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Oni Olusegun Sep 2018
Age
Midnight, Ninth of November
God-knows-who was awake
Idle, naive and posted
Age is not maturity
Age is just a number

I stare through my window
I saw the moon, my niece  
Myself five years before today;
Behind them stood my father
In a stupor of grief and grey--

Age is nothing like a number
With age comes wisdom
And with age comes age
Sjr1000 Sep 2018
Two outs
Two strikes
It's all over now

There's a line drive
Down the right field line
One run scores
Two runs score
******* in the bottom of the ninth
On a hot summer night
And childhood
Inside
Never  dies.
Michael Mar 2019
The Ninth Battalion (Australia)

By Sun-filled day and frosty night,
O’er rugged hills and desert sand,
We learned to work as teams, to fight
In jungles of another land.

From every city, State and town,
All the lovely countryside,
Impelled by grim war’s cold, bleak frown,
Gathered we at fair Woodside.

And some of us were volunteers,
But mostly we young conscripts were,
With youthful hopes, ambitions, fears;
Young men’s dreams of love were there.

And lusts, for we weren’t choir boys,
Nor simpering wowser, nor old maid.
We searched for brawling, drinking joys
And chased the girls of Adelaide.

Oh Adelaide, what wondrous pubs,
The Rundle, Gresham (Mind you Roy?),
The Western, Finden, all were hubs
Of social, sinful, youthful joy.

But scarce the city trips sublime.
Beneath the awesome stars our home.
And Sun-bronzed we became with time,
Leigh Creek, Cultana, ours to roam.

At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.

Canungra’s forest, where chilled to bone
We learned to ambush and by sudden flare to ****.
The Flinders Range, those hills of stone.
Shoalwater Bay did prove our skill.

And at the last and having passed our nation’s test,
(for some a final accolade)
And to that question answered yes,
We made farewell to Adelaide.

At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.
Spenser Bennett Dec 2016
You left without a word
While I was gone about the world
and I came home a little empty
But your house was built within me
Now the fires gone out
The lights have faded
The paint is peeling
And the mountains only made me feel jaded

It's a long time coming
And I'm not done running
Maybe some day we'll see
Same page, but never the same leaf
I got caught up in the everyday
And you stood watching me watching myself waste away

Come down from that hill

Walk with me, like we used to do
Little shops on ninth, not the same
Like tripping acid without the view
I wonder if Wonder can do without you
You burn more than green and California thrills
I learned more things about that Thing and pâli, chill

Rain, rain, stains my shoes, but that don't mean nothing,
when there's nothing to do,
but watch talking horses and hide from the blues in the living room,
with the anxiety building until Hell is almost all you,
and I don't know what to do,
but I wouldn't trade the view for heaven, cuz if I've seen heaven,
well
I prefer you
Tay Jun 2017
Why are your hands like the ocean?
Pull in, push out.
Come here, go away.

You learned to cry quietly because it's prettier that way. You hate that your cheeks get red- like transparent ghosts found a way to put handprints on porcelain skin. You wipe your tears before they touch your cheeks. Don't give any clues that you're breaking.

Remember the first time your mother told you to not look directly into the sun? You asked why and she just laughed. "You'll burn your eyes, silly girl." You remember this conversation each time she calls you her sunshine.

You were nineteen the day you were told, "you're so soft." It was the twenty-ninth time someone had told you this, but this time those words were coupled with soft eyes instead of a hard-pressed stare. Maybe you could have loved him. But falling in love meant jumping, and there were sharp rocks at the bottom.

You jumped once before. You jumped and swallowed seawater as you watched him standing on the bank scrubbing your poetry off of his hands. You remember water setting fire to the air inside your lungs as you realized that no matter how hard you screamed for him to just love you again, he'd only whisper, "you're just too broken."

You remember two months later- the first time hearing the pop of an orange pill bottle lid thinking that maybe you should write the time- like you're calling the last time you'd really be you. It was a "first kiss, first dance, missed call, last chance, yes, no, maybe-so" kind of night. The kind of night that puts your soul on a sinking boat in the middle of the ocean. There's no coming back from that kind of lonely.

