Chiyo Jul 2014
i'm slowing beginning to see a pattern appear
in the form of the everyday actions i carry out
as i open my window to eavesdrop on the bushes
whispered conversations in the breeze
as i change the guard of mugs and glasses
that stand watch on my bedside table
as my room obsesses over mess and grows attached to dust
and cobwebs
as i swim in a thousand pots of tea
as the night meets me at our corner between dusk and darkness
as he does since every day.
riding his bicycle
stars chasing wildly after him
and we are reunited once again
Hello swans with your brown signets wading
On the near edges where the weeds blend
And the green meets the trusted stoney bed
You frightened a little with those huge wings
The strength to kill if fear struck an orange eye.

The ducks and drakes trailing fluffy ducklings
So linger daring the hands of bread and biscuits
A continuity of return until fat and bloated, stop.
Their tail feathers sharing a twitching line march
As they swim back to the safety of the reed beds.

Love Mary
Medusa 7d
life is so real, and so in my face
what is most wanted is not often
even breathed aloud, nor dreamed

seeking a dream of the senses
a tree who waits for me
to climb him, in velvet

while wolves & witches bark
full moon sails over our heads
so we can see the eyes of us

this is me climbing up your perfect limbs
my arms, legs, toes, grip you everywhere
all I hope for is to ascend to win

only need everything, now
all of you, all of me meets tonight
way past time, way beyond space

breathless, full of hope
learning to sob in joy &
land in your solid arms

grateful to be held
so close to you
for so long
hold me
more of a chant than a poem
Evelyn May 30
This morning, I dream of a birch tree bench
upon which she strews jars of sea glass,
filled with blues and greens or something inbetween.

Sunlight shifting like prismarine snakeskin,
shed where sky meets eye, dyes the white wood underneath
in bisecting lines that ripple and breathe.

Thumbing at sea glass, I see her smile, circa redress,
in a pile of polaroids passed over the wood by
hands neither she nor I possess.

And then I see me, my head leaned into hers,
two gray trees grown too free. Hairs tangle and end
centimeters from the edge of the bed.

We look
together.
That’s when I cry.

Beneath two trees planted too close,
below silver halide wiping blue and green from her eyes,
in black ink that's yet to dry, she leaves a note
that I can’t read
because
this is a dream
and we were the lie.
I had a bittersweet dream this morning and decided to process it through poetry.
dhaning 7d
You are more than what meets
The eye
More than a pretty face
More than a mesmerizing gaze
More than a velvet voice
More than a second choice
They do not see the charm
Between the words you trace
Or the vision you perceive
They can not grasp the idea
Of fame you’ve received
Because they think of ignorance
When I think of art
And they see darkness
When I see a spark
Of courage
Strong, wild, beautiful
And all these words I come across
May never express how much I look up
To you
Who is a dreamer
Who is an artist
And above all, who is human
I admire you because you are amazing
I cherish you because you are you
The person I wholeheartedly adore
The person who deserves love
And so much more
gf coming back late                      from the bar;
                             finding  
              the two together
tells Alexis to                    
                                       play the new Coltrane;
bf froze not knowing                 what until gf sat
                                            in miniskirt not shy;  
     in her own house
              & soon she
& new girl are dancing hotly;
               bf still frozen - he's      soon on the nod;
                                      the girls
                                 making out
T 2d
I’ve weeped near the old broken oak for to long.
I’ve seen the angel faced women,
Turn their back as they head for the door.
I’ve heard the howl of a mother’s pain as a fist meets a socket.

Intuitively I know the names of those lost souls, eager for a change space.

At times the loneliness is so consuming that I become afraid even speaking for fear My words might disappear into the nothingness of being

Each day peering out the window watching the rat race,  scattered ripped up pieces of paper strewn about

Empty beer cans  creating a castle of aluminum .

I’ve seen my reflection for to long
Johnny Noiπ Jul 9
their kid became a poet; of course &  started  
hanging out               w/ a 'retired' old hooker
who lets                    him suck her fat      hairy toes
&                   plow              her aged snooch
                     in the bright sunlight; unafraid
of cancerous liver spots;
buying          him beer    & drinking  red wine -
while             he recites     his long                         poems between
his teeth & licking          her                      wrinkled soles so clean
she slips                            on the wet         saliva
when she           steps into her stiletto mules:
the starfucker            & the deadbeat haven't
talked               to their kid in twenty years,   although
they remarried                       ten years ago & have an
eight-year-old;       the poet, long lost brother of Barbie  |   
             left the withered   old slag for the 18
year old junky girl upstairs;
at least she can laugh &
               not just cackle
        grimly at the shadows     of death:
the shadow overtaking
                                     her eventually;   overtakes us all,
eventually     the poet            meets a nice Christian girl
but would rather      spend Sundays naked,
                                  drinking & smoking
w/ the little junky
I am just the catalyst
of a reaction
in a bad situation
and my M.O is that
of a displacement.
A pain in your
iron hide
Mr corrosive
ferrous oxide.
Periodically
I am a compound
but this is me
in my element
burning bright like a
tungsten filament.

Not on a mission
just self-destruction  
some nuclear fission
or fusion.
No sense of direction
I am propane
floating to the point
of compression.
With a source
of ignition
I will light up the sky

like in eons past.

With a little help from neon
the street becomes
an off license.
People
are all drinking
formaldehyde
being abrasive
boxite.
The 'ask a light'
leave with a watch type.

Every piece
fits on the table
from golds, silvers,
all the way to the unstable.
With an explosive show
potassium meets H2O.
Mundanity begins to flirt
with silica and the rest of the
inert.

William Martell
Gj

— The End —