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Nicole Shaw Nov 2014
Society, it pins us against each other;
Chubby girls are forced to hate themselves all the ads that say they are not right and that makes them cry at night. They defend themselves by calling littler girls sticks which makes those littler girls suffer;
Gays are forced to hide or "pay for the crime";
We are all separated into our own cliques where we are forced to stay.
A nerd and a **** are forced to hate one another because the athletic and genus differences. Society is cruel but its hard to keep are judgement under control.
Sister and I loved to play, to run and twirl and roll in grass all day. Momma gets mad when we go too far but our yard is massive we live on a farm! Running on rolling fields of prairie, singing and laughing and acting merry, shot right through the tree line that marks our abode, slid across the rocks on Old Joser Road, saw an old lady who walked with crumpled toes and spoke too and listened too a pack of crows, plucking weeds and picking a thorny flower she called out to us that fateful hour;

  “Oh my and how lovely, two twins so cute! I had thought no one lived so far out here, away from the town and its charming cheer? Why don’t you come over and meet my pet crows and I’ll show you two a trick that nobody knows!”

  I leaned down to consult with sister you see, she being younger she’s littler than me, I told her to stay close while we watched the show, then we’d be off and away we’d go;

  “Okay old lady my name is Tim and this here’s Tam and this place you’re in, is our family farm and that guy in the field, well that’s our Dad, and if you mess with us he gets real mad, so no funny business in this game and we’ll be nice to you just the same.”

  “Agreed indeed you little man and I can’t wait to see you in my pan!”

  Now I had to think on this real hard. Did that mean something about being able to see or was she talking about eating me? No matter, no problems and boy those crows, did they sure put on some funny shows and acted like they had lots of smarts and seemed just like pets and warmed our hearts;

  “Thanks old lady we gotta go we’re almost late for dinner you know?”

  She moved too fast and came right up and pulled out an odd-looking wooden cup;

“Wait there dearies, not so quick, about that dinner and my sweet shtick, you see you owe me a trick too, two coins I’m asking there of you, you bring them up to my cabin on that hill and I’ll teach you some magic and give you a thrill!”

  “Okay lady!”

  I agreed as we ran, if we don’t get home soon it’s gonna be my can! ‘Cause I know my pops he’ll beat my **** and I’ll be sent upstairs with nothing to eat, so I told little sister to move those feet!

caesura

  Whisk you down the road of boiled toad, and singeing hair, of whispered things and fires' flare, of evil looks from open books, pigeon’s toes and a chicken gizzard, while around your legs it crawls and creeps, my hungry lizard that never sleeps! You gawk! You stare! My wrinkly-face, the dank rank air in my dingy place, the dusty shelves a-lined in books and creepy crawlies in every nook, cobwebs and spiders at every corner, piggies run squealing while the chickens banterer, ravens caw at strange green light from lantern but back to all those shadow corners where little bad things spy and salivate, thinking on what they had last ate, and there you are shaking, nervous, trembling; a porky little piece of meat and something we all want to eat!

  “Oh don’t be scared my little one, I’m kidding, teasing, just having fun. Hand me the coins I asked for earlier, when we crossed paths along Old Joser, draw near to me, come here, come a bit closer!”

  Be careful will I not to bare my teeth, or lick my lips or stare too deep, for one is easy, two a dangerous feat and I so want to have my little porky piece of meat! I stood on a ladder with little Tam on my shoulder, so she could see the *** as it smoked and it smoldered, I directed little Tim over there to a seat and he saw me lick my lips as I thought about their meat.

  “Aha ha ha ha ha!”

  I laughed out loud as I cast in the dust and the billows changed color and kiddies made a fuss, but then the sparkly things popped and shimmered in their eyes, while both of them let out marvelous sighs, bewildered, bemused and tricked by my lie, I threw Tammy in to my cauldron to die!

  “Nooooooo!”

  Little Tim, little Tim did he let me in and punished will he be for that little sin, I whispered a spell and took up my broom and zapped a hole in the floor out in the room, where Tim was running and dropped him in a hole, down a tunnel he went that saved his soul, for out he shot back on Old Joser Road, no wiser no worse for the trick I showed!