"Be good." She told you. You remember this when you go to type "food" in a text and your phone corrects it to "good". Your ribs drop off into an empty abyss. There is no fulfillment to the kind of starvation your hands feel when you reach out to hands that will never love you back.

Those bones hold you enough for you to sit upright in a hospital waiting room. Spine straight and lungs held in a panic. This happens every time they put cold hands on the parts of you that no longer work. New mothers tell you that children are a blessing- that they'll change your life for the better. Hollow eyes meet the baby blues of another and your hands grow heavy with longing as you realize that your junk really is just junk and you'll never hold tiny hands.

You wonder why you miss someone from years ago. You wonder why it is that you cannot remember what their voice sounds like but you can remember what it smelled like outside the day you two met. The last time you picked up a phone, your hands knew to dial their number. But you haven't called in ages now. You quietly realize that you only miss certain people when your body becomes medicine cabinet.

You now know that you have hands like the ocean because people may love you, but no one wants to stay on the beach after the sun sets.

You remember turning the mirror around and telling you mother the sun didn't shine that day.
Es Aug 2019
ik you don't like long poetry
neither them philosophy, 
i'll break my words for you
so will you read it for me?

nineteenth was where it started
the best of was not away,
not long when we connected
and for ninth, we made our day.
 
sixteenth we met, under the rain
and to me that day felt feign,

i could never forget, how you smelt
you were warm and comforting,
now i just miss the way you felt
so, do we plan another meeting?

eighth, to me was perfection
caressing our lips, holding each other,
suave, i vow on this sheer relation
i wouldn't give up on you, now or ever. 

arguing at dusk to ignoring at twilight
i'm scared to loose you within that fight
but, we still end up loving each other,
under the same moonlight

i can't wait to count more years
to the fact only with you along,
hold me when this off wears
for this journey has just begun.
IX.VIII.MMXVIII
Remind me of how I'll find
In the ninth circle of Hell
When departing this life
At the sound of a bell
The very notion
Of our lonesome memory
Robbing me of sleep
As a thief in the night
Steals my soul to keep

What began as an innocent felicity
Has now twisted itself in so many knots
To remain hidden and unseen
I can't believe
That I ever found reprieve
While bound by your eyes
It was all an obscene dream of schemes
And seemingly serene alibis

I've stopped eating
I'm growing feeble and weak
The surmounting toll of this life
Has reached its low peak
Realizing you were merely a fantasy
Entrenched in the deep
Out of reach

For now we share secrets that echo
Through a window with curtains drawn
Eventually I know you'll let go
Because I said so
When everything else is gone

Remind me of how I'll find
In the ninth circle of Hell
When departing this life
At the sound of a bell
The very notion
Of my lonesome memory
Robbing me of sleep
As a thief in the night
Steals my soul to keep

Love and Fear

Are tender devotions
They lose momentum
Relenting to stay in motion
Like trying to capture cavitations
Lost in an ocean
With a camera out of focus
Hoping no one is knowing

If left unattended

They become relentless
Measuring up
To everything and everyone

If lead astray

They stand unafraid
Demanding they're defended
By anything and anyone

If unanswered

They feel resented
As if guilty of treachery
Left unsentenced
This is my lament
Paul Butters Jan 2019
Oh Brexit!
Where is the Exit?
You can’t make your money
You Tory Grandees,
Nor can you
Remainer MPs.

We’re running right into a very hard cliff;
Before we get out we’ll all be so stiff.
There’s no majority for any option
And Theresa May’s deal is but a concoction.

Vote after vote and endless debate.
March twenty ninth is the Closing Date.
Can we escape?
I really don’t know.
The media are loving this pantomime show.

This sorry charade is filling the news,
We’re all sick of hearing everyone’s views.
Please get me out of here
I hear you say
Surely, surely there must be some way!

So come on politicians
Get your fingers out
And show these Europeans
We still have some clout.

