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Viridian Aug 2018
I have only one match left

One gave me a sparks and nearly caught fire, but instead turned out to be too fragile to use, so I set it aside in hopes that it would give me a flame one day when its ready

The one before that was lit too brightly and burnt my fingers, making me drop it on the ground to burn out on its own, scorching the ground below me with licks of orange and red and passion I don't know how to handle

That one match on the counter, I'm far too afraid to ignite, and instead allowed it to grow wet and unusable to even strike against the rough to attempt to set it ablaze

All the others were duds and broke too easily, so I had to throw them all away, unable to be used for the warmth it should have provided

I have only one match left

How will I ever light my way?
will i ever ****** stop?
mal frost Oct 2018
lights blink like lost stars
as shadows stretch through depths of time
from Jupiter to the edge of Mars
no solar flare could match your smile
some people have those smiles that you live for
all it takes is a match
and a little bit of friction
and chemistry
and I'm up in flames
Sparkling Sister, pluck me those Eagle's Wings
And with my Claws I gouge my Pearls four-fold
Two Smiling Clowns, oft their Faces must Sing
From that Oracle you Guys take to uphold
He was Smart to cower under his Watch,
I refer to the Brother whose Bell he hid
The Capital's Hallmark whose Spy did match
With Gruning Deception he took to bid
Quite a Character, am I? That you must know
To carry a Mirror when you're with Her
And on each Night when both share a Pillow
To check your Scents before the Neighbours stir.
Cassanova, be the Hero of this Theme
Such Salted Face can turn my own so Green.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
King Panda Mar 2016
my dear Cosette,
why did you fall?
why didn’t you pick
yourself back up?

I saw you
on the battle lines
red shemagh
tied about your neck
I saw the bayonet
pierce your
breast
to match your
red
your man’s
clothes

why do we
disguise ourselves,
Cosette?
why don’t women
make history?
why can’t a woman
take a bullet?

my dear Cosette,
we fall
on words
on chisels
on the battle lines
sometimes we don’t
get back up
sometimes we die
before we are dead

my dear Cosette,
I watched you
bleed
I heard you
scream blue
******
you were my sister
and I was the sculptor
to capture
the peace of death
on your face

my dear Cosette,
I watched you die
now rise
to the battle lines
rise
with your head high
let me resurrect you
with my hands
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I think of all the times you said you push away
But I don't mind
I'm staying here no matter what you say

I could bring you places you've never been before
You'll be flying high
I'll give you everything you've always waited for

I know I'm alive
Perhaps in another life
I might get it right

You like to say that time is on our side
But you must realize
I'm too impatient to watch it all go by

You say the house can burn if we light a match
Though that may be true
You can't sit there freezing just because you're afraid to get attached
Ztef Jul 2016
My words are like ink,
staining pages I've yet to use.

My words are like the dawning stillness,
before the heavy rain falls.

My words are like silk,
touching skins of loved ones and strangers alike.

My words don't always match and smoothly flow.

Sometimes they are jaded and petty,
other times they are deep and precise.

But my words, oh my words are all of me,
inside and out.
CK Baker Jan 2017
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******)
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (womanlike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine
Deck Painting
Isabelle Bigelow Jul 2018
i grew bored with easy
and fell in love with torment.
hold the match above my head
and ask if i'm sure.
drop it before i can answer.
i'll hold your hand
as your kingdom burns
and kiss you
as you let me burn with it.
(a draft from my upcoming book “self portrait”)
L B Mar 2017
This is a three-part, longer narrative poem, seen
as old photographs that follow the main character, My Aunt, Lillian Goldrick, across two decades.  It was written 30 years ago*
______

“Hey Kid!”     Part I

Photographs aren’t fair
stopping the soul where it’s not
in rectangular guffaws
surrounded by serrated edges, pickets, teeth?
to fence and stab in yellow, soft-covered booklets
with designated floppy phrase
“Your memories”

Happier than she could ever be...

