Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
- Dec 2016
Like the shadow stringed to Peter Pan's shoes, he is always there for her

Like the Piped Piper who saved the people of Hamelin from the plague, he keeps her safe

Like Miguel leaving El Dorado's gold for more adventures with Tulio, he always chooses her

Like Pacha who took care of Emperor Kuzco as a llama, he provides her needs

Yet like Lightning McQueen and Mater, Buzz and Woody, Dory and Marlin, Mike and Sully, they will always remain friends.
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
Your moth light is supposed to
sustain me.

I am told to discredit
my sun,

its fuel unnecessary,
yours enough.

What do shadows live on,
this light?

I am the keeper of your
caterpillar dreams.
Marla Jun 7
The moon changes subtly
Whenever we gaze away,
As our worries evolve swiftly
And our joys stay the same.

Perhaps she is a beacon
Baring light for our souls,
Enticing us into her depths
With glimpses of the heart's gold.

Blessed enchantress,
Affixed in a gentle way,
Dragging all from ached misery
And harboring us in her supple bay.

Reject ye thy sun's beating rays
& dispel lightning's spiteful bright tase,
Look only to the night sky as it glistens
If you seek to bask in nature's grace.
The Heart's Gold is more a subject of the soul than it is of heart.
CK Baker Jan 2017
I can’t wait
to be a hundred
turning over the thoughts
and plots
of Caledon
floating
on Zimmer inserts
and dusted Florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon

Through the
barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems
and Forbes
and Hope Healers
coming and going
as the countryman
comes
and goes

You can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
from Allis Chalmers
to combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
to shallow carp fields
the patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(on ripped and rolled
frontier seats)

it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
through
the rusted
grinders wheel
Dani Jan 10
Creeping crawling
Waiting stalking...
You sit there in wait
As if a planned date

Of which, I do not know
Why are you staring little crow?
You sit and watch beating hearts
'Til the harvest starts

I almost tune out the evil laugh
That you bellow from deep within your wrath
And almost forget where you reside
That is, within me, deep inside

Your jar of souls collected slowly
You take your time being unholy
You go into hibernation away from the watchful cavists
You do not mind though, for winters calm brings great Spring harvests

You feast and feast devouring bit by bit
You take piece by piece encouraging me to submit
Fighting the pain,
Fighting in vein...

Tearing me down, nonstop
As if I your crop
Little crow caws in joyous evil song
Release me from your grasp, I beg all night long

You come and go
And reap what I sow
Taking my strength and will to fight
Chomping down into flesh throughout the night

Released once more, you hide away again
I almost forget, but you have written it in permanent pen
You wrote "Never forget, sweet child, I am you keeper.
Sincerely,
The Soul Reaper."
Cavist: A hawk which is of proper age and training to be carried on the hand; a hawk in its first year.
A symbol of strength and protection for me.
KHY Jan 22
Sin is a real evidence keeper
Expose it to your equals
Or it will eat you
chichee Nov 2018
Baby let's go
                           tipsy-toed
               Skinny dipping in
         disco lights.
    Drunken mouth in
                              worship,
            you call my body             Jerusalem
till I'm        
spluttering up
                             pool water.


    The ceiling spins
                                 a salsa,
the fridge exhales something
                               obscene when it opens
and the furniture
                         blushes
          I'm jealous of the
                                   love story
                    in my home.


We roll around in
                       bolognese
     I slurp the      happy
            out of
                     your mouth.
                                     Saucy smirks.
Oh keeper of my heart,
                             I chain myself to
your smile and
                              swallow the
                                                 key.
Something whimsical to pass the time
And when my darkness
Takes over a little more
Of the space then it usually does.
And the days become hard
To even get up and out of bed.
You light the way to the exit.
So that when I am ready
And able,
I can find my way back home,
Back to you.
The light keeper,
Of my storms.
King Panda Jan 2017
once there was an astrologer
who said
I predict universal pangs but
no big bangs

but you can be
my keeper
this afternoon
written in the stars
a kick here
a punch there
a hug on the bridge
are you being ****
or are you having
a stroke?

guts like a hawk
pure chutzpah and
peanut butter
cookies
a karma pig or
comma
depending which way
you look
me
half dog
you
half god
dess
Nostradamus
pinching our lungs together
a ******* frisee
a passion flower
euphoria
a wave of space
surrounding
the sun
a big middle
finger
a glisten and the
midday present
as you
squint
and I try to catch a little
piece
Brandon Conway Nov 2018
A gravekeeper by trade
burying the dead to stay alive
with a green thumb and *****
the unused earth oh how it strives!

Fat tubers and roots
green leaves with red veins
small vines sprouting fruits
even a small section for grains

The gravekeeper never goes hungry
his family never starves
he loves living in the country
and his plot of earth that he carves

One day two fresh dead
and a rat, maybe two scampered by
soon a sickness to be widespread
day by day how that multiplied!

More bodies into the earth
how did his garden shrink
he was crying and crying
this gravekeeper didn't know what to think!

Should he be happy for business
should he be sad for the loss
is he crying for his vegetables
or is he crying for the bodies that are tossed

Little by little did the green become stone
his loved ones feast on a diet of worms
now he, a lonely gardener of bones
sits and watches as his world burns
karin naude Oct 2013
raised on words of Jesus's bible
given examples to follow from street bible
people in fancy clothes and houses
we were the joneses
the Lords word flowed like spit
with hearts black and cold like real street gangster
raised with loyalty to i am my brothers keeper
together we die
together we ride
together we carry the cross
knew no other way and i believed it to be righteous, the path
joke was on me
what a fool i was
i truly believed, " i am my brothers keeper and they were mine"
believed with my life, soul, blood and, heart
i believed, i believed
walked straight into a trap
was lucky when i fell
i fell on  my knees
God carried me out of the misty,cold, dark woods
psalm 23, hallelujah

now i have been blamen daddy for this drama
lets for once put blame were blame belongs
both papa and mamma had mothers, both alive and well
he matriarch of each family
they stood and watch as i was fed to wolves
torn apart i was left to die
of course they had to wait for mamma to die
11/01/2013 God caled her home and open season was declared
God, I never knew i was the trophy

2 years later
i have succeeded in leaving behind the street life
still got mammas husband
a father who love his daughter, but a love i can't take to the bank
i finally got to know the author of the bible and know i'm not alone
i realise in silent moments, to my despair
i may not have made mamma proud
i dropped the code
and i am no longer my brothers keeper
pray for me
please
Caro Jun 22
I’m never ***** anymore
I used to drip onto the floor
My *** drive used to be more
My core
But I suppose, no, it wasn’t
Because it waned
Yet
I remained.
Yet
I miss being effortlessly wet.

I know, I know
It’s in my head
But maybe mostly it’s the bed?

Say, what is different about my bedding?
Is it that I had a wedding?
Now, linens my sister gave my husband and I
Sacrificed
Sprawled beneath some other guy.

Is that what stole my soak?

No
It couldn’t be
Far too simple for my psyche

Who knows, maybe I’ll get wet for breathing.

Because, finally without a keeper my linens and me breathe easy.
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
I fished a movie
hoping to cast a reel
that catches a keeper
hook, line, and sinker
I waded in line
smiling
the tackle box optimism in my sights
butterfly's in my net
visions of a hotrod
I look up at the marque
with a good cast and reel
my boats singing
a song that's hooked on love
I enter the theatre
among the trees
branching towards my spot
such forestry
I race past the mainstream
hotrod in tow
I take to my seat
setting anchor to a fun outing
as the lights abate
skip to my Lou
at bay
watching the cast make a splash

Logan Robertson

8/2/2018
Next page