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L B Jul 2018
For my cousin, Chris Goldrick

Lacing my skates
after walking two miles
in girl-strictured delight
Mom's stories of Sonja Henie--
No, not ever

Lacing my skates
with  snow-ball pompoms
felt skirt
and nylon tights
Cute little hat with matching scarf
My thighs and fingers
already freezing
icy burn
from miles on foot

to get there
the lake where--

I must get out
I must get OUT!

Knowing what
to expect from my body
the quick-twitch of muscle
Could always sense
specific--
gravity of water    
at 22 degrees

Desiring to feel
the motion between ice and steel
Read speed's vibrations through my body
The brain registers relation
to weather's effect
Tell of velocity
possibility of fall
Feel the slash of the blades beneath me
Throw my weight sideways, sudden
to hear that furious hiss
An object in motion tending, dire
to stay in motion

Threatening to stay there
always
in its heights-- of speed
away--

from the crowds of skaters
swirling distant in the lights

Seeking instead
the farthest reaches of Porter Lake
speed and speed and more
to overcome
inertia
of what it is to become
undone

at the outer edges, of humanity
A force  
centrifugal unto myself

Avoiding

Pregnant and slow
with years and babes....

The best
must be broken and tamed
of what it takes to stay free

catching the edges with every stride
catching my toe in the quick
180
spray of frost
to the sudden still

Listen to the frigid chill

and the heave of my breath
tumbling into evidence

Gliding
Once

Forever--

on, into darkness
of woods on frozen water

The wildness of it all

So infatuated with flight
so full of grace

I forgot Sonja

The moon rose
from her seat in the treetops
and applauded
Wrote this immediately from a dream a couple months ago.  With all the heat and humidity, it sounded good to go today.

This dream was an actual relived memory of being 12 years old and skating at Porter Lake in Forest Park of Springfield, Massachusetts.  22 degrees F is minus 5.5 C --Just a reference
Ash Jul 2018
You
You know when you get the whisper of a melody in your head,
Or just that murmur of a song,or poem that you just have to write,
That gut feeling you get that it could be something amazing,
That's exactly  what I feel when am with you,
Euphoria  at it's highest peak.

True this could just be a lust phrase
That will hit hard and leave me seeing stars
True our physical chemistry isn't in question
But lacing fingers in the dark,hot breaths on your neck
Your murmur's "I know its to early but I really really more than like you"say more its like a euphoria drug injection to my heart.

You are like this song in my head,I want to hear more of
The whole song,the whole melody
I want to figure out if this is a song with power
Or one that will fade into history without leaving a mark.
All I know is I want more of this.
Sam Hawkins May 20
Calling long and deep
into the bottomless well of me,
my heart, I posed a wordless question
that water--free--be invited to speak.

So I listened I paused I listened--
opened and dissolved
fear in me.

Water of my hands
woke up, sprung up.

Water of my feet.

Water of my eyes,
my brain.

There were no parts of me
my invitation was not reaching.

Little baby faces all that water was--
and each, an innocence,
a living breathing star.

And therein
other starry lights.

Green and azure golden
shot high and all around me.

Rainbows spinning, under and over-lacing,
composed a heaven's tapestries.
You are my
Ensorcelled Elysium,
You are my
Eden Dream.

You cascade
Upon my Dreamscape,
Enshrine my slumber in
A flowered gale of aromatic petals
That envelop me, beckon me
To herald the rebirth
Of Days of Yore.

You vein
The Glistening Glade of Memories
With your
Brooks of Aqueous Emerald.

Tis' the
Phantasmagoric Plane
Where still
My wayworn spirit wanders, wearily
In search of the magic
To enfetter
The Hands of Fate
(For they conspire against us).

Swifter than your descent
Into my soul
(Five seconds still and flat)
By
The nexus of your affections,
You evanesced
Like vapor,
Yet
I shall not concede to
The Malevolent Matriarch of Destiny.

For you
O, Breath of Life,
Forsook me not
So I sublime all stains
Tarnishing my flesh
By cries to The Ethereal.

At midday
Awaiting the Twilight
I long for
The birth of The Womb of Aether’s
Progeny,
Starlit winds.

I muse
Swimmingly in Seas of Reminiscence,
Banished from that Blackened Bastion
Of Shadowed Heavens,
For when darkness shrouds
My dreams can be seen
Draping the skies.