Now listen up children or this is your lot,

For I’m out there always lurking with my ***,

I’m always hungry and so are my crows,

We’ll eat you up all the way to your toes,

“Jimson and sassafras, morning glory, woodrose seed,”

“A ***** of my finger, lock of my hair, a thimble and tweed,”

“Two coins, a cauldron, my cunning and your breed,”

“Whenever I’m hungry that’s all that I need!”
(Joser: Joe-Sir) rhymed with (Closer)
This is a retelling of the Sumerian story of Tim-Tam which is the origin of Hansel and Gretel. This entire piece came to me in a dream and I wrote it down in one sitting over ten minutes. Grimm's Fairy Tales are about warnings to small children...warnings that not ALL adults are good people and sometimes starving old people in the woods use trickery to eat kids. The phrase 'two twins' is a reference to the dual nature of myth as both actual events and cosmic. Gemini and the two earthly children.

Two coins to pay the boatman who takes your soul across the river Styx.
PK Wakefield Jun 2012
in my own who littler leans youth
everyday and who lunges with
splendor

                   golden deep
                   brown lovely

brass like skin and a fairies
waist obstinately arcuate
concaves into

                             convex a

lot like rain hips

fall wetly on my open hands
May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover
Paco Manchez Jan 2015
Hello Cherry we meet again,
I see you know how to entertain,
I lust for the opportunity to devour you,
As the first bite enters my mouth in that second I knew.

We were star crossed lovers crafted by the hands of God,
Although our relationship is a littler bit odd,
Its a good thing that its just us.
Dedicated to ***** *****
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
god... i can't believe i'm making comments
about this...
but i am.... i'm drunk and rowdy,
not sober & sane reality makes
point at this point...
        in ref. to cheryl tweedy...
"mum shaming"?!
                           not being able to breast
feed in public?
          these critics...
they are not inclined to make a fetish
out out lactating females?
  no? none of these ******* never had
the fetish quest of desiring to drink
milk from the **** of the mother,
so they would not become jealous over
the baby? no? so they jumped head-strong
into the latex gimp-suit fetish?!
handy...
        why would i mind some rat
of a leader worth the vermin of a party
known as the UKIP not bail out?
over a cleavage frenzy?!
             sure sure... **** things up...
bail out... and then jump ****...
good tactic...
                much applause...
******* wankers...
                      i did make one mistake
in my life... believing a 19 year old
Russian girl... to stick to her guns...
and take the ******* contraceptive pills
she promised to take...
i still don't know whether she was...
whatever the hell she was aiming at...
******? i don't mind the rubber...
i'd like some more...
in a latex suit, preferably...
i can't, lie...
   ms. amber is doing the polygraph
"thing" again...
                             i'll lie when i'm
not having fun, then i'm not telling
the truth...
  huh? which milk?
goats' milk... Behemoth's mother
good ****, counters every superseding
cover version of... cow...
              goats' cheese over feta...
you name it... goat has it covered...
creamy yum-yum...
            why would i lie to  begin
with? lying is a focus for serving
an imbalance for both the rhythm
and the tempo...
                              just play me some
drum & bass (base... might as well
throw this one in... bāß)...
i actually hope more mothers
feed in public...
hell... more cleavage...
like... an aversion to seeing a niqab
20 seconds later...
         what?!
thank god some people in Europe
still persist with donning their
sanity kippahs...
         what would the western world
do without them?!
     frown?
            or convert?
         i have actually found an escape
route from the excesses of
*******... the potential bound
to the inanimate picture of a revealing
posit of a cleavage...
   basically a woman donning
an *** on her chest...
and her ******* where her *** ought
to be...
      like fine art...
                     no no no, no thank you
Ms. Frankenstein, i'm not into
your ******- *******...
          but a woman breast-feeding
in public?
                     what's the problem?
you jealous that you're not suckling?
i bet that's it... ha ha...
that must be it...
   not playing out your fetish...
but i mean... like foreplay...
*****-******* and what not...
again... the sunday times
style supplement...
        the life of dolly column...
topic? relaxation...
         how do you guys relax...
one reply reads...
    oral ***; it's the only thing that works.
boyfriends should be incentive-
(please revise the adverb)
           to do it, government- (again...
-ally what?)
well... well well well...
you know what?!
you really wanna know? or are you
just kidding...
all that foreplay begot me thinking...
how about i... play milking
the cow?
       why should the baby
only **** on the ****?
         ooh... double-whammy-mummy
fetish... imploding spiral!
ooh! double-whammy-mummy!
**** that fetish outstretch of
                   role-play *******...
when lactating... let me suckle...
i want to erase the fact that i was
child in the minds of my mother and
father...
i want to be conscious of being
an infant...
                          i want to see
what it feels like to suckle at what...
my father did in a counter
variation of the biological function...
what? Nigel: Nigh-Gel ain't so hot
now... is he?
                      if i was going to father
a child... i'd like to taste what
the child was having...
so we're not competing for
first spot of: mummy's littler helper.
          
i should seriously stop reading
female columns of female orientated
supplements / magazines...
no, really...
              this is worse than ****...
then again... breast-feeding in
public?
          what could be worse...
scenes of Muslims decapitating
veterans, more roughly than
a butcher aiming at caressing
a torso of meat with a toothed knife
?
AJ Aug 2015
A- She is just like me. A leader. A strong, independent, bisexual woman, she controls the alphabet from this end, and everyone respects her.