A black and white day at Salisbury Beach, NH
hung over his hammock
Private pin-up girl
tilts her head against silver sheen of shoulder
Hair, dark chignon
except for a few wispy curls about her face
freed by wind
bleached by sun

Stopped

...for three decades
Legs slightly bent—long extended
that could stop trains, stop traffic

Stopped

Modest bathing suit, probably peach
cannot hide (not that she would)
the undeniable
And if there were question left
you could look at her smile—and love her
posed by he message scrawled in sand:

“Hey Kid!”

What kid? Where?
In the foreground?
In the camera’s eye?

In the background—
a Ferris wheel, a billboard
and  r-i-g-h-t  there—Can’t you see it?
Look again—behind her eyes
You can barely see it, but it’s there.
Remember?

The Depression
Only ten years before
It was April
Stroke, heart attack
Both of them gone, a year apart!
The priest came
Last Rites for mortally stricken
Candles, crucifix, the Catholic containment
of holy water that dams the tears

Kneeling around the bed
they said the Rosary

——————————

After VJ Day he came
to the house on the corner
of Commonwealth Ave.
She knew he was coming
but she could not be ready today
nor tomorrow
nor next week—or ever...

“Lill! Will ya come to the door?
She’ll be ready in a minute.
Hey Lill! Hurry up, will ya!
They’re waitin’ fer us!”

Upstairs in the dark hallway
her door clicks shut....
________


"Hey Kid"    Part II


The clock at Joe Rianni’s read 20 minutes to 12...

Crowd from the Phillip’s Theater—gone
though laughter lingers
in a Friday mood
in high-backed booths
where only an hour ago swinging free
were high-heeled shoes
legs crossed at knees....

Now on tables abandoned
deserted fields of French
fries lie cold in salt flurries

Only female straws wear lipstick
as do Luckys bent in ashtrays
Males, uniformly flattened
as powder burned, as mortar might
shells, casings—the evidence of war
Among explosions of tickled giggles
one was taken broadside...

listing     toward      stars
_______

...The clock read 20 minutes to 12

when she walked in--
And Rhea stopped swabbing black mica counters
long enough to absorb late-customer hate
and envy that such beauty can arouse
In voice hoarse and weighted like a trucker’s

“Whadaya have, Lill?”

“coffee”

The small answer settled at the soda fountain
and slowly struck a match...
She was falling from the slant
of her black felt hat
dripping off the point of pheasant feather
Gray gabardine suit
tailored from angle of shoulder
to dart diagonally
toward such a waist!
Turned to skirt hips
that arched and dove toward slit—
then seams that run the round of calf

that seem to flow
to ankles of naught—
...and all that seems

Black     high-heeled     above it

Coffee— cold, stale
Gray glassed-in stare
searches air and random walls
of coat hooks, menus, mirrors...
while lips ****** exiled words— replies

Dragging a demon from her Camel
slowly     purposefully
she exhaled a burly arm of smoke
that rose and laid its hand
against the ceiled atmosphere of embossed tin
Then leaning over her shoulder
in roiling emission of shrugs and sneers—

“Lill—There’s no way outa here!”
________


“Hey Kid!”    Part III

After kneeling backwards on their chairs
after nuns, catechism recited
After—
Five of them scuffed through leaves and litter
along the curbing
spotting cars that counted—
Bugs, beach wagons, flying bathtubs
A slower way home of hunting
shiny chestnuts and muddy finds
rare match book covers
and bottle caps that win ya things!

One breaks from bunch
and trials off to where
dimes turn to candies!
...at a dingy luncheonette...Joe Rianni’s
____

Here—behind smeary wall of glass
pleasure leers while holding back
those grimy fingers, lips that long
for jelly fish, gum drops, lollies
holding back the company
of Baby Ruth, and Mary Jane
O Henry or Bazooka Joe!
For less money but the same salivation
there were colored dots to chew and ****
from strips of paper that last forever!
For a little more, plus the sweet struggle
of desire denied
a kid could be proud owner
of a pea shooter or trading cards!
While in the mouth
were golden imaginings—
the chocolate foil of coins
and the candied pretense of cigarette adulthood
_____

Rhea didn’t see her in the line...

