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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
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
in its heights-- of speed

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
of what it is to become

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


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
spray of frost
to the sudden still

Listen to the frigid chill

and the heave of my breath
tumbling into evidence



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
September Roses Aug 2018
Crystal eyes
Fall for them
And over
Drown in oceans stormy grey
Lost in forests emerald green
To get drunk inside and snap away to sober

An underground lake cavern
A still, silver cargo ship docked by the bay
A sky and sea beyond the windows
2pm on a shady spring day

Catching a glint in the light
I find my teeth biting my thumb
Oh god how I love to gaze
In what you use to gaze apon
Targeted towards absolutely anyone with eyes, at all
CK Baker Feb 2017
There’s a silverback haze
on the shallow face
of the Rockwell Ridge
folded brow
puzzled chin
and dark hollow eyes
keeping watch
over the lilies
and crane flies
and will of the wisp

Rust brown ravens
and fisher kings
in the reeds off north bend
(chased by the terraced streams!)
youth blades engrain
on the favoured
and historic
Banka Memorial

and pumpkin skies
are clipped
by a call from
the resident loon
the sounds of Buddha Bar
piercing the silence
and shaping the afternoon chord

It’s a time to make way (stream side)
seems the anuran are courting
James LR Jul 2018
Spilt upon the breathing tide
The shadows of our former pride
Stained with gilded, rusty gore

Songs upon the breeze still scream
From barren bog and skylit sea
Once were sung but nevermore

Clouds cry crimson in the lake
The moons and stars the sky forsakes
As darkness falls on ****** shores
atptla Mar 2018
Fallen leaves sleep on a lake, sealed with a long forgotten tale.
The heady wind that doesn't let the trees to sleep rules the desolate vale.
Yet, lily-white blossoms, much shinier than arrogant moonlight,
Held their breaths, blinking the shyness, wait on blue philomels' flight.

A poor voice shivers, under the calm water and firm ground,
As to be known by the faltering stars and not to lose his only bound.
Once offered his heart to her white hands hurting with each caress,
But dug it into a fair melody as he was afraid to confess.

In dancing delicacy of a raindrop, his disowned words are hidden,
Has to stay awake, but night is endless and the morning is forbidden.
Wraps around his neck with cold fingers, bereavement fed by devious dismay,
Bereft of remedy, he watches his asunder soul's draining away.
Joanna May 21
Watching a sparrow flutter toward a nearby tree, two squirrels at play, and a cat unaware of me.

I saw you.

Feeling the sunshine dance upon my heart, while touching a baby in a shopping cart.

I saw you.

Sensing the encompassing stillness of the lake below, and the mystery that keeps it from brimming to overflow.

I saw you.
To read more of my writings go to:
Jordan Rowan Feb 2016
I'm somewhere else
And you're right here
I need time to become clear
If all is well
And we can't tell
Sometimes things just disappear

There's stones to find
And towns to go
Stories to hear and myths to know
It's all right here
Written down
But who wrote it's in the ground

And down by the house on the lake
No string is loose, no word is fake
Sing as the winter blows
Past our heads and down the road

There's a car outside
It's running low
But it still finds a way to go
When I get young
I'll understand
But right now, I'm sure I don't

If time is past
Or up ahead
It's all too much for my head
Can I just sleep?
And dream in song
For it won't be long before I'm dead

And down by the house on the lake
No string is loose, no word is fake
Sing as the winter blows
Past our heads and down the road
Leigh Oct 2018
Ease yourself in up to your waist
And grit your teeth against the cold.
Take a slow step deeper with searching toes;
Learn to wade again against the tide.

I have always preferred the land;
To stand where I can see a horizon's
Distance and not risk being
Enveloped by it.

My risk was his wish underlined
By a body of work. He's away now from a life
Made up of **** ups, and break ups,
And love, and changing lives.
For Scott Hutchinson 1981 - 2018

"... a version of man built to collapse in crumbs."
September Roses Jul 2018
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets

Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire

Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet

Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song birds chorus
And the blissful sun

Bask in it
And relax
Diana E Sep 2015
It's my lifeboat
that floats
center stage in the
opaque green, mucky lake.

It glistens and gleams

As its diamond eyes
stare into mine
and ****** me;
further manipulating my senses.

The lake speaks in sonnets,
admitting truths of love and desire.

It cannot live without me,
for I have always managed to make its life more "hectic in the best way possible"

-a forbidden love.

"One day we will find a way to be together", it says.

"One day you and I may become one."

I need the lake, for it has always managed to find me peace.

     Sincerely yours,
JM Romig Apr 2016
I asked “Where to?”
“The beach?” She replied
“Too cold.” I said.
“Fine, whatever. Take me home, I guess.”
She’s too much like you.