B-He's a nice guy, a bit pretentious, but nothing too special. The first time I saw Friends, I new that Ross was literally the letter B incarnated.

C- B's best friend, goes by male pronouns, but is gender fluid sometimes. He is much more genuine than B.

D- One of A's closest friend. She is cool, and kind of like a bad *** English teacher.

E- A ****. Your typical school bully. He's dating D.

F- E's wing-man, but like the stereotypical wing-man, he is kind hearted, but too much of a shy follower. And he likes D.

G- H's brother. Good student, slightly over weight, and just as homosexual as his sister.

H- The "mom" of the friend group. She is smart and supportive. My favorite lesbian of the alphabet.

I- A real cool dude. Spiky hair and sunglasses. He likes to lean against brick walls and just look cool. Very cool.

J- He is K's best friend.

K- She is J's best friend.

L- He hangs out with M, but not too much because he really isn't found of her littler sister N. He's too much of a wimp for my taste.

M- She is a really independent confident girl. She goes on double dates with O, P, and her sister N. She has a side thing going on with the letter A.

N- She lives in the shadow of her sister. She kind of reminds me of my own sister.

O- He is P's best friend, and always tells him what to do. He reminds me of E, but they've never met.

P- Let's O push him around. He hangs out with O, M, and N. But his true love is Q.

Q- She is quiet, but strong. She is madly in love with P. They sneak out together a lot. She has over protecting parents.

R- She is the leader of the Q-R-S friend group. A transgender and asexual bad ***. She supports Q and P, but not S and T

S- Tries to listen to her older friend R, but is just a good kid making bad decisions. She has a HUGE crush on both T and U.

T- Loves U. Strong male, plays football and works at a car wash.

U- She's a princess. Very quiet and polite. In a relationship with T, but I don't know her true intentions.

V- U's older sibling. A-gender and a CEO of some big business.

W- Same personality as H, but not as motherly, and bisexual.

X- The third wheel to the X-Y-Z clan. Also agender, and really just a fly on the wall. They sees a lot, but really don't like to socialize. But they really like going to the zoo.

Y-  Z's beta. Her best friend, and wife. They are ride and die ******* for life.

Z- Just like A. Exactly like A. Only she is in a committed relationship with Y. She controls the alphabet from this end, and everyone respects her.
Abraham Esang Oct 2017
Death showed me how to dress.

it says "not that one, these shoes rather, somewhat less dynamic and somewhat more meek, more

modesty, less certainty."

Death showed me not to wear hoodies, to keep my head revealed, to wear light hues

rather than dull in light of the fact that I am sufficiently dim as of now

to purchase a belt for some jeans I possess, even better, to not wear pants,

death showed me how to do my hair, it says "less curl, more typical, straighter, longer,

more slender," it consumes my scalp and gives me a brush and says "isn't it decent to run your

fingers through it now,"

Death showed me who to like, what music to tune in to, how to keep individuals agreeable,

instructions to walk; "don't limp, straight shoulders, however remain littler than them,"

it showed me my vocabulary, the majority of the enormous words that gain me honors, for example, 'verbalize,'

'dislike whatever remains of them,' 'a great one,'

Death is continually instructing me to be less, less American, more African , an appreciated expansion, a

token, to reveal myself and strip myself of any weapons, any dangers

Death is a x-beam machine, and says in the event that I do anything incorrectly, it will come

as though I'm not kicking the bucket to myself as of now

Death says "what an opportunity to be alive."

since in this nation, Black is imperceptible
Fel Apr 2014
I've always felt "too big."