I then fathom,
You must not be far off,
Wishing,
Hoping,
Believing
That perhaps
You too
Wonder upon stars
Longing to find that one
That entwines us anew.

You shall alight,
Upon me once more
As
August Sun’s Nimbus
(If only for a moment)
Is thwarted
By
Ebony Miasma
That drenches Cimmerian skies.

In search
Of Ardor’s Light abiding in
The Sylvan Shrine of Your Numinous Eyes
I plead that
The Crag oppress
The Coals of Tribulation,
Until my anguish is
A Diamond Heart.

The pilgrimage
I must bear,
Must be traveled by
The Adamantine alone.

Where have you gone,
Tree of Life?
Why have you withered,
Yggdrasil?

Do I possess
The Eradia of Souls,
By which you shall
Effloresce?

I would halt the cogs of time,
Relinquish my liberty,
To slumber for eternity
In crystal stasis
By your side.

Even in that crystalline quietude,
I would be eminent,
I would be exalted,
I would be ennobled,
In the knowingness that
Your
Stalwart Heart
Radiates
Just beside me.

I exhale Empyrean Winds
When rapt in reverie,
Yearning to be
Captive to your devotion,
Yours alone.

The Bliss of Your Most Holy Kiss
Would signet me
With the
Bounty of Your Name
Burnishing the skin
On my lips.

Though ephemeral,
Your presence divined,
Your presence
Was my anointing.

To be solaced
By the astral resonance emitted
By your touch
Sent the
Pulse of Nirvana
Surging, rippling,
Like a kaleidoscope tide,
Down my spine

You are
The Waters of Vitality
That floweth from
The Creeks of Eden,

You have been
Poured upon my palate
From the
Goblet of Redemption
That I may drinketh
Of
Supernal immortality.

When once again we meet,
Perhaps the tears you summoned
From my spirit
By your
Stirring caress
Shall have absolved me
Of the pangs
In loving a man
(And man alone).

Perhaps then,
The sentiments
I pine to profess,
Will resound.

A melody
Sung in legato,
A  mellifluous melisma,
Flawlessly delineated
And
Intonation in deiform
Or perhaps,
Flowering fioritura
Lacing airwaves,
By the Empress Coloratura.

Perhaps then, piety
Betwixt you and I,
Will waft the air
And I might then,
Permit my quaking body
To succumb to
You alone.

Until that morn,
I shall be vigilant,
Counting the Dawns,
Counting the Twilights,
Until
I can gaze
Into your forested eyes
If even for but a moment.

For even but a moment
Spent with you,
Will bleed a nostalgia
Across my mind's sky,
Painting clouds crimson with passion,
And
That I shall revere,
And
That shall last
And last
And,
Last… And
Last.

O, it will last,
To Elysian Infinity.


            I am a vestige,
               But I shall live once more,
                  In the light of memories
                       That blossom, are perennial,
                           And imbibe the dazed glory of the past
                       Until the past is vanquished
                 By a future that is fragrant
             With the mist of romance
          And eclipses the simulacrum,
       A fictitious sun of the infernal masquerade,
    The antithesis of the truest holy,
Then, rapture of life shall mystify no longer,
For the Numen of Truth,
  Shall cleanse creation without a drop of façade,
      His Providence shall emancipate the hollow,
             The Death of Dreams shall writhe
               In everlasting abeyance,
                 Absolving our wayward spirits,
                  The Winds of Change,
                  The Scourge of Pain,
               And
          The Loveless Wraiths
        That haunted our husks
      Shall be transcended for aeons,
  And tribulation made distant, made nebulous
As the Genesis of Time and Space itself
  For we embark on an exodus,
     Beseeching salvation to redeem us
        When the Requiem of Iniquity
           Is triumphed by everlasting cadence.

Be Valiant,
                 Be Sapient,
                             Be Love
                                       And
                                          By this
                                                You shall conquer the world
                                                           ∞
Hello my fellow comrades! This piece was originally written as a means of catharsis. I wanted to express the romantic sentiments begotten by an individual who deliquesced from my world as swiftly as they arrived. I hope you guys can glean virtues of humanity, poignancy, candor, and (an organic) transparency in this piece. I want to impress the density of reverence pulsing in my heart for the person who enraptured me by the thew of their tenderness and kindred spirit.