If we can’t do that then just pack it in
And throw the whole thing right into the bin.
Whatever we do I’m just past caring
But I hope you’ll tell me thanks for sharing.

Get on with it!
That’s the yell.
For until we resolve this
We are in Hell.

Paul Butters

© 30\1\2019 (Written in the early hours!).
Brexit, Brexit, Brexit.......
Izzy Jul 2017
First Minutes
The discovery sinks in as we spring into action
Adrenaline kicks in, heart pounding, blood rushing.
My mind confusedly putting pieces together.
First Few Hours
Calls are made to paramedics and cops and investigators swarm our house.
Our car goes faster than what is safe as we follow the ambulance as it carried what we would later learn was only her body and a few dedicated paramedics.
A time of death is announced and more tearful calls are made, this time to family and later to friends.
We leave hours later surrounded by a mournful silence.
First Day
We sat on the on the couch in a shocked silence, which was only broken by my calls to her friends, the ringing of the house phone and doorbell.
First Week
The silence was deafening and I had to escape.
So I returned to school after making arrangements with my family for the cremation and shedding my own tears for the first time. I caught the last two classes of the day and began burying myself in my classwork after telling those who needed to know.
First Month
Our own questions were behind every turn as we handled finances, possessions, settling things and celebrating her short life.  
I began to tell more and more of my friends.
Second Month
The pain was still fresh and stinging,
My mother returned to work for the first time.
Third Month
I held back my tears in English.
The play we read reminding me of her and running lines with her the previous year.
Fourth Month
I let it get to me while locked in my room, wishing it was my boyfriend's arms around me instead of my paint-stained jacket as I painted the canvas as black as I was feeling.
Recording my tears for him and watching how he hid his own watery eyes the next day in class as I honored our promise.
Her birthday passed and my mother planted flowers.
Fifth Month
After an uneventful spring break, my dad began staying home from work, unable to handle the weight of his thoughts.
Sixth Month
School ended and summer began and for the first time in what was now fourteen years, I didn't have a sister. I was alone.
Seventh Month
Slowly but surely the pain faded, with the help of scattered therapists, counselors, and mountains of support from family and friends. Summer traditions continued but were never the same.
Eighth Month
The weight of her absence doesn’t rest on my shoulders as heavy anymore.
Ink stains me with her memory. The pain I felt, saw and personified over many pages as we still face it.
My father has returned to work as we each learn to deal with the missing piece of our family in our own ways.
Ninth Month
School begins.
It's my junior year and school is starting for the first time since 3rd grade without my sister. My mother would always take a "first-day" picture, the tradition faded when we attended different schools. Maybe it wasn't so annoying after all.
Tenth Month
It's October, my, our, favorite month. Lost memories run through my head along with missed opportunities. Did we even carve pumpkins last year? Last year we argued about passing out candy but both ended up falling asleep. When was the last time we went to the County Fair? The Mullet Festival? Missed opportunities for silly reasons.
Eleventh Month
The Holiday season is kicking off. Soon it will be Thanksgiving. Her absence is noticeable as I stand amongst my family and celebrate. The only ones who don't ignore it are the little ones, repeatedly asking where she is as the grownups look uncomfortable. I don't know what to tell them.
Twelveth Month
The Holidays are in full swing and I can't help but think of the last one we all spent together. She passed before Christmas. They aren't the same anymore.

One Year
Its hard to believe that a year has passed without her. Her room is the same as if shes just at school. We spent the anniversary doing things she enjoyed, like taking the family dog to the beach and sharing cotton candy.
We haven't moved on, not in the slightest. My mother still cries, I don't think she'll ever stop. But as the days pass I can see how it gets easier and easier for my family to be happy again.
macayla Mar 2019
Sentiment tied with grief. The worst kind of feeling that overwhelms your body, shaking you to your core, ratting your bones and unsettling the blood that sits in the tiny, twisting canals of your veins. I attach everything to you nowadays. I annotate your love and life to every song on my Spotify playlist, I draw lines and connect you to the good parts of my day. I can’t get rid of you from me and my life. You have overtaken the sun, placed your hands over mine, and every time I close my eyes I can feel your hair on my neck.