I have never felt small.
Even when I was little
I was always fat.
I never remember
Being referred to as "little."
My brothers
They always called me fat
My friends, too
And I was always too tall
Just too big, in general
And I hated it
Still do
Cause all my friends,
They're ******* tiny
And they complain.
"Oh, this [insert name of clothing]
It makes me look fat."
Or
"I need to lose weight
I'm at 130 now."
Or the classic,
"My [insert body part] is too fat."
It makes me want to strangle them
Cause they have no idea
What it feels like
To have the only color you look good in
Be the color black
And be labled
As "gothic" or "emo"
Because you can only wear black.
They have no idea
What it feels like
To be anxious around scales
Or anything that has a weight limit
They have no ******* clue.
And my name?
I get called "****** Felicia"
Or
"Felicia the ******" sometimes
Cause of how big I am
And I ******* hate it!
No one knows
How much I hate myself
Because of my weight
And how insecure I am about how big I am
It is seriously why I wish I wasn't me
It makes me wish I was someone else
And it always has
Ever since I can remember,
I have always wanted to be littler
Skinnier.
Just anything
But "too big."
I just really hate my body sometimes.
Elizabeth Aug 2011
Today:
 I dropped a ceiling fan into the pond in my backyard and watched its blades
 slap the shadows away into the corners of the room

Until:
      The shadows flood the
      mechanism and trap the
      movement as the
      wind still moves through the
      windows, little gusts through a
      littler hoop
smallhands Jul 2014
Sordid promises keep me
coming back
These columns see me
in my submission
If only they could
hear me sing or
laugh when something
happy involves itself
with me

-cj
CrowesMuse Feb 2014
You see I have this problem:
I want to travel the whole entire world,
But night terrors have left me with bags under my eyes that would just
Cost me a pretty fortune to check.
At the very least, more than my plane ticket,
More likely though, the last bit of sanity I hold within my soul.
I do not carry my illness like a purse
Trust me if I could, I would.
I'd fill it with bandaids and mended memories of the times I was never brave enough
With love and strength and courage.
I'd stick it into a time machine, send it back to a littler me
But, my illness is not a purse. Not something to simply be set down when it becomes too heavy,
It's more like a backpack
Filled with rocks
And duct taped to my abdomen.
Night terrors and ghost pains have consumed my body
Leaving me standing here with what feels like
A fifty pound weight
Holding me down.
g clair Oct 2013
"We will be replacing the curb and parts of the sidewalk. The trees will need to be cut down along with the one in the middle, We have marked them with pink ties."

Wha????

Two Towering Old Maple Trees
Our trees.
each bordering the sidewalk
but also near the curb
in front of our house
each holding memories
which go back beyond my ability to remember,
and yet each a solid part of my growing up in this house...
When I first met my husband and he would park his 68 Camaro under one of them. I was still climbing trees at 16. My sister carved her name and her bf name in the same tree. They were always there. ALWAYS. Like something you just KNOW is going to be there. Strong. Withstanding any weather for 52 years. Like our dad. Steadfast present trees. Part of our existence. Planted by the township when my parents moved here in '61 just before my birth. Part of me. Us. Our family. Our lives.

Shock. Utter disbelief. Anger. Bargaining. Acceptance? Not yet.

Our beloved Maple trees. Our beloved littler tree, now growing strong. Shade and privacy. Beauty. Sweetness. Life. Seasons. Cycles. Strength. Presence.
Our beloved trees. Two are steady and strong at 52 years are now towering over our house,
beautifying our street along with many others.
A younger tree, a sycamore? ( has those little helicopter seedlings that spin when they come down) ,  is center stage, next to our mailbox, but towers just the same
next to our mailbox. Leaves are still green.

" Will you also need to remove that one?"

"Yes.: They all have to come down."

" But...but...."

"Has to be done. The roots ruin the sidewalk. We will be replacing the sidewalk as well."

"And will you be replacing the trees?"

"No but you can plant new ones on your property."

"Okay..........thanks."

Shock. Tears.

I vow to the smaller one that I will find a way to pull it up...transplant it just a few safe feet away."

I am broken. I just lost my father who LOVED our property. Loved this street with it's trees.

I am in tears as I type this. I can never tell my mother, who moved away a month ago. She is equally in love with our trees and was always frustrated when the township would come along and cut the branches so they could not touch each other across the road. WE LOVE our canopy of maples and now the  ORIGINAL development with the OLD trees, the apple of my father's eye...my mother's eyes will become like a desert.  It was one of the only things Mom and Dad had in common, a love of our trees. The shade trees. What else is there?