Hopefully the massive length of this piece does not deter from reading its contents. Holistically speaking, the volume of content in this piece is the metaphorical incarnation of the Ocean of Affection that ebbs and flows within my soul (for this individual). I would love to improve, so if you have any constructive feedback you'd like to convey I would be most grateful. Anyhow, I hope that on some level you can connect with the overtones of undying piety in love that deluge this piece. Thank you all for reading and God bless!
Nat Lipstadt Aug 23
The Deepest Twist

<>
for my friends who know that when HP says this my 1300th
poem, it’s off the mark by hundreds; nonetheless
1300 is worthy number to celebrate your affections
nat
<>

you return back my older children, fully grown,
my eldest word babies who never ever visit,
blessing them anew, lavishly, with special wishes

I,
take them,
with both hands, a reacquainting occurs,
the old words, deep twist, now hurtful hurt because
reimagining when and how easy they came to be birthed and
how the replication of that process is now a
practiced impossibility

how they burst forth, in purple majesty, wheat waving,
wholly formed, bathed in holy water, leaving no stretch marks,
only just an empty sac inside instantly needing,
needling me into auto-refilling right away

even the twenty four hour, hard deliveries,
long and arduous, were so easy created faust-fast,
that the errors of typography contained,
became lasting hall marks, iconic nomenclatures of
passionate loving-nonpareil

now, well past point of urgent addiction,
unlike then every glance, each sidewalk cracking,
lamppost shadow casting was
a sea story for a deep dive delving asap

I,
supplied answers for the internal badgering incessant
happy ****** need, mine, to go, spill the words,
cab or bus motion nursing them,
now they come slowly strolling,
semi-formed, needy, inconclusive, reused,
and feeling as trite as a cloth coat from an old thrift shop,
so wanting for tender loving care,
which is to provide when you are
four score

wondering how easy it was in prior times when inspiration
fell like a deciduous tree’s fall colorings gifts or
as little children’s nightly multitude variety of dream tales,
when whole worlds uncovered, nay, universes,
hidden between summers green grass blades,
or in unique snowflakes

the semi-forgot love affairs that parented poems
by the score of scarred orchestral scores,
now love circle-turn in holding patters in the
crowded skies above nyc,
awaiting for a trafficked man to give permissions
to “run-away”land that rarely is granted

once, poems in turbulent fluid born, noisy ripping of skin,
****** by the emitting of  constant calming tenderous words,
wonderful drippings, so many multiple births in a moment,
even the OBGYN is complaining,

give other poets a chance at parenthood!

the awesome anger of human tragedy is now so shopworn
from over experience,
even god visits less and less, for it is written,
nothing new under the sun*

though soon his annual visitors day approaches (Day of Atonement) and god will require new
words of human comforting,
a new poem acknowledging that being godlike
is ******* hard work,
for humans are annoyingly capable of incredulous kindness

how can one justify allowing unlacing acts of insane violence to tear
the hand stitched lacing fabric that’s ever ready
to bring us together in an instant elegiac joining

the truth is every one of todays poem are clawed,
shovel dug out from cavities and crevasses,
your new words of recognition of the oldies but goodies,
iron of irony, make it hard, hard, painful to write
without an epidural to numb the painful
dumbing down

when I am breaching my waters, I am hard to spot,
we ancient humpbacks live beneath the deep distanced,
cold waters for many more minutes
than we need surface for breathing,
the show-off fluking, less and less,
and when we birth,
every two years,
must bring the calf-poem to the surface instantly,
to breath, lest it die,
all the while repeating to ourselves:

what was miraculous writing is now nearly invisible,
to blinded fingers that arrhythmically cane tap,
words difficult to recall, recalculate, recalibrate
into a wholly poem

only the **** tears,
that same shameful violin permanent-accompaniment,
they laugh at me when now, they alone
come first quickest, all too easy,


appearing nataurally,

without a formal
written
invitation
“He says, "Son, can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"

Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright”
Anyone Nov 2018
That night in the park,
When I drank too much tequila,
We first became friends,
And I started to see her
Around much more.
Unlike others she didn't bore
Me into numbness.
Instead I started to notice
The genuine laugh
And guiltily pleased face
At my carefree jokes
And occasional poke.
She chose to fling around
Yet still enjoy the sound
Of my company
And conversation.
But a question mark formed
And hung like a far-off storm.
We both knew it, our friends guessed it.
But we never did address it.
Limbo is an okay place to be;
Lots to do, more to see.
But the idea of heaven
Overbears like a cloudy dream.
Not seven months later
At Halloween,
We watched a Harry Potter film,
One we'd already seen.
Under the blankets
Our knuckles brushed.
In a sinful rush, the lust
Drew each finger together;
Lacing over eachother;
Thumbs gliding the skin.