Only grownups with wallets and purses
Only grownups get waited on...
...because Rhea was a Gypsy!
Kids could tell!
by her big red lips and hair to match
by the nasty way she chased them out—
“****** kids!”
Only grownups get waited on....
_______

And the clock read 20 minutes to 12

While a child waits—
time stirs in a ceiling fan
   There’s a drift in attention
      along deepening endless walls
         toward a line of sleepy booths
              carved with

“I was here—in such and such a year”

Her aunt—at the last stool—like always
Their names too close
Confused too often

A little girl wonders
about the sight behind the sightless stare
loafers, ankle socks, the ‘40s hair
the gathered skirt that gathers ashes
as they fall from cigarette
held in yellowed fingertips
Tremors crimp the smoke that climbs—

              ...a strobing pillar

“Whataya want, girly?”

              ...the only movement

“Hey! What’s it gonna be!”

              ...in a shot—

“HEY KID!”

              Snapped
There are photos that go with this. I'll try to post them together on Facebook.
Morgan Mercury Jul 2014
Look at yourself,
you're drained empty.
You'll never forget it
have you even tried?
You've gone and thrown yourself into the arms of someone who isn't strong enough to keep you up.
Did he make your head spin faster?
Did he make your heart beat faster?
On nights staying up wondering if he loves you I hope you someday find yourself instead.
Love is so sick when you can't see reality.
Notice he speaks your name with lack of passion.
See how his eyes can never match up with yours.
Do you even know where all this began?
It's making me sick, love
seeing you stumble home
on nights of loveless love, he never gave you.
Sweetheart, what have you got yourself into?
Do not follow his voice it's only making you settle more.
Please just admit that you've broken your own self this time around.
After all, he has put you through
how can you even still call him lover?
2014
This Heart of Life will always be Content
Avoid Dependents; And it would Respond
And who would a Poet's Charge to Comment
When all it could do is a sever a Bond?
This Lousy but Coveted Chain; Worn out by Claws
Whose Beast left unknown save only a scratch
My Heart's own Mystery untested by Flaws
Yet none but your Face can equally match.
Am I yet a Wing? That I need the Other to fly
For Icarus did in his Ignorance fail
So if Feathers can fall, how much more a Lie
When the Sun's Tongue hung my Deeds with a Nail?
How can I fill my Flight if this I Live
Unsettled by Claws, unwilling to Forgive?
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Split May 2018
a bean like no other
bitter and white;
a microscopic dynamite,
peristalsis using all its might

my cave so suspenseful and hollow
ridges lined along its curves
churning to my so-called mental benefit
those gastric juices now released,
microscopic dynamite
simply had one more muscle to defeat

a match at last perceived
microvilli yearning love ,
in, it took the dynamite.
yet confused it became as
micro relations only last a short while.

"Nutrients" absorbed,
betrayal on its way
the bloodstream sent in shock
oh such bloodless atriums
oh such vaulted ventricles.
oh how my blood flow met its end.

Although deceiving it had been
no promises were riven
the dynamite exploded
and at last
no longer was I broken.
Alice, Emily; rivals by design.
Pushy parents; competitive coaches.
The choice never theirs,
Neither thought to question.

They started young;
Pre-teens, good girls.
Sport to keep it this way,
So parents hoped...

Victory always their aim.
Driven by fear;
Fear of not pleasing,
Of being second best.

Teens came, both changed.
Girls became women.
Emily - black pigtails turned bob,
Alice’s auburn curls, bobbed too.

August, hot and sticky.
A tournament played every year;
Since eleven, now twenty five.
All move to memories.

Their last game.
It ended today.
Tennis, rivalry, connection.
Preparing for change.

Relief and sadness.
Excitement and fear.
A moment always to come,
Neither knew when or why.

Emily’s why - adventure, freedom,
Escape - a new land.
Alice’s very different,
Motherhood, alone, unexpected.

Alice reached over the net,
Emily inhaled, the flame danced.
A moment paused.
Reflection on paths to be taken.

Today was different.
Play enjoyed.
No catch,
Their last match.
Bryce Jul 2018
Amid the verbose magicians
Seeking kinships
And sailing deep into their arduous mists
Watching them peddle their afternoon
To a handful of smiling children holding their breath
Amazed in gentle body trick

The older men of age
Leaning deep into their creased chins
Stroking the grizzled fat
Blinding light of soul
Staring down the barrel of life
Striking the enemy one last time
And yet smiling
sober,
Met of match,
taking care of their kids.

