe
Then you came with all your frothing
You must think I'm a calvinism
It's time we had some infernos
Will you hold me tight and not go flaming
You don't wanna be stuck indoors backtracking
When I'm shaming with ya
Shaming with ya
When I'm with you, all I have is inappropriate thoughts
It's time we had some embarrassments
I'm rebuking 'til dawn
Na na na na ***
Na na ***
Like the tray over buffet
Na na na na ***
Like the valet over heyday
Transgender and ok
Got more halfway
It literally said dont read, so, thanks babes who read this!
Kiprotich vinny Aug 2018
What a name! what a joy! To have her called by Mrs yours,
What a beauty! to load over a a man,
Nayanoi is the name, brought up by a mother who is embedded to tradition,
It carries all fame and this is not a game but another ingredient  to tame monstrous heart union.

There is indeed  touching  love after perennial failures,
Rejection over rejections builts emotion-shielded heart,
It kills dangerous emotions,it destroys

Such is life, don't you know,
Nayanoi demonstrated the saying,
Marrying a man not for money but love,
I have came to admire the Maa community,
They don't fake around they are what they are.

Unlike ******* who are really cheap indoors,
But fear displaying it in full glare of  our cameras
Nayanoi won my heart, As a true African woman,
She is the wife of my kinsman.

Am not lusting for her, she deserve all the earthly praises,
A woman sired and raised perfectly,
She wears all the smiles in her face,
Knowing she is a beauty queen and not a braggart.
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