Going out on a limb
Was the closest we'd ever been.
But after that, nothing happened,
And soon she moved away.
I'm sure I'm forgotten
In a nonchalant way.
So I still wonder why
We didn't take off and fly,
Or at least never tried.
So here's the lie,
I didn't ever want her.
It's better that it was left like this.
A train you might want
Is much harder to catch
Than to miss.
Casey Jan 30
stars take shape in your eyes
as i remember all those times

that we would lay in rooms apart
dreaming of the home we'd start

less frequent we would share
a room, a meal, but no despair

linking minds and lacing hands
starting plans on salt and sand

the days turned cold when you left
the skies above grew dark and wept

no warning as leaves turned brown
that this would never be your town

i froze and thawed, in my bed
awoken, raw and full of dread

now i wait for the sun to rise
as the stars all fell from your eyes
Only the candle was the witness..
It happened in the dark , with no sound .

Communicating through saliva
Feeling your heavy breath arouse me as
You summoned my heart , constantly
Lacing my body with your hands...

Disvirgined my conscious with your
Whispers  and dimmed my creativity
deeply into commotion of love .
Untouched lands within me you discovered ,
Lands never been explored by
lovers who were lazy to travel but
In me , you built a home .

•Refilwe Mametja
Ken Pepiton Aug 8
I thought you were dead, I said.

When the bell ring-tone tolled, I answered a
poetic quest to see for whom the bell tolled, a personal
call John Donne could never have phathomed

a wireless, recordable, broadcastable
personal
dialogue with an old aquaintance, long
thought dead.
Ask
how, not for whom, for me,
how
does this phone ring?

I love old poet guys, get in they haid 'n' giv'em a glimpse

see say the seers see
oops
there it was

just
myst it flew past into the pen-
a-trail
i-um
of missed theories.

Phone call. Brrring me all attention...

Answer out out lout, this is he (I am he, called by name)

Old John Donne just melted at the idea
of 4g cellular,
knowing
for sure for whom the bell tolls.
I wink, think,

toll paid, extol the truth, appraise the worth

Pay the price.
Hear the message, next,

after the good news
the
message in the media
(I seen the movie, I know it all, from the fall
t' now, nobody saw past
yesterday or ever, after today

while it's called today.)

At the point of no return, nobody knows.

Allusions are locks, listen.

Read. Buy of me, whispers wisdom, each piece of me you see,
the seeing, known, judged
worth the weight of believing as

we walk
in all the light we have,
we always have,

we being,

as long as we are in the world, the light of

the world, the salt in the electrolyte,
we are that, too;

as if material ATP pings into light, from power we provide,
leaving ADP for recycle and recharge,

message sent. Ditdaditdit Dah didah

Find The Answer. Look for what you hope, don't lie.
Look here,
deep in you,
you say you hang here, in your comforted zone,
converted from old

erroneous zones all piled up, like an igloo

pending completion of global warming and sealevel rise.

The signal the world sensory essentials perceive
were mere
idiot lights in 1920, now,
world signals have

e-volved into sensory arrays tied five-gee wise to
the honest-to-god globalbrain

Artistic-witty Invention, AI, augmented intelligence

for fact checkers, to use in governing the untamable lying tongue,

true to its quant-if-i-able motivator point:

no lie is true. Zero is not 1, nor any other imaginible thing,
caw,
zero is nevermore
than nullness in a position imagined re

ifiable, re-alified, holder of nine's place
just incase

the increase decreases suddenly and the patterns we ex
pected per
spication-wise morph from razor sharp creases to
wrinkles

in time

Evil has a snowball's chance in hell,

ha ha ha lol AI think turing tests are responsible for cognitive

neural nets leaking
from left ears, silken threads, lacing through wars and peaces,
pearly
encrusted
traditional
bubbles building up around