Your voice is like warm static. Your presence is like a warm jazz chord, a seventh or a ninth, like sunlight peeking out from the gaps in between two people embracing each other. You are a breath of living. You are a breath of stunning colours, stark orange and burning red, translucent blues and almost invisible, pale yellow. I can smell the wind, the sea and the sky when I’m with you.

I hate looking up the traces of you online and offline. There’s a sick feeling, the feeling of acknowledgement of how tight your hands are around my throat. I feel like I should be guilty of something, like I am the only one at fault for letting myself indulge in someone so distant, far away, but still so bright and expectant. Someone who plays and listens in a mascarpone-cream colour.

I’m so pathetic. Here I am, listening to your self-made playlists, pretending like you are listening to them at the same time as I am.

I wish I could un-love you, as an idea. Reality makes me shudder. It renders me silent, and I resign to aloofness. I can’t enter your bubble, or be a part of the same world as you are in. It’s so comforting, but I know that as soon as I raise my hands or step a foot inside, everything will be ruined.

And you are the last one I would ever think of ruining.
All rights reserved to Macayla :-)
Rhia Dec 2018
On the first day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: a bowl full of doggy food.

On the second day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: two sloppy kisses and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the third day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: twelve stuffed buddies, eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
Yet another poem written by my brother circa 2006-ish in honor of our illustrious beagle, Kirby. My family all marveled at the poem's accuracy.
Dave Williams Oct 2018
it's happened already, we know this, for sure
but nothing solidifies it more concretely
as when i hear you say it to your friends

it happened a year ago, completely, for sure
because when we both started acting discretely
i had already seen two different ends

one in which the path would straighten
and we'd grow the same way, as before
one in which we end up so far apart
that it wouldn't
matter
it might even have healed by now
but i didn't anticipate the third
or the fourth
or the fifth
nor the sixth
the seventh, eleventh
the eighth, the hate
the ninth, not mine
not even yours, surely

because i really care for you, and i don't want you to die
i just want us to be honest about what's left of you and i
sunshine Apr 2019
they always make it feel like the first time
and leave for the second

they tell me they love me for the third time
and ask for forgiveness for the forth

they roll over and smile in the morning for the fifth time
and leave my calls unanswered for the sixth

they visit my momma's house for the seventh time
and pile all their clothes into the car for the eighth

they pay for dinner and a movie for the ninth time
and act like nothing's wrong for the tenth

eleven more days I could stand it
or twelve more weeks
but I rather spend thirteen hours thinking about me
instead of rewriting my text to you for the fourteenth
but I've had fifteen lovers and none of them were like you
one, two, three, and four
I think I should stop
acting like I need to settle the score


xoxo
-sunshine
27182818 Jul 2019
Welcome to the journey!
On this brilliant trip
We shall traverse absurdistan
To make our way to our final destination:
Mutual annihilation

Strap in or make yourself sparse
As we begin this farce
Traveling through Shitville
To get torn apart by the storm
Until maybe we can move on?

Next pit stop is Pointless Peak
Another amalgamation of lies
Beware of your feet
Turning and turning
Running in circles, around and around
Dizzy, we finally fall off the edge

Straight into Snake Valley
Where the snake
That set us on this road
Can sneak back into the fold
To wreak more havoc
We weren’t quite sold

But now we all are
And it’s no longer that far

It’s playtime
Time for some more mud slinging
Enough slander to keep the ears ringing
Nobody want to hear reason
No matter it was never a goal
To resolve conflict at all

Almost there
At the ninth circle of hell
Hurray!
We finally made it all the way
So we can stay to play
This game of insanity
Feeding our own vanity
Forgetting the promises we break

So much destruction
So much loss
Is this what we become?
Everyone for themselves
Frozen deeper as the resentment grows
Never thought these bonds were so fragile
They’d shatter under a grain of mistrust
Or maybe the greed just cut through
The last strings keeping us together
(15.07.2019), raw
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