Oh..... I will take photos. I will take movies. I will save branches. I will fall apart. I will go out tomorrow and buy two Bradford Pears and place them in exactly the same spot except on our side...to distract me from the carnage. I don't know HOW I am going to deal with the trees coming down. It's like taking part of my house down. The sadness comes in waves. It brings back the loss of my dad. It is dad's birthday today. Would have been 85.

I am so glad my father and my mother did not have to see this. THANK YOU GOD for that much. And for the Pear Trees which will flower in the spring and grow tall. Thank you. I am not okay but I will be. We will be. We will plant again. "Restore the Shore Club".  

My mom always called our neighborhood 'Shore Club' as that was it's proper name when it was established, but it came to be known by it's current name, Hamtown, later.
midnight prague Oct 2010
I will search for you in my little toy boxes
filled with old ancestors and sayings slipped from tongues, revealing stories of my birthmarks
I will search for you in the light
I will search for you in the dark

I will gentley remove my skin
in my mind you are so royal
so monarch

I will drink my water
all alone
I will light my candles
in the late night and imagine what would be the smell of your cologne
I will stare into the world at night until Im
****** and moonstoned

I will linger wax inbetween thigh bones
flirt tales with wishbones
until all the stars beg me to stop
uttering moans

I am beseeched in interlocking strangle
of submission to my loneliness
and waiting with a white transparent dress
on the bridge of london
hoping to see the dark eyes
that put light in the souls of the peasent in my
disabled heart, mused in desguise

should I sit here and speak the anecdotes
and the lies
of the littler girl inside of me
who everytime thinks of your dies
slower and slower
each time

the goodbyes
and the standbys

I reply
I have ran out of supplies
to fix my sunrise

and now I sit here in the absence of bright skies
life I see takes hold of the wise

but you see my lover
for you I shall be patient
I shall be humble

and I shall be kind.
AS Jun 2011
The day all of Israel fell asleep,

bald men in the shuk

lowered their heads onto eggs and squash

and snored out spice and

the tourists

dropped their cameras and lined the streets like

new roads made of

backpack to cover old stone

and

little children watching littler children

sharp in their shabbos dresses

laid in the mud and dug their white-tighted knees into the dirt and sighed

and I

sitting in my room

smoking tea and

standing on my head

forgot

about my broken foot

forgot

the time I turned my

stomach toward yours squinted my

eyes and pretended we were dancing

didn’t ask myself

How many seas I’d sail before

I could sleep in the sand

and I curled up to my

blanket with somebody else’s blood on it

and yawned.

Today all of Jerusalem broke silent,

the buses stopped and passengers froze

sirens singing then stopping one by one like electric geese shot down,

but no one was sleeping

only grieving

the fallen soldiers of a country young as me, old as dirt.
cai May 2014
What is the purpose of twitter?
I look around and it makes people bitter.
And after a while you start to feel littler.

What is the purpose of Facebook?
Something for you to use just to make people look?
A website that pulls you in like a fishing hook.

Does it eventually become an addiction?
Making others look at your traditions.
It’s used to make yourself into a work of fiction.

The reality of life is hidden behind a computer screen.
All these sarcastic comments are actually just mean.
Feel bigger because you can’t be seen.
Ryan O'Leary Mar 2019
Indeed, and why not,
small is beautiful, but
also healthier than large.
Ageing and fatting are
a symbiotic pair of which
youth and gaunt are the
inverse, hence the Title!
biprarshi Jun 2013
When I was a little girl
I'd heard my mother say
Some December, you'll love a lot
But it's not love if it doesn't stay

When I was a little girl,
I thought you'd know just fine
If a boy dreamt up the word
you'd vaguely hoped to rhyme

When I have a little girl, and
am still reading up on love,
I'll kiss her once, for what I say,
And once for what she'll ask

I'll tell her, She is beautiful,
A beautiful word to start
That beautiful story of the boy
Who's about to break her heart

I'll let her know that love is all,
all the good in her, and even
all the dust she'd drink
at a sale-house bar

When I have a little girl
I'd hope she'll hear me say, that
It was love, love every time,
They smiled each other's way.
Asominate Jan 2018
Pitter patter-
My tears on these white tiles
I feel the pain but tell myself it will be for a short while
Another person, another person who think of cutting off their life line
I wish I'd live a simple yet satisfying lifetime.

Littler streams running down, running down my face
I want to disappear, don't want to be in this place
Finally could see why suicide is a big 'craze'
I may be alive but not living, I just go with the days.

