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Mari Nov 2015
I found myself stranded on
Neverland
with no way to fly
and no star to show me the way
'till one night
as I closed my eyes
a shadow appeared and a boy
close on his heels
they tumbled and rolled before my feet
Boy and Shadow became one
and grinned at me
"Peter Pan"
he said to me
playing a tune
and swore he just wanted
to talk for a while

Laying amongst the tiger lilies
I so adored and staring up at the stars
He asked me to be his
When I asked why he simply replied
"I once saved you from
Captain Hook."
"I’ll keep you safe."
"I promise you’ll never be lonely.”
Foolishly, I agreed
and he took me to his
Hiding Tree
where spiteful Tinkerbell
tried to be rid of me
for I was Self-Composed, Human & Withdrawn,
everything she was not.
He taught me how to fly,
showed me every nook and cranny
of his world by moonlight.
And I fell in love
with the way, his eyes shone like fireflies
and his pure and genuine laugh.
He was enthralling
and magnetic
always so carefree
and reckless

How wonderful it was

'Till Wendy bird came along
for she was Kind, Romantic & Empathetic
everything I was not
all I could do was watch
as they flew through Neverland
by moonlight
She fell hopelessly in love
with his recklessly playful nature
and hypnotic charms

Yet every night
Wendy gazed down
to see the girl
with the crow feather in her hair
laying amongst the flowers she was named
with Tinkerbell by her side.
Whenever she asked Peter why
he simply replied
“She is as Wild as she is Beautiful.
She cannot be contained
by the hollow walls of my Hiding Tree
Nor the boundaries of her village."

Then one night
when Wendy bird left
and Peter returned to Hangman’s Tree
he found Tiger Lily gone.
Every night he’d fly above
Neverland
only to glimpse
her crow feather
but all he found was an empty space
belonging
to her ghost
whispering
"Peter Pan
Take my hand and fly away
to Neverland
where the beast
within
can be free"

Tinkerbell never did say where she’d gone
only to leave her be.
Her wild beast no longer had a home.

Peter Pan
would never see her again
He had broken his Lily's heart
11-4-15
Hope you guys like it
Spenser Bennett Jun 2016
I have expanded through one million dimensions and still I remain flat.
Paper walls surrender my paper heart to the words that erase themselves with age.

If there is meaning I find it meaningless unless you got it right in one guess.
Can you feel blood in my lost chest as it circulates? Maybe that's a mistake.

Do dead men tell no tales or maybe they spin them lacking air to rattle through ragged dead lungs still pink yet misunderstood? Dust that settles behind twinkling stars lets me down above this silent neighborhood.

I think we all grow up to be pirates, Y'know the kind that the Pan hates?
Betraying our childhood dreams and aspirations for backgreens and exasperations.

If this ship is sinking I want to be the anchor, watch it all crash down in slow motion, while it buries me at the bottom of your endless ocean.
Tick, tick, tick. The clock have ceased their tocks.

Cover to cover I think I have found another darling. Can this tale continue to spin while the world above changes page by page?
Exploring stories that stand up to the test of time. Peter Pan has always been a fascinating idea to me. Thank you for reading!
Osiria Melody Feb 14
We are more than sad people,
merely disconnected from life
Than merely sad people,
disconnected
People, disconnected
Are disconnected
Disconnected
My mind,
a room with a
door that opens
and closes

Door?
Happiness and sadness
When I am happy, the door
of my mind opens
When I am sad, the door of
my mind closes

Room?
Control over my
happiness
and sadness
When I am happy, the
room expands
When I am sad, the
room contracts

Some days?
Room expands
Feeling carefree and
invincible

Other days?
Room contracts
Feeling pessimistic
and
lethargic

Every day?
Room gradually contracts
Room walls close in like a
hydraulic crusher
I try the best that I can to
clean my room
Regain control over the
clutter of negativity
blocking my open door
As room gets smaller, I cannot
open the door anymore

Door remains closed
Remains closed
Closed
Trapped in my room, I
could try to learn
to clean up the clutter
of negativity
But I cannot
Instead
For different reasons,
different situations
Why does life still
breathe in me?
I chose to do
everything that I
can
to clear away the
clutter of
negativity

I chose to de-clutter the door
of my mind
I chose to allow my room
(control over happiness
and sadness) to expand
If you ever feel like your
room is contracting
If you ever feel like your
open door is blocked
Just want you to know
that you're strong
enough to unblock
that door



Melody
2/14/19
People with depression are more than just merely sad people.
The hanky he was sobbing into was crusty,
*****, unwashed, unclean; yet strangely comforting to a little boy,
as he cried he made his way to a culvert behind the school,
some place the other kids couldn’t see him crying,
it was more comfortable being near rocks
-next to that watershed for some reason?

