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CK Baker Jan 2017
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life
in basic form
Via Ricasoli Sep 2018
Poke at my iris
And I’ll go blind
But then I won’t have to see
Every **** thing in the world

Poke at the corners of my mind
There’s sadness and joy
But be careful of the darkness
The secrets and lies

Poke at my heart
And you’ll find the hurt
But with patience and kindness
You might also find love
Poke - Frightened Rabbit was the impetus for this poem
Lainey Feb 2018
A stranger poked me
And left me wondering why
I became the poked?
Facebook!
Robin Lemmen Aug 2018
I love company
In the form of anxious thoughts
I am less lonely
Accompanied by twenty screaming voices
Tearing at my every inch of flesh
Pouring pain into my veins
Crying is good for the soul
They laugh in union
As I lie lonely in my bed
Hoping someone will find me
Bruised and broken
And take me into their arms
Hold me like a child
But you are too grown to feel such things
These voices whisper, licking blood
Carefully off their fingers
Spikes poke at my sides leaving no room
For me to move or breathe
I am slowly dying
And yet I tell you I am fine
For if I were to ever admit
That this is how I truly feel
My demons would take form
No longer shadows but figures
Ready to take me whole
King Panda Oct 2015
this is a medical emergency ossified
in utero part the hair to cover
pink earwax scar innervated this
cochlea this ******* that steals
the spotlight and rooster’s comb
braised sockets for teeth wired through
the rafters kissing corner braces
shallow chromium double-eye poke
like a pile of face bones stacked
paul bunyan forest slide and jump from
the peak to the pool shallow and
undisturbed to dunk your face and
see future pure voodoo spirit board
and voice box locked with tongue-ectomy
removal of cough through neck hole
cardboard cut stickers in half to
write ******, I’m done.
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
ryn Sep 2014
Elephant in the room*, shoo the hell away!
Don't stick around; I wish you wouldn't stay

Don't mess with my head, inciting all I feel
I don't need you here, I want to heal

Stop blaring in my ears, your noxious lies
I'm sick to the stomach with my pathetic cries

Resist flapping your gigantic ears
They simply just fan the rage in my tears

Quit blocking my view with your sheer enormity
Get out of my thoughts so better I could see

Halt your incessant skin rubbing against my sores
Chafing me raw on top of my existing scores

Pull out your pointy tusks, they poke and jab
I'm bent in many places; I don't need more stabs

Take your infernal rear out of my face!
I'm self-destructing, counting up the days

Cease your retaliation, leave with no protest
Go find and sit yourself in someone else's nest

Drop your intentions to stomp me broken
I'm mangled enough; almost misshapen

End this mindless rampage...please
Let me iron myself straight, in peace...

Dear elephant, have you gone?
Thank you for the blight of my time, you've spawned
Purcy Flaherty Oct 2018
I was treated like the VIP,
A cat and a big fish,
A hook and a big Six,
whilst visiting Little bo-peeps
rotisserie of *****,
she was no shrinking violet,
Wearing open silk
working 9 to 5am.

Hot funk never satisfies,
but she had the way with all
to feign, delight; even interest,
before negotiating the price,
She was classy,
kind of slick,
she tickled my ears
for nothing more than kindness,
a small token in exchange for a smile.

She poped on a tune,
as she took off her dress.
The petting started
Two hands tugging with the zipper of my jeans.
A woman's touch... Ha HA,
the sultry kiss of *****,
tight and tasty;
***** like a ripe tomato,
Sugar fried and drunk,
She opened her legs.

Her hair smelled like shampoo,
She was on her belly,
knees tucked up
as I took in the fruit,
deep holes filled **** and shabby fingers,
hollow spit and angry poison,
head spinning with the groove,
loud and high,
The bed squeaked
and a single bulb dangles
like a loose tooth,

Both crooning love songs,
Sick and spent,
I got dressed to leave,
I said with a poke,
I couldn't get laid,
Not even in a ***** house.
And i'm back in the cold again,
only dirtier!
Another old poem
The inspiration from William and Don G
Hollow Steve May 2018
Do I sense them flying all around?
Just a possible outcome
of neurons criss crossing
into paranoia.

How do I transmit these frequencies?
If not I, then why you?
Each proportional stance,
attempting to make an advancement.

Sounds more like daydreaming,
but you hear me in your head,
Right?
Poke. Poke. Poke it goes.

Invisibility makes its stance.
The body can wither,
but thought
Now
Are outside and
Non physical

Forgive me..
I lost my train of thought.
Nina Nguyen Sep 2018
I got scars on my wrists
Cause there are scars on my heart
Held together by seams
That are falling apart

I see the crimson pain
Fall on the floor
There is still no feeling gained
And there’s a knock at the door

I wipe it away
I pretend and I play
To be just fine
Just so I can hide

My friends aren’t what they seam
Because they’re letting go
My heart starts to go numb
And my death is feeling slow

You say your heart is numb
Because there’s no desire
But mine is not the same
Because it’s filled with fire

I feel every little spark
When you poke and **** my heart
When I am faced with hate
My mind is set ablaze

Your rivers are frozen and dry
But mine are flowing through my windows
It doesn’t mean you don’t cry
But I have soaked my pillows

Your empty desert eyes
Are different from this ocean of mine
But neither one matters
Because we both wave bye from inside
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
The sun and the moon beyond all lies.
Because liars I despise.
I feel sick.
Because all that I see will click.