As I get older, I get better at telling lies
When I was young(er), I was brave, but now I'm painfully shy
Persons around me keep changing for the worst, I don't know why
To make it in their world very hard I try.
Angie S Apr 2015
The first time I opened my eyes I learned that the world
Wasn’t just the world I saw in my mother’s womb.
Up until then I was just feeding off of another person,
But I was growing stronger for that very moment.
Until then I was sheltered off from the real world to develop
In a safe haven.
The first time I felt the outside air I learned that the world
Wasn’t warm and protecting like my mother was.
But you see, even though I was just a newborn baby,
The youngest person on the planet for a split second,
I could breathe on my own. I could swallow on my own.
And the first time I tasted my first bit of food,
I tasted a whole ‘nother world dancing a tango with my tongue.
She was a bit clumsy on her feet but we had fun anyways,
And soon enough I grew accustomed to this world as well.
Then came the first time I stood on my own two feet.
It was one small step into yet another new world,
And one big leap into understanding the one world that was made up
Of all these littler worlds.
I could run from one universe to another by myself,
And it sounds a bit scary, but I got used to this after a while.
From there came the biggest eye opener of my life,
When I learned to read and write.
It was from those roots, the ones my mother gave me as she read me bedtime stories,
That I acquired the key to a myriad of other worlds.
It was from there that I learned how to open my eyes every day
And see a brand new world to devour with my insatiable curiosity.
All I ever wanted was in front of me. All I had to do was open my eyes.
~
Kind of a WIP. I'll probably just leave it as is though and move on to more poems. That's just how it goes sometimes...
Sharon Talbot Dec 2018
Old Harold lived on the second floor
In a darkened room with an old locked door.
My cousins and I used to tease him there,
And he’d chase us out, give us a scare.
I didn’t know exactly who  he was,
“He’s a mean old man,” said my favorite cos’.
“Grandma let him live here after Grandpa died.
She doesn’t even like him and we don’t know why.”
When he was out we would take a peek.
Around the ocher walls and his bed we’d sneak.
There was nothing but an iron bunk
And a glass-front chest filled with lots of junk.
One day Old Harold must have complained
About our pestering…we really were pains!
But no parent’s lecture could keep us away.
And Grandma’s yelling at him not to stay.

Old Uncle Harold disappeared for years.
We would make up stories for littler ears.
But one day my father had news of him.
He lived with “a harlot” and his checks she’d skim.
I was old enough to know what it meant
And asked Dad why uncle Harold seemed bent.
“He was gassed in the War in a field at Verdun.”
Dad told me in a tone that left me stunned;
“And was then sent around to pick up the dead.
With the gas and the horror, his mind just went.”

Now I recalled all the times we had teased
And agonized him when we should have pleased.
But now it was too late to apologize,
He was so lost, he wouldn’t recognize
His grown tormentors, when he hardly
Knew my father, the kindly mentor,
Who visited him every week,
Who paid for anything to make him last,
And reminded him of better times past;
Telling him of the time he caught a butterfly
And brought it to show the girls and guys.
How he wanted to let it fly away,
But when the boys had killed it anyway.
He cried and was called a coward then,
And as my father spoke and wept again.

Old Uncle Harold died alone
In a sterile, cold-floored nursing home.
None but Dad came to grieve
And I, only an hour away, shunned
the feeling and just felt numb,
Until Dad called and told me the story
Of Harold’s death and only then
Could I say, “I’m sorry!” to his ghost.
I should have said it long ago; the one who
Maddened him least repented the most.
If I could say “Sorry” for the times we made him shout.
I realised he’d just have yelled, “Get the hell out!”
This is about my great uncle, a casualty of WWI, who was the "bogeyman" of my youth and then the sad story of a forgotten veteran.
jeffrey robin Oct 2010
i climbed mount olympus

i said

"hi dad!"

----------------------

oblivion

the will of man is sacred

what have we done?
..
from the mountain------see
(but why bother?)

to the Wild Country
with No Name

littler children ------come

the will of man is sacred

sacred
Orion Schwalm Sep 2012
Help me out for a second here.
Help me out of here.
I'm going out of my mind/But I'm/Lying/I'm not/It's too hot/And claustrophobic
So... I'll bounce back and forth in rhythm/Listenin' to myself givin'/All you beautiful people allegorical head.
Audience is/Providence of/Godliness through/Loneliness when/Each and every one of you make/Up a giant intuitive/Entity of empathy that/I wish I could make love to.

What?
I wish I could talk to, you,
but I often find that people look to me to be aloof,
but I also find the need to persuade myself into honesty.
But you gotta know, I just think words can mean so much more, or so much littler than the effort it takes to say them and it scares me all the time.