He looked down at his antagonist,
the scaly-green feet,
they made him cry harder,
he lamented…

“Why have I been tormented so?”

“Who gave me these feet? Who made me this way, lizardly, scaly, an animal no?”

“What class am I, what species? Are those toenails, claws or a disease?”

“The way I’m treated makes me sad. Where is my mommy, where is my dad?

“Did I come from an egg? Didn’t we all? Why do they pick on me, make me feel so small?”

“My feet are reptilian even I can see that!”

“Am I part lizard? Are there horns on my back?”

“I can’t hide in sneakers ‘cause the claws tear them apart.”

“Not great at math, language or art.”

“They always pickin’ on me, today it’s in the schoolyard.”

“That is why I sit here on the rocks crying with my **** feet and sullen heart,”

“Cannot run fast so no baseball, basketball or soccer…”

“The other kids tried to stuff me in my own locker…”

“One mean little girl even threw a dead mouse at me!”

“But I’m only part lizard as far as I can see?”

“My English teacher says that my words are like a bird song”

“If I talk like a birdie along with monster’s feet, no wonder I don’t belong!”

“Even still, to be so mean to me, I know that it is wrong…”

“ONE DAY I WILL SHOW THEM ALL, THESE FEET THEY HAVE A PURPOSE!”

“MY WORDS OF SONG AND FEET OF MAGIC COMBINE A COSMIC CIRCUS!”

“I am no freak of nature, no forest Pan or Satyr…”

“It is not the way I look, my clothes or feet that matter…”

“It is what is in my heart and mind, the things I do that truly count…”

“For those things that make us different, for they are tantamount…”

“Seven heads, seven stages, seven fables, seven sages”

“Seven stars and seven wonders and seven heavens that we’re under…”

“And all those things they say are great and marvelous about us…”

“Will one day be written in the book by Great Old Uncle Taautus!”
Children's rhyme. Scylla represents the rocks near shores who rend ships to pieces that venture to close to them.
empty seas Nov 2018
i can’t do this
i’m not good enough

i can’t control my own actions recently
obsessively checking and checking
to see if someone is talking about me behind my back

i ate close to 4 meals today
i just ate and ate and even when i was full
i couldn’t stop
even now my stomach yells at me
so full yet so hungry
and the whispers say just throw up
but i’m still too cowardly to try

i can’t stop shaking
if not my hands, my legs
if not my legs, my teeth
at one point i could feel my brain inside my skull
everything is uncomfortable and hurts
so, so much

i am a failure
i am a failure
and i need to drill it though my
rotting brain
before self confidence comes again
i can’t do anything
i can’t practice for a state competition
i can’t study for the ACT
i can’t even keep myself from tearing
the inside of my cheek apart
in an attempt to stay calm
i’m rotting

i am falling apart
i can’t do this
i’m not good enough
i am a failure
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Tee Morris Mar 18
You stole my heart
My adolescence too
Me, you, and lost boys march
We aren't scared of a crew

You sprinkled me with Pixi-Dust
And you saved me from growing older
You took me to Neverland
You flew me as I held onto your shoulders

Tinkerbelle and her Pixi-Dust
The captain and his hook
He kidnapped us and Tinkerbelle
But you saved us and we shall forever sail

The lost boy's imagination
Smiling is our declaration
For we are warriors
And you're my Peter Pan
~ Peter Pan is my saviour ~
I

There is no order of difficulty in miracles. One is not "harder" or "bigger" than another. They are all the same. All expressions of love are maximal.

II

Miracles as such do not matter. The only thing that matters is their Source, Which is far beyond evaluation.

III

Miracles occur naturally as expressions of love. The real miracle is the love that inspires them. In this sense everything that comes from love is a miracle.

IV

All miracles mean life, and God is the Giver of life. His/Her Voice will direct you very specifically. You will be told all you need to know.

V

Miracles are habits, and should be involuntary. They should not be under conscious control. Consciously selected miracles can be misguided.

VI

Miracles are natural. When they do not occur something has gone wrong.