Youth is my friend.
All I know is it will be until the end.
This dictation, my last and only point.
I can do what I want, I can anoint.

You and I lead different spirits to join.
When I was young I worshiped what will find in the finite.
Finish what I started.
Forever more will get unabated.

I understand that I could be left behind.
The kind of fate that is unkind.
The kind of things heroes do.
Enjoy in that I do cue.

The last and final answer.
Respect from more to serve the cancer.
What is this anymore than a cruel joke!
Because it is the truth I poke.
CK Baker Dec 2017
trip up the island to see all the folk
monopoly, pong => pig 'n a poke
crystalline glass with dark bitter ale
Santa is looking a little bit pale

cherry red cheeks from a chilled chardonnay
one sailing wait for the talk of the day
drum sticks and dressing are the pick of the bird
chestnuts and brandy for gravy being stirred

brussels and taters are pulled from the bake
pears in the salad bring memories of Jake
sparks from the fire with rich amber glow
grey hair and wrinkles will come...don't you know?

gingerbread man with a white icing smile
candy cane schnapps (with its seasonal style!)
pine cones and tinsel that cover the tree
carols are humming from churches and streets

cold winter nights are the best of the year
chocolate and eggnog await with good cheer
a heavy thick fog approaches the sound
the comforts of Christmas, with joy all around!
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
zebra Feb 20
scarlet haught
queen of mirth
dog ****
drooling jewelry red splits
pulled by a chariot  
of six hundred million house cats
dissembling for freaky insertions
of scarlet bud flowers uterine tube

breath of spit
while ballet toes kiss fingers and tongues
glazing thickly tides sweat
bamming greased ****

Christ *****
"once upon a never more"
bi-sexed up
**** twitch glistening holes
drizzle fish
in red tents overturned
for fabulous *******
and angelic *****'s
flirty dance the come **** me  

her throat a never ending squealed gullet
sublime Madonna of Oor
bare thighed and pulpy spread
scissor strokes and stride
wagging tongue for rosy oleo sticks
and **** pastry rectums pulled tight
in lop sided temples of split flesh

another ambulance to the emergency **** ward
in a dreamland of leggy nurses

sacred fig of Freyja
Goddess to **** toys
and pretty pretty who go that way
hocus opus poke and stir
freckle face **** mouth
a lapping menagerie

i gird my ***** and follow her
into a cologned room; of dark rim box butter
***** yelping for
a slow grind in a belly of clams

red and velvet pageant
she nests in the heart
a midwife disturbia
to pregnant lust
being pushed down and worked up
till loosened in thick ****
and black whip afterbirth
like flowers of curves and blood

her banquet; a platter of wet orifice
trilling vibratos ******
and anxious kisses crawling through her mouth
like fallen angels flying
dire sister of knock out *******
pleading goth nuns for lesbian heated
Satan loving veiled Christian crotch
and a thousand delicious gaped
******* **** poundings
and mouth ***** **** plunge

crucifix of wrack and *****
****** and beaten senseless
instructions from the  book of night
of **** and spite
written by
Abrahams primitive nations
arms of the cross she is nailed to
sweet ***** waifs beaten dead
in a tillage of brokenness

mans club
shore of incinerated witches and tortured justice
shut up when your talkin to me
clan of honor
duo troupe
almanac of hell
Cap Mar 2018
I hold my shame in the folds of my stomach
as I poke and pinch
and pinch and poke
seeing what I need to fix

I hold my shame in the lines of my stretch marks
as I push and rub
pretending or hoping its just imprints from my jeans

I hold my shame in my scars
as I count and count
they seem innumerous

but it shouldn’t be this way

I should hold my pride in the folds of my stomach
as it tells you that i’m okay

I should hold my pride in the lines of my stretch marks
it tells the story of how my body fought to
keep my emotional mess in

I should hold my pride in my scars
as they are trophies of the times my body has won the battle
against pain, clumsiness, and everything in between

because all I really mean is that my pride is in how I look
not in what you tell me I should change
Catharsis Oct 2017
I guess I should have kept silent,
I guess I should have known,
Poke a fire with a stick and it only grows.

You question my reaction,
I question your brain,
Talking about my amateur poems,
Will only cause me pain.

I'm not ashamed of my poems,
Please don't get me wrong,
But something must of happened then,
to make me write these songs.

These songs I share are personal,
Memories that I have,
The way you talk of them is strange to me,
Like I'm supposed to feel bad.

I'm happy you enjoy them,
And glad you feel I'm skilled,
But please don't make it a big deal,
Before, with shame, I'm filled.
IM LOOKING AT YOU CLASSMATES WHO STARTED READING MY POEMS OUT LOUD IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS
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