preciousnesses the size of a single trans-re-trans-re-trans
mogrificative
spell

muttered once, on the shore, as now

care
fill me less,
care
fill me none, no care is mine I cast them on

whoever cares.
Take 'em away with this next wave of breath
After an unexpected dialog with a former warrior friend, from the days of dying for causes
Emily Dec 2018
A camera can't capture the true feeling of a moment.
It can show an image of two motionless hands,
clasped together in a strong embrace.
But a series of ink on a page
can’t be replaced by the warm caress of a hand,
the feeling of fingers lacing with yours.
The spark it starts in the tips of your fingers,
shooting through your veins like a bolt of lightning.
Moments like these are the very few
that seem to bring time to a stop.
It’s like the whole world stops revolving for a split second,
the birds fall silent,
leaves stop falling.
Then,
in a heart beat,
it starts again.
Starts with a small squeeze of the hand,
starts with laughter,
a first kiss,
a last.
Time shouldn’t be wasted,
moments like these should be cherished.
You never know when they will happen again.
Grace Haak Oct 28
My dad and I would spend sunny afternoons
riding our bicycles
through my suburban neighborhood.
We would ride down my street
until we reached the sidewalk that diverged into two paths
and neither of them were less traveled by
as we always ended up taking both.
The right path leads to the small waterfalls
just past the basketball court
where my brothers and their friends
would play pick-up games.
Riding across the tiny bridges is a moment of brief bliss
as the sounds of the water rushing reaches your ears
and drowns out everything else.
We’d maneuver to the giant lake
filled with brightly colored kois
and serene storks standing out on the rocks.
Following the curve of the water
we would end up in a private neighborhood
where the blacktop is so shiny and smooth
that your wheels glide across the entire street.
And you can go fast
since it’s silent
and no cars come barreling down the road.
Somehow, we’d end up at that beginning sidewalk
and now it’s time to go to the left.
Over here, there’s a small playground
where my dad would chase my siblings and me
and I would hide in the tube of the slide.
We could spend hours there
on our spaceship
trying to outsmart Darth Vader and the dark side.
Just past the park, we’d reach the stretches of green belts
lacing their way through the streets
and the bushes I flew into
when first learning how to ride my bicycle.
We'd take a left after the dip in the sidewalk
ending up back on our street
and deciding that it’s getting late
once the sky turns pink and orange.
We’d end up back at the cookie-cutter house
that I don’t live in anymore
but part of it is still mine.
I wonder if the kitchen is still red
and if the guest bathroom still smells like lemons.
I contemplate knocking
only to remember that there’s a new family living there
making memories in our pool
and playing in the basement.
I smile, hoping that maybe
they will ride the same sidewalks I grew up on.
I paste these memories into a poem
but there is really no need
because remembering the twists and turns
of my old neighborhood
is just like riding a bike.
Amanda Nov 2018
I always hurt by caring too much
Expecting similar effort in return
This time thought I could maintain control
Some habits too deeply rooted to unlearn

There seems to be no magic number
Of heartbreaks able to change my ways
Come back to the very thing that destroys me
Resolve weakens in a matter of days

Each time I crash a little harder
The throbbing gets worse, injuries more severe
Plunged into a deep pool of denial
Would rather live a lie than face you not here

Although the agony is somewhat unbearable
Weight of dishonesty too heavy to hold
Know without a doubt it does not compare
To torment of watching our romance unfold

The most difficult decision I have ever made
Has been to give up on what I poured time into
Level the skyscraper that took eons to build
Clear unsalvagable wreckage and begin anew

Though all that remains are tiny pieces and dust
Of love we were so proud to call our home
I desperately scramble for answers in the ruins
Mind broken, I relentlessly comb

Looking like a pitiful fool
Witnesses point, scoff loudly, and stare
They don't understand how it feels to lose your heart
Should be embarrassed but I'm far too unaware

Oblivious to disarrayed surroundings
Aching nerves scorch muscles with greif
Any semblance of time long ago flew away
Have been trapped an eternity in a stupor of disbelief

****** sore palms red from scouring sharp sections
Hunting the same oversifted handfuls of our past for a trace
Of intimacy once lacing our brittle tired bones
Is it the feeling or just familiarity I chase?