VII

Miracles are everyone's right, but purification is necessary first.

VIII

Miracles are healing because they supply a lack; they are performed by those who temporarily have more for those who temporarily have less.

IX

Miracles are a kind of exchange. Like all expressions of love, which are always miraculous in the true sense, the exchange reverses the physical laws. They bring more love both to the giver and the receiver.

X

The use of miracles as spectacles to induce belief is a misunderstanding of their purpose.

XI

Prayer is the medium of miracles. It is a means of communication of the created with the Creator. Through prayer love is received, and through miracles love is expressed.

XII

Miracles are thoughts. Thoughts can represent the lower or ****** level of experience, or the higher or spiritual level of experience. One makes the physical, and the other creates the spiritual.

(XIII)

Miracles are both beginnings and endings, and so they alter the temporal order. They are always affirmations of rebirth, which seem to go back but really go forward. They undo the past in the present, and thus release the future.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3292737/hooked/
...
Do you believe in
Miracles?
...
Humblebee
I drew the word "pride"
But it's the Pan flag.
Underneath it it's the same
But it's a trans flag
I couldn't draw a demiromantic and/or a genderflux flag with chalk.
Now we wait for my parents to see
If they don't see it within two weeks I'll bake a cake that says
"pan, trans, demiromantic and also genderflux"
Maybe I'll need two cakes tbh.
High on'a farm,
make a needle biscuits
water-up sits creek
jostle potatoes,
pan-*** boiling
-with carrot cake.

Purple sky,
tractor runnin'
time of day,
sun low.

E'er body say,

"Why dou'a on'a farm?"

entered-dat du da future;
not Ford'ed fields.
Face it dou'a future,

"Dat future know it's place."

Sweet devils singin' to me,
sweetened tongue a' beautiful place. . .

"E'erthing set in place, ***** wit I say,
-dinner on-ma tray."

Thank you, dear Friends, Jewels of the Southeast
I'm honoured to serve my Lord Philip's needs
Alas I must go for to say at least
This Exercise was best to state your Creed
That Services rendered need no Tall Tale
And Lessons learned were just and expected
For sooner or later I must avail
To pan my Face and keep Work prorated
Like Glue essensed becomes a Brisk Perfume
Even if this Geometry can't fit
At least my Promised Circle shall resume
Then improve the Mistakes I benefit.
After all these done, your Lives I shall miss
Even if your Names are crossed from my List.
STATE SHUT DOWN BY IDIOCY

"This is correspondent, uh, burp...
wait, winds r, yeah, okay go
back on live camera..."

pretend the wind
is
blowing you back

"This is the most major storm in recorded history of this network!"

"My God,
I could die in this sh..stuff."

"Five star hotel what the ****?"

"Okay, okay, live we are,
look here, pan closer, these leafs on this Raleigh plant here,
see how violently they are moving?"

LEAVES ARE FALLING!

"That is the fear one feels knowing that a category two,
at any moment, could become a category five."

"This Dave Mowers live from Hawaii,
checking in before I possibly die.
Mom I love you, Dad, well,
look how brave I am!"

"Is that an Asian girl?"

"What an a..cute ***, that,
cut to...
to the violent leaves again you ****!"

"I'll fire you cameraman!"


Four large oak trees have fallen.
HAWAII HAS ENORMOUS SURF!.
 Four large oak trees have fallen.
Peter Pan,
he never could die.
He could never grow old,
yet his wisdom was bright.
He took children on a journey,
to Neverland, they say.
But where would it be, if not on a map?
Where would they go, away?
Well, you see,
it's not like the tale.
They didn't sing on a grand boat,
raising a sail.
Peter Pan would reap the souls
of late children
who died to soon.
He couldn't let them stay,
he wouldn't let them brood.
The Robin Hood
of the reapers, he was.
To bring children through the gates of the Heavens,
where they wouldn't age,
it was his only cause.
mia Apr 1
Little pink ribbons  
Locked in a man-made prison
Accumulate dust.

I have not forgotten
The lullabies in their shadows.
Tea with too much sugar
Mom’s high heels with bows on the toes
and always a little too much room.

now ***,
a few too many sleeping pills,
And her own stilettos with hideous red soles.
blister forming
Near the heart.
this is a rough draft of an idea I came up with when sleep deprived. constructive criticism is welcome!
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
This is not, a time to loosen up
Or nine to five job to give up
Just saddle up the power is in you
Five ladies cafe to dine at five and
drove_* the meter is running
(The Canadian Cup) team versus the
     Taxi Cup
He swooned you in your
Five dreamy but half heart sugars
Come on Baby bloomers
Let's see some boom!!