Then there's the cold-clocked dudes
On the phone pushing buttons
In a button-up raglan
Lost indistinct
the promised land
The golden shores swept away by
inconvenient time
Left shopping in an auto mall
"Won't you look at the time?"
7.07 APR
Boy what a steal!
And Steve maddened and screamed
As the lines blurred instinctual between opposing teams
And the oven dinged a great alabaster slant
Leaning towards the new millenitants

Rise up!
***** the wheel
Turn the axel from pistons
To alkaline metal
And doubt with great monumental
Quality
That the machine borders all
And we cannot retreat

And while I sift bouyantly between the waves
Searching the puzzle piece within the molecules
Reconnecting with the things
And representing
dreams on a 66 hertz screen
I call rather failing
Towards a black rocked shore
Towards the sweet Dorigen
Of my dreams
Finding an integral of time
And space

And calculating the intangible *****
Of my desmise
With the imaginary constiutent
Of that lighted mind.
elizabeth Jan 2018
i never took myself for someone
who would let all the sand
get washed away
after a slow wave crashed.

i never took myself for someone
who would let the forest catch on fire
after a dull match hit one lonely branch.

i never took myself for someone
who would let the wind
destroy the whole world
after a light breeze passed.

but here i am,
letting my whole life fall to pieces
after a single boy broke my heart.

i thought i was stronger than this.
i thought i was stronger than this.
SG Rose May 2014
Strike me as you would a match,
against the surfaces of your skin.
Not once, but many times
Until we catch fire.
Ashleigh Black Apr 2014
My heart is shattered and splintered
it is bruised and battered
it is lacking the one thing that
any human needs most --
a love so strong and pure
that the stars couldn't match
the light that shined from inside us.
I've been pretty lonely lately.
Nymeriari Nov 2016
Isang mensahe na ipinapahatid ni "Ariii Potter" sa kanyang alaga na si "Hedwig" the Snowy Owl.


Sa naghihimultong pagmamahal ko sayo.

Mahal.. oo, mahal nga ang tawag ko sayo
Nagbunga kasi ang pagkagusto ko sayo,
Nagbunga ng isang pagmaMahal

Yung feeling na "gusto kita"
Naging "mahal na kita" real quick

Inakala ko talaga sa diagon alley ka lang gumagala
Eh bat ka na sorted dito sa puso ko

Bakit nga ba..

Patawad sa mga katagang sinabi ko, ay mali. hindi ko lang pala sinabi.
Ipinagsigawan ko pa. Ang corny no?

Pero...

Pagbigyan mo sana ako na ihatid ang mga salitang gustong ipabatid ng puso ko

Idadaan ko lang muna sa isang tula.
--
Umpisa.
Sa kung paano mo ako nginitian
At tinanong kung "potterhead kaba?"

Hindi ko alam kung ginamitan mo ako ng "petrificus totalus"
Dahil sa tuwing tinatawag mo akong ng"Ariii" na fre-freeze ang aking hypothalamus

Na halos masabog-sabog na tong pagmamahal na ihahantulad ko sa isang bulkan
Hindi ko man lang namalayan na umabot ito ng isang buwan

Pati na ang nakatagong pag-ibig dito sa aking damdamin
Ay sadyang naging malalim

Na kahit gumamit man ako ng salitang "alohomora"
Para mabuksan ang pintuan ng puso **** nakasara

Kahit maging seeker man ako sa quidditch
At ikaw ang magiging "snitch"
Hindi parin kita maka-catch
Sapagkat ang tayong dalawa ay imposibleng maging match

O makipaglaban man ako sa Wizard's Chess
Para makamtan ang iyong sorcerer's heart
Ay hindi parin sapat
Alam mo kung bakit?
Dahil hindi ako karapat-dapat
At ang karapat-dapat
Ay ang ika'y pakawalan
Dahil alam ko naman sa kahuli-hulihan
Ako parin ang masasaktan

Kaya salamat,
Salamat sa pansamantalang kilig
Sa tuwing ika'y nakatitig.
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