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lina S Oct 2018
Lights dimmed
Red soft lights
Baroque colors everywhere
Like sipping wine in a coffin

Sweet, free, dead.

Like blood pouring out the vains
And it pains but there's no pain

A soft image of you.  Dark ...Slim ..
Distant.

Constantly there
In my head
Constantly out of reach
In my life

And if I can take in this *******, I would.
and if I can make it better, I would.
And if you're disappointed then let it be.  
Cause I made it be .

The rules and regulations put on me.
Renting a few moments of life, and a moment of you is what I need.
A moment I would pay morals for, disappointment for, guilt for.

Work, snakes, frienemies, money *****, white collar slavery, broken family, unwanted love, incapability, mistakes, lost.

But the image of you feels sweet.
A sweet maroon glass of wine
Divine
Mine ...
I wish
sophia Jun 2017
it wasn’t chaotic.
it was calm and serene,
like the ocean.
the soft pitter patter
of the rain on the roof,
and the cool air it brought.
it was a sip
of freshly brewed coffee,
natural with no additives,
whatsoever.
the gut feeling
of knowing where home was.
and that is how
you came into my life.


the star that shines the brightest
amongst the pitch black sky.
it’s the white cloud that outshines
all the gray and gloomy ones.
the perfect fit of the last piece
to the unfinished puzzle.
it's the warm, fuzzy feeling
of getting into bed
early on a Friday night.
and that is how it was
when I started loving you.


it’s like a deeply cut wound,
one that’s inundating
with crimson colored blood,
having a tinge of maroon.
it induces pain
with every inbreathe
and exhalation.
it manages to have
the appearance of a scar,
yet it still feels so fresh
like a bruise.
and that is how it felt
when you left.


it was filled with haze
and suffocation.
the uncontrollable fast paced beat
of your heart.
Mona Lisa's enigmatic smile,
one that is hardly understood
by majority of the world.
a bite of dark chocolate,
bitter and sweet.
and this is my survival.
stuck in the third season,
but i'll make it to the fourth
jane taylor Sep 2016
hints of auburn drift creating a soft cadence against the autumn wind
almost heard in lieu 'tis felt somehow awakening souls buried long ago
giving birth to falling crimson leaves tinged with maroon and gold
abandoned dusty roads transform under enchanting spells cast by fall

burnt orange pumpkins standing solitary on wooden porches threaten to reveal
hidden secrets held by dusk’s luscious cinnamon seasoned air
once fulgent sunflowers begin to slumber softly beneath the harvest moon
whilst autumn’s trance brushes all it touches with honey colored hues

i stand pensive as an amber leaf gently twirling falls to the ground
bewitched by thine supernatural powers; thine gifted artist’s hand
who with one stroke turns to butter amber all that once was forest green
and imbues my soul with thine exalted essence forever ripening

©2016janetaylor
s Oct 2017
I think it's been four hundred days
since that innocuous defining phase,
But that's if we were keeping count,
and if numbers meant a thing at all.

For isn't time just ornamental,
perhaps even incidental,
when the commodity is sentimental,
or like love, a hypothetical
fundamental ?

Same page?, I ask,
tying to gauge flipping thoughts;
As if I knew where
my book was marked.
But pages, I can dog-ear,
to hold onto a moment
that would otherwise disappear;

An excerpt that I can savour
many moons later,
when love turns to favour
and leaves
a bittersweet flavour.

It's today
I'm looking for,
among shuffling tenses
but the focal lenses
are blurring
And my words
are slurring
for I'm too close
to your near perfect nose,
to find a reason
for why we chose
this.

I'm afraid this poem has turned
into a rhythm & blue,
or maybe it's an untimely cue
to write that song about you and me -
One that's been due
for a month or three.

A nonsense rune
with an infectious tune;
in the four chord beat,
where the lyrics
unfailingly repeat.

A rhythmic monotony
of a romantic comedy -
a stanza about you,
and a chorus about me -
a few things kept true,
and some made up for story.