Sometimes people call me poet. I can't talk to people, they all think I'm silly and that makes me feel awkward cuz I have a lot sadness  and put too much importance on the common interaction between me and the rest of my race.
So I sing instead of talking, Run instead of walking, improv without blocking, write. cuz I'm scared, I'm so ******* scared of something turning out unexpectedly, and I'm in love, I'm so ******* in love with that fear.

Thank you for giving this amount of silence. I haven't been listening to it very well. You let me take the stage and drown out all your lovely silence with my under-used, somewhat nasally voice. I'm sorry.
I owe you a turn. I really do. for listening

Go ahead...



Say something real
-Say something awful
*I miss the voices that used to talk to me
Wuji Apr 2012
In the wild jungle,
Everyone has their place.
Some **** the littler ones,
The ones that take up space.

Can't keep myself from confusion,
I just want a place.
Before I am devoured,
And my family sings their grace.

Why are all the others,
So happy and amused.
What am I doing wrong?
What's this subterfuge?

Can't find my spot,
On the assembly line.
Following all my friends,
Wasting my own time.

Everyone's got something,
Something for their own.
What's my something?
Why am I just skin and bone?

My own mind is against me,
Picked the other side.
Wants to dismember me,
Begs for me to cry.

Can't show my emotions,
They are locked in side.
Never ending storms of sorrow,
With no hope of changing tide.

Why are all the others,
So happy and amused.
What am I doing wrong?
What's this subterfuge?

My outer shell,
Is having a blast.
While the ammo inside,
Explosive power relapse.

Where is my spot?
Just give me the job,
Master, pet, slave, manic, musician, ******, loud, quite, bi polar, poet, lover, nobody,
Where do I belong!?
Where hasn't Waldo gone?
bobby burns Jan 2014
l
  i
    n
g
    e
r
i
  n  
   g

i've never anchored another,
nor been so catapulted
as to sense without sensory
those high-reaching and
boundless realms where
loving you is littler than
thought and twisted
feel into infinitum.

yet my affections cease not to dwindle
you remain my (mis)guiding light
my lighthouse in the heavens,
wrecking me on earth.

i am not nearly a victim
but mourning is appropriate
for futures focused naively.
M Clement Nov 2013
You are gonna come
And he's so spunky
They get so big and black
Only during Thursdays
I think he has time
He goes in and out
Be gentler with the littler ones
[something in another language]
He goes "I love you, sugar"
That's so sweet
He goes in and out a lot
Oh yeah?
I heard that when I was a kid.
Wait till they hit ten.
I guess it depends
[indistinct chatter]
She was a little ****
[Clatter of keyboard keys]
"Chai?"
I got super excited.
Easily 20+ times.
Brothers ****.
Prompt: Write a poem about snippets of strangers' conversations you overhear

A response to a prompt in "I Need Your Assistance".
Dylan Lane Jul 2015
it was the kind of year that lasted longer than the ones around it, at least for some people and i guess that i cant really say what kind of year it was because how am i supposed to remember that far into my childhood? i was little. littler than i can remember being and it's been sixteen years since then and i keep trying to calculate the weight i have gained since 1999. and what i've lost, who i've found, since 1999 we were a tangle of potential. since 1999 i lost weight, i gained weight, i gained heavy strain on my shoulders and i didnt carry water buckets at camp because i thought i'd thrown out my shoulder, since 1999 i have been existing but i dont think that all of the time i've been exposed to the elements counts as being as alive as i am when i'm the only sober one at the park, when the boy next to me is whacked out on codeine cough syrup and asks me to punch him as hard as i can i will try to remember 1999, when i couldnt remember existing.
tread Mar 2013
bring me sunken ships. bring me the
daniel that called your name through
can't and nevers. he waited like a
switchback earring for the roller coaster
to simply answer a simple question in
regards to salt flats in Utah. the all-ages
cross-dress was broken in two and
expected to dance for the window washers
incorporated slogans, in what sense did the
teacher employ simile in the following sentence?
I like to like, it's like love but it's like. whistles and
bears make a combination as deadly as nitrogen
and nuclear fusion. any relation would have it's
way in Greek sandals marking Tumblr asks and
wondering where the littler of the 7 was born.
so I closed my eyes and wrote a poem. tears crawled down my cheeks and I wasn't sure. I really wasn't sure. there was no one home but me, and all I wanted to do was never be born again.
Cora Lee Dec 2014
I have weird habits like:
Avoiding capital 'n's because they look harsh.
Eating food in the shower.
Only matching socks when I'm sad.
Always finishing a started book.
Wringing hands, tapping feet, shaking legs.
Talking to myself.
Always having a song stuck in my head.
Watching myself do everyday things.
Adding a squeak to the end of a sneeze.
Talking like a littler person when I am nervous.
Swallowing my food strangely.
Refusing to sit properly.