All I know is functions halt when I'm on my own
Unsure if I can survive without you by my side
Whether its your soul or simply your presence I need
Or something else all together I can't decide

I was not clingy until you carried me on your back
Was not jealous before I discovered your power
One glance leaves head dizzy, drawing in with your charm
Emotions grow wild, stronger by the hour

So I'm stuck here stumbling mumbling incoherently
Staggering zig-zagging directions soaked
Love left me beaten, too ****** up to form a sane thought  
Mental state disturbed by the lies on which I choked

Conscience becoming numb, withdrawn into my shell
Long to close eyes for a semi-permanent sleep
I've not yet felt such emptiness before
An old hole reopens for each promise you failed to keep

Hopefully this will be enough
To secure chains constricting my heart
Lift the veil so my stubborn eyes can see next time
Stop the flood of high-pressure emotions before they can start
How did we get here?
Somehow we came undone
So busy trying to fix you
Didn't see us breaking crumb by crumb
Abby Reynolds Sep 2018
I secretly hope
on the long nights when it feels like the sun will never beam on your face again
that
you'll think of me softly
I pray you'll imagine me reaching for your fingertips
lacing them with my own
maybe you'll remember
me grazing your cheek with the soft part of my small hands
scooping away the tears with my fingertips
doing my best to take all your sadness into my own palms
or my quiet kisses on your delicate cheek
the soft whispers of " I love you"'s and "don't give up on me"'s
the words that you didn't hear with your ears
the words that traveled in a straight shot to the inner workings of your brilliant heart
I hope on these nights
you remember who loves you most in this world
who always will
I hope for the better part of forever, I'm there with you
reminding you someone out there wants the same things you do
My last hope, is believing
that I can still keep you safe
that I'm still your refuge
when the air turns bitter
“I have been trying to get laid
So should I try lacing up my suspenders and get my *******,
for another fifty shades of drinking a Harlem shake to the
piece of cake fairy tale of nagging paper trail just to impress a **** pony tail
at the dark alley bakery, vending her own cookie with a tight shoulder skirt to this lions in search of an empire from a leverage  point to cleavage, Torching the alley with a naked thigh just like tossing a coin into a fountain in a circus with clown with umbrella about throw some shade until when the tides go out to, you get to know who’s been swimming naked upon the pleasures that are bitter to swallow to this blood ******* roaches chasing strangers who would spread her legs to the canvas and induce seduction as a color scheme……..
She called me sadist and I called myself a dreamer,
She dreamt of pushing me off the bed and calling me a screamer
She envisioned cutting my throat and playing jazz with my vocal chords
She fantasied sarcastically caressing my cuticles just because last night I came in short of breath

Previously
She would sell her own soul to the syringe of morphine drip
for a denial shot that pain heals in the prefix of an outpatient  rehab
now in the bathtub nursing in patient withdrawal ,
She would tie a shoe string around her bicep in search of vein,
so as to squeeze the **** libido version of limbo to oblivion
humiliating the dark clouds begging for a shooting star
to the pages that frustrates the pen unto the novel that prescribes a prenuptial of black bride killing the reader’s digest and buries their heads…………..so……………………

I am becoming a book.
that will induce an ****** with sympathy veil of beggar feeding on their own horses
to the end of the caterpillar misery is **** butterfly confetti to script that syncs the readers perception
Into the ****** abuses of the needle that impregnates the ink and tells the canvas to go get paternity test throughout the history of melting medusa lips
that made a homeless robin without a hood painting a revolution in this concrete jungle
where dreams are made up from silence thought that can
ambush a hive softy through whistling that melts
a bee’s temper in the presence of a queen is a poisonous sting of a artist
dipping his own brush into his own soul with a healing dew that never bruises
the honey in the vein of the garden is the beauty of the wine  
From a vine to flower is a grape in the glass is anarchy

From what I am running from
To misery flowing from the river on
That’s why we are here
To profile the lost identity from the art of war that sun Tzu was afraid of losing his head to another thigh!
That’s why we are here
To profile the slit of the dress that curved the sword another napoleon to conquer Soviet Union
That’s why we are here
To profile a love Ballard from contortionist that melted medusa eyes from cold to flexible
Revolution will wear a mini skirt, squat and kiss the lepers hands for the Benjamin’s banking dump jokes...and still hire Johnnie Cochran for second ****** trial of O.J Simpson ……………
That’s why I still want …………………………….