Something about
wine pink shirts
and warm maroon shawls,
with just a few words
about unsaved phone calls.
A yellow lamp here,
an airport kiss there.
a night spent in fear,
of doubting you'll be there.
A white wall washed
in cinematic glory;
Two kittens tossed in
to make trouble & ***.
And then a pre chorus
about card tricks and foreplay
and the time in the bus,
we talked about a good day.
A few bits borrowed
from the last rhyme I wrote
and that could be followed
by one even before;
For what could I say
that I haven't already proclaimed
in ten odd poems,
gushing with love, unashamed
s Feb 18
cat scratches
in the green room
a back stage
more calm than the front.
I ask about the
maroon robe
and picnic-table-cloth choker,
home made.
making my way through
the Bombay Sapphire
highs and lows
Awkward hellos,
over salty popcorn
and Bonobo.

Mc Donald's veg burger
and soft serve updates
'I earn in dollars' she says
a fly in my fries plate.
Share my toothbrush
and my bed like old times
- let us pretend
that nothing has changed.

Groggy Sunday morning
of Chilas
and Break-uppers, half way.
Mustard bed-sheet - full size -
and a nehru jacket for bae.
Peanuts in all flavours for lunch
- a craving for guava -
and always room for
frozen tender coconut.

Payment apps
and gym subscriptions
compared on the way
- a stitch fix for clothes -
monthly and bespoke.
A game of bulls
and cows,
and a reason to drink
before curfews.
quick goodbyes
with hugs to go
and a waiting black scorpio.

Hot engines,
stretchy hair caps,
dodge the lasers,
catch the light traps.
a gun called Marco
and the stench of childhoods
that are hard to let go.
pink bowling *****
and green nylon socks.
arcades smell like
sweat, ****** ale
and fries gone stale.
A catch up cigarette,
recording racing tins
before  midnight votes,
on who is to move in.
Kristaps Oct 2018
Two humps
Spurt on my back.
       A slaving,
       bone dry camel
I am
in this feverish desert of the night.
Through this ocean of
                                sand,
maroon sky, and
Black Sun
I crumble and crawl.  

My mammoth-teeth filled mouth
aches for a droplet of what
seems is mere ether
                                     here in my
hobgoblin realm.
My thorn spiked hooves
slip,
slip,
through the colossal, monumental mountain waves.

In a thirsting,
   ******* crave,
I lay on a cold patch
and I feel,
feel my hands, I catch a breath
that
isn't chundered
with dust, and I doze off.

But my master and God
   has a loathing for the
sloth, so he sends his Black
Sun to smoulder my carcass
             and he strings for
Two humps
to spurt on my back.
Abellakai Nov 2016
I woke up this morning at nine am
and traveled through all of Switzerland,
it was breathtaking.
Snow painted the mountains white while the trees tops colored the hills  
with speckles of gold.
Ground level,
the grass glistened in neon green hues. Everything was stunning,
everything was chilled.
I thought of you again today.
I saw the color of your eyes
Flickering through the sunlit trees.
I'm exhausted.
But the colors of maroon and umber
Dance by my vessel.
Unaware of their angles and curves.
Be weary of those who adore
The spirit of Autumn.
The frosted noses,
Or hot cinnamon flavored wine.
I climbed the astrological clock.
I spray painted the Lennon Wall.
I fell in love with you,
Actually I always was.
Pieces of me are ripped
And scattered across the globe.
I'm a paper plane,
Calculated to the pressure point.
I miss the feel of the cold air,
And the skin on your stomach.
Move forward free spirit,
**** the dysphoria,
And learn to be alive for once.
Careena Sep 2018
November
Crisp weather
Together
Again

Our sweaters
Blue and maroon
Were you nervious?
I was too.

Fingers inched
Memoried pinched
Heart strings tugged
Surely cinched

There we were
Together again
More than just
Two old friends

Tree limbs bare
Crunching brush
New old growth
Made me blush
I saw an old picture from almost two years ago and remembered how it felt when my heart was trying to get to know you again
anntomato Jul 7
My eyes are drawn to the light
I lift them from their solemn state,
and squint, unadjusted to the bright glow.
Fairies of dust float in the shine
Kaleidoscope swirls of vibrancies appear
Contrasting the inky void beyond

My eyes are drawn to the light
After a short moment of blindness
A spotlight of brilliance fills my vision
A streak of hazy sunlight twinkles faintly.
Like a sunflower, I soak in the rays
Warmth spreads through me in waves