Even now, ten years later,
she still swims in my old hoodie.
The pink and blue butterflies on her fingernails
barely escape the sleeves.

We’re sitting in the sand
she is looking at the water
as if searching for something far out in the distance.

Remember when we babysat
all those years ago?
She stole my hoodie
called it her “Cloak of Invincibility”.
She meant Invisibility,
we were watching Harry Potter.
Today, I wish it were the former.

“Are you going to tell my mom?” She asked.
“No.” I said “But you should.”
I wanted to tell her about what happened in ‘92
about her mother’s battle with depression
after a similar thing happened with her
but that’s your sister’s story to tell
so I did what you always say I should
and let the quiet between us be.

I watched the waves roll in
and crash against the shore.
I noticed heavy grey clouds heading toward us
“It’s going to rain” I said
“Let it.” she replied, with a calm acceptance.
She’s too much like you.

She’s grown up so much
since the cancer took you from us.
You wouldn’t even recognize her.

She looks nothing like her mother
Or her father, for that matter
She looks
…well, she looks like you.
The spitting image.

“Why the beach?” I asked
after a long while of listening to the waves.
“This is where it happened.”
I felt an anger rise up through me
and I was already clenching my fists
before I realized there was no direction
for that aggression to go.

I took a deep belly breath,
and refocused.

“Why come back here?”
“to see if it felt different.”
“Does it?”
“…a little.”
More silence.

I watched her writing things in the sand
with a broken stick she found
and then pushing her palm across the words,
wiping the letters into each other,
cleaning the slate,
and again, writing in the sand.

“You know…” She said, finally,
“I was thinking for a while,
about keeping it.
if I had,
if it were a girl,
I would have named it after her."
she didn't have to say your name out loud
for me to know
“I miss her,” she added

"Me too".
The waves kept hitting the shore
and eventually, the rain came.

I drove her home,
she offered to give back my hoodie
“Keep it.” I said, smiling
she shrugged and took it with her.

On the way home,
I drove passed our old house
the new owners are letting the grass grow
too long for my taste.
It seems everything has been growing in your absence.
Except me.
Joanna May 16
Mystery Island across from me. I wish I had the tools to come
and see all the treasures and secrets within.

I wish I had the means to crossover before it grows too dim.
But instead, I will just sit and wonder what mysteries you hold.

A flower, a book, and a bit room to breathe, I will sit here and
let my imagination run away with me.

Weaving a picture of what is within. I see it as a castle built
from the outside-in.
To read more of my writings go to:
Girard Tournesol Dec 2018
Her platinum blonde hair was a firm
     spunky Irish when she was a kid
And compelled me to wish for time travel
     as I have loved her since she's existed

She says she'll table dance if she wins
All for a package of crackers I'd have
    never kicked her out of bed for eating
Says if I'm lucky she'll pick Mardi Gras beads

I told her that from her wedding picture
     Veronica Lake had nothing on her
She said straight into my transparent heart:
     "I've had a good life"

. . .and I was lucky
> As published in The Pennsylvania Poet's Society magazine, PENNESSENCE
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> Listen to me recite Joanne @ Bingo on DarkHorse7 BandCamp.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Look what they've done,
torn you apart.
In the name of fun,
some kind of black art.

I'd been thrown into the lake,
arms and legs tied.
I sunk to the bottom,
they thought I had died.
Out of the depths I arose
wearing a beautiful dress.

Some kind of new magic,
like a good witch.
A white art.
I don't seek revenge
for I have a pure heart.

It's now they'll see
that they could never be
someone like me.
Because I'm the greatest
******* in a dress
they'll ever meet.

Poetry by Kaydee.
The more times you're hurt, the less likely you will retaliate in the same way. Understand the serenity that comes with this, the more immoveable you will become. Covered in blood, bruises, fractures and breaks but . . . . . still stood smiling because *****, you're more than just a ******' witch.
Morgan Mercury Jul 2013
I've been on the run for 500 years.
I carved a map on my back
of all the places I've been.
It's made up of all the old stars from my eyes
that no longer have meaning to me.

What a shame you couldn't have come with me.

The trees stand taller than the mountains,
growing up into the skies to touch the clouds.
The lady in the lake that pushed and pulled the boats
was a lovely savage.
These lands had no end.

I meet a man that lived on the clouds.
He told me the story of how he invented the stars
and how he cried the rain.
I never did run from the rain again.

I listened to the wind's whisper,
so low only for my ears to hear.
They told me to paint flowers for you.

So I took myself and found your stone.
Quiet, cold, and ever so selfishly was this sight to see for me.