In your hips men will be men taking
frequent flyer trips temptation 1 2345
We need fewer digs one love teo reasons
World  345  heart flags
We don't have to cross our hearts
Perhaps tattoo heart legs no more strikes
Jumping Jack flash
What a rope in this isn't the Pope

Somehow we all get broke
To court her like your the lasso
stars cosmos hearts like Lassie
Never a change of subject how it
remains in your heart how it hit hard
to react but changed to five cards
Digging too long  lucky 777 like heaven
Heart digs

1-where?
Oh! There

No, I am here
We are always  
In-between
numbers_ I only
have 5 minutes
No I phone have a heart
Oh! where is designed for me
Those five plates

Whats in between them
      *Him

We are opening Live- Five
Strong heart to give the caring
The useful heart is never so daring
My gate* Girls are nail digging
Hugging

Or losing add +

Flirty
*****
Our community
Heftier like Jupiter
Heart to build
the gravity
A big kiss hunch
of five roses

Your getting to bloom
but only have
5 extra movie parts
The front dress mermaid tail
Your heart delicate hands
opened up your emails
I think you hit the
Jackpot

Max to the million shot
No heart of gold
Only more leaders
Scrambling and digging
your fork
Mixing those egg beaters

Five men think they know
there women
like ten
commandments
Turn to five wrong
engagements
There it goes the lucky
five arguments

A plot beating
like a hot-shot
The French Baguette
Bread 9 to 5 firecracker
Five-carat baguette
wedding band in her safe
Heart digs to five hands
Heart neck guilty as a giraffe

The cafe house had only
5 cups left  they sold you out
Only Five Bed and breakfast
stayers
Do detailed with their Ladyfingers
But need more alone time
Be on time get sweet key lime
What is real-time so sublime

That rose- paper cut- origami
Sorcerer of five he was like the
cold cuts of big Sub Salami
Japanese sword samurai
What a Geronimo Oh! no
Jericho
This wasn't a hot potato

Or Gizmo No-Go
Getting a shot for Polio
The gusto songs to the heart play
Maestro the Cosmo's
The five stars to heart his
afterglow
Like a titanic ship but heroics

Five lunatics wedding horns ******
Five two timer Mario gamers
so demonic
DOMINO'S bed five students wed
We dug deeper get-up sleepy-head
Exposed cries location set
Network U- dig cups

Something lip curved
He misplaced my lips
What did he do in exchange
More stocks and hard stone rocks
Like frying pan egg
scrambled words

Crossed heart Rapper so believing
The Fox five sticking tacky glue
His CD Rose lying pants no clue
Painful pointed shoes need R&R
     Robin's *Responsibilities
       The Heart On Replay
The deeper you dig to restart

The healthy organically grown brain
Men on Pause I truly believe nature
takes its course
but another beat to go is that so?
And if so heart digs to five
Feel the good vibe in another tribe
Five times I had to wake you up
I am the love cure reminiscing

Giving me five reasons
Our beautiful change of
heart in season

Studying the fine art heart
Referencing
Never refusing thats life
five-step to strive nothing
Fancy

Robin shoutbox she getting
her point across
Either you're the worker or loner
The heart pleaser the boss
Your heart looks good
on your dress
Whether we win or deep mess
The good heart can change to
a bad start

Recharge your heart count to five
Venus- beauty moved on like a
pathologist digging over staying alive
The hearts what digs this is not the 9-5 workers we are talkers
and long settling in heart walkers come any join me we may actually be alive did I get a live one
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
A perfect day (in the city)

First off, it is Saturday morning!
I wake up too early,
Slip into a heated reverie,
five poems to achieve,
along with five healthy sneezes,
expelling the week's dusty remains.

She checks in on me,
to see if I am adequately watered
in my poetry riding place,
in truth, to see if I am overcooked,
still alive, still in my creative place.

A real frittata from her new frittata pan,
is the breakfast plan,
that pan,
gives her so much pleasure(?),
I will be eating them
for the rest of my weekend
life.

Tho confess I must,
The sun-dried tomatoes and
smokey mozzarella, my fav,
were pretty tasty,
maybe I am being too hasty?

