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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.
Cné Sep 2017
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This becomes more evident as we grow older. What we once may have thought was a work of art, now because of age has fallen apart. When we started out we might have looked like a Michelangelo, but in the end I fear that we shall all become Picasso's.

Written by James M Vines
James wrote this little rhyme for me. And I had to share!
Thank you, James!
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."
Daisy Marrow 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
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.
Mena Mulugeta Mar 2018
Love that
She's older now.
Shes more clever things don't seem
to utter. 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.
The destruction you once have started 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.
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.
Temporal Fugue Sep 2018
Musing away at the counter
retail a nonsense type job
selling his soul, filling a hole
throwing away DNA swabs

The guy just wants too talk
he spends four hours each week
talking the talk, unable to walk
a simple man, chalked up as meek

No life beyond the moment
sad and lonely he cries
tears that he hides, alone he abides
desolate and pitiful eyes

We see them as old and decrepit
maybe memory fleeing their minds
not dim of soul, just kinda slow
their history buried, inside

Listen a moment for honor
you'll hear it in pitch, and in pride
a person of heart, and of merit
not sure if it's true
or a
lie
Who am I to criticize those who came before
Who am I, to look in their eye
of those who were better
and knew so much more
as their gifts and memory
die
:(
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
Tom Spencer Feb 2018
meditation retreat -
breaking silence to talk
to a deaf dog

chasing dragonflies-
the little boy stops to check
his empty hand

loosening the rusted gate
in the grackle's throat -
rare winter sun

a passing bus
fills my window with
its emptiness

pear blossoms scattered
on the pavement -
white petals drifting
on an oily stream

london

sunday morning, empty streets -
the clicking of unseen heels
against damp pavement

blind man

old blind man on the
street - a pretty little girl
tosses you a glance

only the wind

only the wind flows
through this dry creek bed-
it was your glance
that set me adrift

westcave

echoing against
the walls of the cave -
the silence of our embrace

one by one these words
fall - paper stars burning in
the fire of your arms

cow creek

silhouette of pine
against the moonlit sky -
from this motionless cloud
the voice of an owl

winter sun

stretching out to fill
a sliver of sun
as it arcs across the floor
the cat watches me
through narrowing eyes.

cold front clouds

cold front clouds
blown taut across the sky -
blue grey skin
stretched thin
over the exposed ribs
of the season

empty branches black with rain -
but the stream is filled with gold


Tom Spencer © 2018
Purcy Flaherty Jul 2017
I was just in the closet July 1988
Not a word was said; 'sept a couple of whispers and an obvious desire to ****!
Mop buckets, the heat and the stink of her *****,
Harsh staggered breaths tell the tale;
Petulant hands and harsh fingers.
Nickers and pants half pulled down,
Hard truths pushing through,
I had to **** her from behind,
Very confined, quick, clumsy, ******, release.
We both staggered out;  her mate much older waiting outside, bold as brass, she looks me up and down all tough and barks assertively "i'm next!" and **** I was back in the closet 1988
Two brazen cleaners take the new boy in the closet in 1988 extract from my diary.
Thabang Moji Mar 26
Tossing rocks into a lake
To see if they skip
Like my heart every now and then
When I see your beautiful face

Looking at the leaves in the water
The beauty in this world is only getting smaller
Finding it hard to keep my eyes off you
'Cause my love for you is only getting stronger

Your age
Your ways
So many reasons..
I don't deserve you.

Maybe it's the moments we shared
The times we spend
How beautiful you looked with the sun in your hair
This evening.

I hope you never find out.
(I hope you never do.)
But I hope you don't mind
The love I often find for you
11/17/17 - 11/19/17
Dream Fisher Nov 2018
We don't dream like we used to
Of mansions built on ocean sides,
Of the house with a picket fence.
I keep dreaming only of a life without debt,
Wake up son, you aren't there yet.
Wake up kid, you aren't anything yet.

We don't write like we used to
Donate a million words to tell a sentence
In a time where pictures spoke less.
Miss, I don't know if you noticed
But the language lost its romance.
No one must have noticed since,
As I write or type, I go unnoticed
I guess that's why they call romantics hopeless

We don't live like we used to
I guess that's just changing tides
And although I've known no different,
I miss the older times
We are proud individuals
who feed into bold lies
spoonfed like we're blind
by deceitful leaders may they rise.

Technology is forever shoved in our face
hurry up n buy it
before it reaches it's expiration date.
Consuming gadgets at such a fast pace
may that be the devil
that determines your fait.

In the hands of the media we lay
side by side on a sinking ship they say
far, far and further away
we depart from our loved ones
and sink into a screen of shame.

Our children may be able fake a smile
but their tears don't lie.
And though we're letting them
remain on those sites
we sit, we sigh
and we spin our glass of wine
all the while wondering why.

Our elderly generation
worked all their life
hoping in their older years
they would be able to relax for a while
instead they have to sit there
with frail hands and ghostly smiles
overlooking us poison the planet
and see it turn cold and vile.

We drink until our heart is liquor
we love until our love turns bitter
our emptiness then begins to spread
until on the inside we are all are dead.
And it spreads quickly and painfully
like the plague
and everyone is too far gone to save.

"Men are to be machines"
We say with a hand on their shoulder
as we push them out the door
off to a war
which will scar them so much so
that they won't want to live anymore.
Take one last look at your family
and don't you miss them
while you're away!
Because you're a man you see,
your feelings are meant to be astray!

Mass confusion,
we look to the sky
for the answers we need finding
within this cold society.
We disagree until we die
about matters
which have no relevance to you or I
but conflict is the new joy
and may we fight until all is destroyed.

So many harsh whispers in the streets
so many expectations
no one dares to meet.
Some go insane
just to be the same
but just who is this madman that
we all aspire to be?
Does he have a name?
Has be ever been seen?

Now
It's your time to die.
Are you happy
with the content of your life?
Or for the entire time,
were you living a lie?

If you're not happy with the way of
human "progression"
then be the light in a sea of grey
and this horrible game of society
you will no longer play,
and instead serve now to define
a new society.



Jazmine MacIntyre
12.05.2019
Inspired by 'Iron Sky' by Paolo Nutini.
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