I'm sorry your last breath was wasted on my name.
I have lost you to greed.
I wanted to travel forever with you,
but your state of body did not agree.
I took you from your saver and your bed,
and now I walk a thousand miles on my own.

I look for you every time the sun
falls down,
but knowing I'm lost in the moon's glow.

I would give all for you
to be here with me.
Winning isn't all that fun in
the end,
but now the game is over
and I stand lone a victor.

I painted you a garden of the most beautiful roses.
It's such a shame you'll never be able to see them.
Merlin BBC
Nico Julleza Aug 2017
Promenade of Colors
reality ought to fade
watermarks on evening lake
the Lad idling was awake

Torments of Agony
the fear of ambiguity
a broidery of epitaph
toiling the stars up the top

Free of Delusions
impassive feelings strut
to the unknown that fogs
and hems over the mutt

Dashes of Silver
passing vessels of desolate
coxswain sighting out for love
moon bobs from the lake

Willows of Empathy
humming of Mississippi
-a friend that greets
the lake gave its peace

Signs of Eve
the breeze whispered
a wisp of eyes uncluttered
the Lad unshackled

Artistry of Sky
as spirits begins to fly
I was full astound
my purpose, now I found
#Boy #Lake #Nature #Night #Evening #Love #Self

The Lad found his Purpose. And that Purpose is to be what he wants to Be...

That Lad was Me...

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
دema Jul 31
close your eyes
and feel the sea
watch the water
turn blue, green and teal,
let the wind take the lead,
breathe in the sun,
don’t let your sins bleed,
exhale out all the deadlines,
and shine.
Along a path of flowers there lies,
a gleaming lake that mirrors the skies;
In gentle glow from the sun above,
which lights the lilting waters of love.

We sit and watch each portrait shine,
in the forest green of leaves divine;
While glancing azure in shadows cast,
each sparkling sign from seasons past.

Magnificent in its glorious stream,
the lake will wander like a dream;
In curious images' rise and fall,
which dance to heaven's saintly call.

And then enveloped by the night,
the lake provides a glittering sight;
With translucent sheen it wanders far,
leaving mirrored traces of the stars.
Sutherland Oct 2018
Murky water,
Depthless mud,
Drown by chains,
Bound by blood.

Onlooker, the key,
History, the judge,
Neglect, the decision.
Doomed to the sludge.

Filament of algae,
A shaky explanation.
The onlooker runs,
Blood left to damnation.

Onlooker lives,
Lacking of blood.
Drinking away his memories,
Of the murky water, and depthless mud.
This bares substantial meaning to me as I wrote it when seeing drug abuse by my childhood friend. Often times a poem speaks louder than spoken word. I sent him this poem and he is actively recovering today.
Carter Ginter Sep 2017
The condensation slowly begins
To eat a hole in
The cotton of my jeans
And I've been through this enough
To know
I'm not alone in it
But I can't help but feel empty.

The dripping grass emits it's gasses
filling the air with the sweet smell of
freedom and October;
The plants releasing their last breath into the world
before the snow comes
and brings death upon us all.

Even in this facade of freedom I feel trapped
Caging myself within the confines of a small
One-bedroom apartment that's supposed to be "home".

The soaking corpses of thriving flowers
and the sweet tickle of chirping crickets
are drowned out by the overwhelming sadness
that's begun to overthrow my lungs,
echoing throughout my limbs as it
sloshes through my eardrums and soaks my shoes

Dear god, why am I still hurting?
It's been 9 years and I still can't escape.
This depression has stolen every last part of me.
Until it's all I have left.

And yes, out here, I feel free
Away from the judgement
Where no one can touch me
Connected with the Earth
Simply observing all that surrounds me.

And of course I can hide from my anxiety
But even feeling the cleanest sand between my feet
And deafening my mind with these crashing waves around me
I can't run from the demons eating at the tatters of my soul
Because they will find a way to lure me back in
To disconnect me from the beauty that surrounds me
Leaving me dying alone on the cold, dark concrete
that lines my broken memories
Bleeding out these sins until I no longer feel empty
Wrote this while sitting on a hill overlooking Lake Michigan. Felt connected to nature but still plagued with my depression creeping around inside me.
Juhlhaus May 17
In the sunbeams lake flies dance
Away the days like decades 'til
Exhausted from their revels drop
To coat the water with their dead
From where on Winter's other side
Unseen young will hatch and rise
To dance away their seven days
In the sunlight of another Spring
Megan Jones Apr 16
"Can I take you home?" Home-
"The place where one lives
Permanently, especially as a member
Of a family or household"

It was August of 1993,
Summers were always humid down there
We would sit by the lake and watch the boats
With their bright lights and distant laughter
We would swing under the branches of the weeping willow
Catching fireflies in jars, just to let them go moments later

