Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
city of flips Jul 2018
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.

she is sweet but sad. super sad.

a good poet who wants to guide me.

but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.

seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,

and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.

"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"

my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.

my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,

how I do not want
to be skinned alive.

for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.

and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley

no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^
  

that ain't me babe.
She is growing
Getting older by the day
She's becoming a lady faster than me or her mom care to say
  Her first taste of freedom
She is counting down the days
Soon she will be 16 and finally on her way
I will blow her a kiss and wipe the tears away
I will tell her how I love her  
My freckle face
amelia ware Nov 2015
you always say
that it feels like you’re older
because you protect me
and I’m shorter than you

but when I am with you
in your arms
I don’t think about our ages
or the difference between them

I just feel timeless.
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
On a beat back street
In a dirt cheap
Glasgow room,
Where the sunlight glow
Fights through an unwilling window
Of stained-glass stained
With *****, beer and the cheapest wine
Like a film to dim the shine
Into a glimmering East-end gloom.

At 2 a.m.
With sweaty hands and soaring head,
It hadn’t happened,

At 6 a.m.
With desert hands and pounding head,
We think it happened,

Sally swears that Harry kissed Mary,
Who had been leading on Larry,
Who was torn between Mary and his girlfriend,
Jane.
Opinions flew in a flurry
And tensions built in a hurry
“It’s such a worry” she said.
“Such a scandal and worry;
You go through life
And life goes through you.
Don’t you think?
No?
What do you think?”

I think we are all slouching
With both feet in the grave,
Too rotten for the worms.

At 10 a.m.
With empty hands and nothing head,
It happened.

We step through the hole in the door,
Staggering beneath a sickening sun
As it sheds its yellow skin
Over a canvas of modest graffiti
And a bin spilled over
By a beggar from Tahiti.
A man asks his lover where they’re going
And with both hands
On her phone, she said
“You can fill me,
But you’ll never complete me.
One day you will leave me…
Or maybe even delete me.”

Round the corner,
With both windows broken,
The first bar we find is already open.
We raise our glasses -
A drink to start the day
Or continue the one we started
The day before yesterday.

***********
2 a.m.

What hands and what head?
It never happened.
We are one day older
And nothing will ever happen.
Amaris Oct 2018
A childish accusation, "You promised"
Before fear's taught kids are bolder
Denied the right, who can I trust
And I can't say, now that I'm older

Growing up we all learn how to lie
Despite all our parents' trying
It's become my second nature, why?
I've found it's easier than fighting

When the world demands a lot of you
You learn to adjust or fall apart
Rarely is the desired answer true
Tangled in lies, where do I start

I know I can do better and I should
A refrain throughout our heads
Binding words, be a kid that's "good"
Follow through all that's been said

My master is fear, I've learned my lesson
Lying seems to be an act that's kind
We tend to try to have good intentions
"How are you today?" "I'm doing fine."
Mena Mulugeta Mar 2018
Love that
She's older now,
she is more clever things don't seem
to bother. 
She would shatter you
with a bit of her consciousness
while she scortches you with her intelligence.
She is the definition of sparkle something that you constructed.
Through the destruction you once had started. It no longer exists. I displayed out loud I'm no longer your bih I'm out.
You've taught me to love myself thank you.
Caterpillar I am
looking up to a beautiful butterfly you are.

Young I am
in full bloom self-reliant is you.

Still learning of living i'm crawling
know about intimacy you're flying.

Youthful caterpillar pouring feelings
beautiful butterfly feels discomfit.

Love I gave you
declining you do.

Silk leaves, pure I give
honey and nectar you choose.
I hope I wasn't too young for you.
Hidden Glace May 13
FIRST NAME LAST NAME

I just wanted to say I.
I'm sorry.

I didn't mean for you to ever listen to these.

I didn't mean to let go of the edge.
I didn't think I'd actually go through with it.
But here we are, and that only means one thing.
I finished it.

It's hard to find these words to say,
Without sounding cheesy or stupid.
All I know is that I'm not a burden anymore.

Is Dec 12th. About 12:30 or so.
I could've called you instead.
I could've- I could've-

I could've done it.
Morgan Mercury Jun 2018
I love us in July,
the Saturday of summer.
Getting caught up in magic and cosmos,
killing time like it doesn't exist.
If being this carefree is a crime
then I guess we'll be locked up forever.

We sit in cars with slushies and show tunes.
Can't believe that I've never been happier.
These feelings are engraved
and they've found a home in me.  
These years were the little things
that made me love life.

Never did I imagine so much distance to invade our space.
Find us across the map and roads apart.
It's time we dance with reality.
Well, I guess time really did catch up with us.
It's time to break the news that summer does not last forever.
2018.
I sit in this place and watch the cars go by
Like the memories I have of the times that have passed
Time seems to have a lead foot
And it goes by quicker than any of them
I've buckled up for the ride
But I realize I should have just stayed home
Now I'm just waiting till the tank is on empty
Because at this rate, it won't be long till the rides over

-AJT
emily mikkelsen Jul 2018
recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.
The Fire Burns Jul 2018
I used to read and see just fine,
now I wear glasses all the time,
my hair was full and feathered then
now I am a bald, just smooth skin.

Was the captain of the football team,
now I rub down with icyhot cream,
my back is shot with pinched nerves,
every joint creaks and they all hurt.

Was in shape, man I was cut,
now trying to lose this gut,
used to stay out every night,
now its time for bed when no sunlight.

Drinking beer and liquor with no care,
now the hangovers I just can't bare.
still hanging out with my friends,
guess we all adapt until the end.
island poet May 2018
“Moby ****,”  Herman Melville

<•>

~for the lost at sea~

after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining

the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls

sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality

I’m called to depart my beach shoreline  unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming

god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion,  nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties

my in-camera brain  eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles

walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?

puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others

perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered

Memorial Day 2018
killian Oct 2018
He's got a vivid vision, now.
It's just eggs in spiders.
They never listen. Too
**** late, he's inspired.

He knows how to make water ripple
concentric reds and whites.
He knows how to make daughters crippled
and bring upon us red and blue lights.
Mary Gay Kearns Sep 2018
The rowing boat gave you half an hour
On a murky lake in the middle of a park
After waiting in a line for quite a time
One took the paddles and jumped inside.

The boat it rattled and rolled, the paddles
Clanked as each backwards move pulled
Fingers floated wide stretched in the leaf
Sycamore seeds dust meniscus shimmer.

Autumn holiday glitter in St James Park
Where the Serpentine under arch bridge
Eating sandwiches and waiting for City
Christmas lights to brighten Selfridges.

Love Mary **
I had a voice as a kid
And as quiet as it was
I was so much louder then
Next page