My eyes are drawn to the light;
Yet
A single blink sends me down an endless abyss
Deep maroon blotches against cool indigo
But the heat is still there
One that wraps my limbs and livens my cells
It seems to fill the gap between me and the sun
matilda shaye Oct 2014
if it's the middle of the night and I'm laying in my best friends bed while she sleeps to my right, and I'm kind of reading poetry and kind of pretending  I'm knee deep in traffic lights and 80 miles an hour to nowhere, and the room is dark and her fan creaks every three seconds on cue, and her washing machine is going because I spilled on the white shirt she was going to wear tomorrow, then maybe I can exhale five times fast let things be as simple as they really want to be.
maybe I'll write a letter to your father and tell him he ******* you up and simultaneously made you the best person to walk around in tucson arizona, and he'll probably smirk condescendingly cause I correctly pronoun you and he thinks there's something wrong with you but he'll be pleased that someone is proud of what he created so he'd let it roll off his back while behind every word I'm only wishing you'd roll off my tongue, like you used too. your maroon sheets were the soundtrack to my summer and I mean that because the noises that were made while I was wrapped in those managed to open my eyes and make my heart beat and system overdrive with all of my other senses like when you stand too close to the amp when your guitars plugged in, like there was this mountain I once saw in place of your head and when I saw that I had to climb it I thought hey atleast at the end I'll be sitting on his face, right, get some head outta this whole ordeal am I right, but instead when I got to the top I was sitting on your shoulders like I was your daughter and we were at a parade and you saying "that's some hard stuff, kiddo" was on repeat in my head like kiddo? kiddo? that is definitely not ***** talk and in actuality I'm a good 4 inches taller than you.
here we go, I plan to have a photoshoot at a laundromat and I get my camera's ready and clear a memory card and my best friend gets all ready to be my model and we laugh and she poses and we pretend not to notice when people eye us suspiciously and then we climb some mountains and I turn and you're nowhere to be found and that ***** why would I climb the mountain that IS  you when I can't even find you and I think that might be a metaphor because you're literally nowhere to be found we haven't talked all day but maybe there's no hidden message and this is all just one really bad long run on sentence about mountains and the head that I'm not getting but I totally should be getting and doing laundry because I spill on everything and write in the middle of the night when my best friends asleep and you're short and I'm tall and I love you and you say you love me but really who the **** knows. who the **** knows what you really mean by any of this at all
maybe I'll write a letter to your baby sister and tell her you slept with someone that was a year younger than her and I'll watch you get all red because you're embarrassed and angry when she calls and questions you and you'll say something like "yeah, her...yeah, the one you've met...yeah, she did stay at my house that night, no what the **** I don't know if we had ***, what the **** stop you're making me uncomfortable, I am not going to go to jail" and you'll be eyeing me angrily and when you get off the phone you'll scold me and I'll laugh all the way to the top of your mountain and when I'm at the top I probably still won't get any head. angry ***, that's a thing, I'll write the same letter and send it to your girlfriend and when you yell at me I'll say something sweet and innocent and put my hair in pigtails and lick a lollipop and say nothings even happening here so why are you yelling and then I'll skip away from you and look so cute you'll call me and ask if we can camp on the mountain tonight like we were supposed to the night before I moved but your girlfriend flipped so we got coffee instead and you pressed ignore until no one could ignore it any longer so you answered and I left.
then I came back.
but I dunno, have you even realized that? like, I'm here..... I'm back now....where's your head at? but more importantly, where's mine.
I don't even know what this is
Deb Jones Mar 9
I wish I could word-paint a hummingbird
One of Mother Nature’s gorgeous jewelry

Quick strokes of gray
Geometrically filling my mind- page

My eyes trace his vibrant contours
Hold still, little bird

I can already see

The paint on the word palette
Will be difficult for me

Paint brushes poised
Over the head, bow of the back

The iridescent hue
A quick swath of green then blue

With tiny speckled feathers
Of yellow and black

Such an accommodating
Posing little fellow

His belly is jeweled
In brilliant gold and bright yellow

The smallest feathers
Overlapping and flat

With a gleaming peridot green
He dips his head, a proudful preen

The wings red, purple then blue
Dipped in green and brushed with maroon

Mimicking the tail feathers
That now twitch with impatience

I think he’s getting tired
Of my pointed contemplation

His long dark beak
Black with a hint of dark blue

Finally his eyes
The darkest ebony

Yet full of mirth
My imaginary dots of white
So inadequate

He brrrrrrrs
Then he rises in flight

He chitters his goodbye

Meet you back here in an hour?
I love living in a part of the world that allows me to see these beautiful creatures year-round.

And at the same time regret I don’t live some place that allows me to see parrots outside of a cage.
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