our culture wore a fabric of circus clothes only dance in the arena like a puppet from the strings of the servants chasing a redemption in the den of thrones getting thrown to the game of throne for guilty pleasure as kings daughters were gambling upon gladiators death to the freedom of escaping their own Sobibor that chopped off my foot in the life of Kunta Kinte
Slavery was blushing teeth with a **** moan of a cigarette smoke
Flirting to the horrors of unshaved groins,
from the growing pains in the hands that planted olive trees
to labor and harvest their oil that has become tears of
cowards staining heaven with obscene imagery of their own likeness
holding their insights captive upon the eyes of the ******
Until our backs were a canvas of whips and brutality, we had tattoos
of pain and graffiti of blood as written the book blue skies
claiming the prepare the way the Lord, judging Esther from a supremacy attire of poverty
termed to be isolated from the world where the corner stone fell into the wrong hands and built a
Tower of babel for the Pharisee living in a glass house



Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal to pleasure
the urges out of the Garden of Eden, Adam had to seek leaves to live with eve,
From a mustard seed renouncing the deception ought to praise the womb that gave birth to the blood sweat and tears to the system planting snares pig’s ears and fears ,
with intent to subdue the cat inside the bag from the smell of the rat that has been suffering a broken rib
We used ashes as lotion to conquer the scratching pains of the unhearing wounds eying the staff that turned into a serpent in exodus to the stiff neck of the system after the death of Moses….we had to succumb to victory,


There was a story of how soldiers got hungry
in the battlefield even they started feeding on themselves
Fighting for peace in the pieces of human meat...
upon pawns that have kept chasing the salvation of in the story that was
made by rats that fought all the dogs and killed the cats is like
Judging a fish with its own abilities to climb trees from the a shadow of small boy reflecting an elephant in the room with betrayal that made Julius have a seizure after gambling with another’s man
life with few pieces of silver sealed by a Judas kiss that killed Jesus,
Anyone Nov 2018
Nothing teaches a lesson like a marred heart,
Or so you'd think.
The nights I had spent washing the red
Down my bedroom sink
I had the time to dwell
And let my love for you swell
I tried to hold it in.
I committed my familiar sin.

But in that front camera light,
A simple slight smile
Was enough to fill my body with delight
And my veins with adrenaline.
Searching for insulin
To combat
My lust for the sweet tasting gloss
That hugged your lips.

Whatever occupied my head
Was often succeeded
By the idea of you.
The compass on my sleeve
Directed me to believe
In the break of a new morning.

I watched you with others,
And listened to you rant about them.
Hated them when they cheated on you.
Flashed green when they seemed sincere,
Waiting patiently here,
On that park bench,
Where you left.

I couldn't do it anymore,
My room for silenced love was filled.
Heart thumping,
Mind racing,
Desire lacing my skin,
I was bursting at the seams,
You even appear in my dreams,
But to hold it in;
Not again, not for anymore, I can't hold it in.

Help me,
Help me absolve my sin.
Kai Jan 14
We are intertwined you and I
mingling together at the support
we are stuck together from the dirt to the sky
you choke me at the roots

Me blossoming as you creep from below
tangling with me at the bottom
like creeping ivy, over me you grow
till breathe does not come from my lungs

I wither slowly when I'm with you
but your my support now
without it any weight topples me, even gentle dew
Breaking away would sprout new roots

but where would they plant
other then in the holes you carved
I need new roots I need a transplant
away from the rocks and the lacing cracks

Fresh soil and a breath of clear air
wear my leaves can spread out
without crushing of lungs and the ghastly tare
Freedom, oxygen, and happiness will wait for me

So for now I'm entangled with you in fear
a dark vine twisted around me
but soon I will escape from your **** leer
and with gentle sighs will bloom once again
astraea Feb 16
the dreams fall from the sky,
into the children’s hands
a small child reaches her open and filthy palms to the sky,
a girl sets aside her books,
cradles a spider web of rain droplets
tucking in her heart,
the deepest corners of her brain, they’re one in the same.

love is so good when love is young
she knows this herself,
a sweet taste so different to the fires she knew
snatched away from her by her own hands
her own hands -broken as a scholar’s, as a child’s,
but never as the youth
never broken as a youth.

she breathes life into her spiderweb,
wrapped around her back
lacing itself around her
up her neck and behind her eyes
with each stroke of her pencil
each late night
each missed night
she sets her web free and begins to climb it as it grows inside her.

all her laughs,
shared with her spiders,
are we spiders or are we girls?
making our own webs, climbing them
-we look like girls
we look like girls as we wield our weapons,
watch our love die.
we are red widows,
hands dripping with blood.
short piece about school (bit personal and not as good but it's nice to see people like you)

— The End —