I don't understand:
Thumb twiddling.
The school system.
How pi was defined.
Brand names.
Cooked vegetables.
Closed-mindedness.
Lip gloss.
People that dislike reading.
My step mom.
High heels and flip flops.
Why there are wars.
Hormones.
Yawning.

I love:
Peanut butter.
Literature.
Random knowledge.
My boyfriend.
Languages.
Socks.
Italics.
Brushing my teeth.
*****.
Libraries.
Umbrellas.
Anime and Manga.
Patterns and colors.
My family.
Music.
Writing utensils.
Words.
Loud music.
Floor rugs.
My best friend.
Crafts.
Questions.
Tiny containers.
Kind strangers.
Window shopping.
Dandelions.
Kisses.
Hiccups.

And your inconsequentialities -
May I discover them, dear?
I ache to know these things of you that define us all.
betterdays Jun 2014
points of dust, moted light,
coded messages,
of indecipherable love,
from the sun and this day's dieties smile.
are....
siphoned through,
the dappled, green eucalypt
to become....
shafts of godly grace,
that tickle, wrinkle
and play hide and seek,
with the contours of your
handsome face,
weekend stubbled
and lax within,
the shadows of sleep's
suburban fringe.

curled up, on your lap
your child, golden, halo haired, head,
asleep.
ear at your heart's designation,
hand anchored,
in the flannel of your shirt,
foot tucked into, your trouser pocket.

a little, love limpet,
attatched firmly, to you.

you, and the littler you lie, serene and unaware,
in the old, striped deck chair.
quiet and together in,
restful, repose.

the remains of lunch...
now just, crumbs and
sticky fodder,
for busy trails of ants
and attracting the lazy bee's of bumble, that hover and hum, above.

and book reading's are open,
unfunished, scattered on the table..... waiting for the
eventual waking...

along with the cat,
perched imperial,
and purring,
on one ant free corner
of the old and faded,
rattan chair.
he stands watch,
dotingly, over,
his dozing clowder....

this is ... the wonder of,
sunday afternoon naptime.
Waverly Mar 2012
Heather,
I could fall
into
your
brown eyes.

I really could.

Time's not waiting
on
any
man.

So,
with that little ***
and littler
voice,
trust me
when i'm saying
I could talk to you for days
as your body became
nothing.

I fall in love easily,
let's hope this one
has a stamp
of truth.

heather,
with the long
brown
hair.

heather
with the long,
brown
voice.

heather
with the long,
brown
legs.

let me be redundant,
let me
be
unequivocal
in the recitations
of my heart,
when I say,
I'm feeling you
and my knuckles
could burn
as I grip
the soft limestone
holding me
from
your
eyes.
Allie Savioli May 2010
Only ten degrees above freezing
But it's enough
Can you feel
The winter leaving?

No more snow
Or frost-bitten toes
To plague short-lived days

The sunlight plays
A little longer every night
And rises a littler earlier

The seasons change
Rapidly and unforeseen

Wake up one morning
To the warm gusts of spring
She's blowing in
Slow and steady at times
Fast and unpredictable at others

No matter how perplexing
The weather becomes
It manages to warm the soul

Even on icy cold mornings
At least it's ten degrees above freezing
Tisims Aug 2015
Rotting fig
En el barrio
On the street
My side of the fence
Little feet
Smacking pavement all around
Little hands
Toying with littler lives without a voice
Rotting fig
I drive past
Only to come back to
My side of the fence
Rotting fig
Pounding pavement still
Swollen feet
Rotting fig
Destiny
Dad
Jedd Ong Jun 2015
The littler man walks up to the little man and asks for a gun.
"I wish to join you, and fight for justice."

The little man coughs.
"Young soldier, why do you ask for a gun?"

Gavroche, with head held high, answers:
"Because to be a soldier one must have strength,
"And to have strength one must quiet his fears."

Upon hearing this, the little man smiled and handed him a quill.
"Your gun, young soldier. Use it well."

Remember this as you watch him fall.

— The End —