She to Dracula dvr'd,
me to nap sweet,
a rest to finally complete,
for once.

we meet up again around noon,
preparatory work, i.e., getting dressed,
off to see Little Miss Sunshine,
now Off-Broadway, at
Eighth and Forty Third.

Yes it was charming and delightful,
dear Wallace Shawn,^
and there were no ****** histrionic
rutting cats in it,
not one at all.
(I know, I know,
I am embarrassingly, lowbrow)


Walked home,
so she could exercise her pet
man.
On the way,
bought us new earphones,
cause I go through a pair a day,
given that I write poetry
in a someday,
watery grave.

Up Eighth Avenue,
at my request,
a reality show,
the meandering tourists
and the grunge to
circumnavigate,

Across 57th Street,
west to east,
surrounded by the city's teemings,
people flash mobbing,
giving NYC,
its special heartbeat.

Up Madison to window shop,
it seems in this part of town
of fancy shops,
I am to France and Italy teleported,
they don't speak
no English anymore,
though told, they still accept
American
Express
and US dollars

Home by late afternoon,
she, a promise to keep,
lamb chops,
honeyed Brussels sprouts,
a sweet potato
and a very very good Pinot Noir
purchased when,
I was very very goodly broke,
and contrapuntal insanity was a
partial cure.

Romantic lighting, yeah yeah,
a date-dinner, she gets,
in return, I ecstasize semi-silently
(actually quite loudly, with every bite)
in a carnivorous man-haze.

A grand bargain.

In bed early,
a Hercule Poirot to drink on tv.
I see fifteen minutes,
so I can wake up
to record
in the dead of night,
in plain, yet
triumphant poetry,
her final words.

“A perfect day”
^ see the poem Wallace Shawn

Ironically, written on the day Lou Reed passed way, who sang one of her fav songs,
Perfect Day
JP Apr 8
he
lives around us
in the form of Politicians..
FlipThePoet Nov 2018
We assignment felonies, who got no melody
It be a blessing to breathe but mans can't find the remedy.
School work got us incubated, well tubed in
Hospitalize for ages.
Penned in these cages
A constant grind on the daily.

Once a man emancipate
8 to 5 is gonna hit him with a straight.
From a frying pan to the fire
He's been stuck in a sticky state.
******* in a system that's meant for retire
That's what he gonna inspire.

Beware to those who tryna finesse the system
Life is gonna hit them with an intricate plot.
If you can't Euro-step them in quick time
It gonna be raps, just watch.
If you don't get it, then you never will
Butch Decatoria Nov 2018
Pan
Poet dances song in quietude
our dreams throng
down huckleberry roads

Unscripted spoken motions
Mosaic heart emotes

Hope

As he composed
Faces glow so
connect the dots
those consumed disposed

Knowing we're not broken
But in the art we form
as one whole - our garden grows...

Poet paints love with understated eloquence
visions of war never-was

with every tear an ocean
with every dream a peace

all seedling springs.

Poet grants wish
Dances in the street
laughter as he weeps

beauty is what we all seek
to lovingly keep

evergreen

and free.
Repost revised
We were two little children
with the sun on our skin,
playing naked in the water,
innocent of sin.

Acting out our stories,
our games were all in fun,
playing naked in the water
by the seashore in the sun.

We played at being heroes,
villains, crooks and thieves,
Peter Pan and Tinkerbell,
pirates on the seas!

Suddenly I'm longing
to find you once again,
to see if you remember.
Do you remember when?

Our eyes danced together,
how imaginations flew!
I've never been so happy
as when I played with you.

We were two little children
with the sun on our skin,
playing naked in the water,
innocent of sin.
For Sue.
Copyright 2011 by Michael S. Simpson. All rights reserved.
PC classic Sep 2016
Last nights bottle of whiskey
came
in a box
which was sliced to make an
ashtray

It stands by the bed catching dust
and
hoping to catch some dreams
as well
if they ever arrived

This night

You toss and turn
like an egg
on a stubborn pan

You are
wondering
what would happen
if you died right now

You will never know
what happens at the end
of that TV series
where they **** anyone
and everyone

You reminisce
of defeat and miracles
of crossed legs in short pants
and
how the charm
of a woman
gone
can keep a man wondering for a
life time

The cars motion past the window
echoing
outrageous
freedom

the moon is a snail in the sky
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