He would only come 'round when it was warm again
He would take the boat out with us, teach us how to fish
We ran to the end of the driveway-
Where he would pick us up to go get ice cream
I would stare at his hands, shifting gears, ***** and shaking

She would get angry with him and smash the dinner plates
We would sit outside and hum our favorite songs
Falling asleep under the willow, just beside the motionless water-
Shaken awake by the sound of yelling turning to screams-
Then, the sound of a hammer snapping against thick steel- again-
Muffled cracks stuck in our eardrums, repeating

Under the willow lay a fresh mound of soil
Next to it, a small cross we had woven out of sticks and twine
He left as suddenly as summer days, never found
The fireflies didn't come 'round anymore, people in boats didn't laugh anymore
Soon after, it was abandoned- that home -and never spoken of again
James Court Oct 2018
She wanders by the twilit lake,
for thoughts of him kept her awake,
so now she feels her heart may break,
and walks on, cold and bitter.

He treated her with scant respect,
while his behaviour went unchecked
and after years of self-neglect
she doesn't know what hit her.

The whispered words behind the bend
allow her heart no chance to mend,
thus forcing her instead to tend
to purely stressful matters,

and all the while the breezes blow,
the things she didn't want to know
occur to her in steady flow
and leave her heart in tatters.

For what good comes neglecting chat
which lays her bare, or lies her flat,
if without help, her brain does that,
and worse, it complicates it?

But she never does speak thus,
it's to be felt, not to discuss,
and, wanting not to cause a fuss,
she never even states it.
K Balachandran Oct 2018
Two lovesick wood ducks,
On a large, blue lake alone;
Till darkness separates!
Cana Aug 2018
Ripples riddle the mirror,
Below, faint shapes shift
Elegant forms float here and there,
Little legs thunder, leaving a gentle wake
in lieu of turmoil.

The air is thick, the sun falling,
Already lost behind billowing storm clouds
Etched chaotically on the horizon.
Invisible but for the ubiquitous light.

It is the dragonflies time,
A darting zip and an effortless flutter.
From surfacing **** to towering Reed,
Searching for something we can only pretend to know.

Determined housewives, faces set,
Arms pumping and hips swaying
Their Anatidean waddle so fitting
Their quacks, a wall of stereo.

A lone rusted sign warns of gators,
but of signs, there is that one alone.
No rogue bubbles or beady eyes,
no ticking of swallowed clocks,
no suspicious splashes.

My battery is now as low as the sun,
and my pen is as empty.
A not so subtle poke in the ribs
from a universe in protest of the
bad poetry being inked.

c'est la vie
or as we say in English
**** it
Tuesday evening park sit. Waiting, watching, and stuff.
I wrote his sober, so I cannot be held accountable.
And yes,
scars were left in the shadow of fear
and the agony sang every night,
but my kindness is untouchable
and I am eternal as the prairies.
And yes,
I collapsed like an avalanche,
a flower mutilated in the summer,
but remember:
Simplicity does not age,
I'm not helpless,
even if I look fragile
as a palace of glass,
I am sraight as a tree.
And yes,
there will be cold and difficult hours
but not lost roads
no forbidden voices
but a generous sun,
but breath of inspiration.
And yes, that will be me:
'There are so many things in you
and they are all so delicious"
7th may 2019
Deer Lake CA
Eleete j Muir May 2018
Health department signs litter the grass areas,
"Do not make contact with the water;
Swimming forbidden".
Less than twenty years ago I learnt to swim here
And fish too, once i even drowned!
Sometimes my friends and I would
Catch Eels then sell them
To the local Chinese restaurant.
I treasure those memories of my childhood.

This fresh water lake surrounded
By trees taller than buildings
My beautiful haven from the city, hidden
Between main roads and highways
that only the locals know.

Sitting on sandstone rocks
I see my reflection amongst the lily pads.
Beyond the depths an entanglement of
Roots, seaweed and *******.
Natural mandalas made by tadpoles
Ripple across the murky brown surface
Whilst a rather large water dragon
Sun bakes on the riverbank
And ducks glide by reminding me
Of the canoes we used to capsize
And I appreciate how simple life
Used to be.

This poem was written back in September 2003
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2017
We will sail away
on the wings of the moonlight
over the lakes of the blue
we'll cross the starry nooks.

We will go, we’ll go far beyond
where the flow is musical
every air beat plays the lute.
You and me we’re only one
who says we’re two?
Haruharu Jul 2018
Our bodies were shivering.

We held each other.

Surrounded by water, out in the lake.

The thunder and rain crashed around us and I felt your lips on mine.

Our feelings for each other were so real and intense in that moment.

The memories and moments we have will be my favourite movie to watch.
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