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slr Oct 2018
\ ˈmü-vē \


1.a story represented in motion pictures/motion : noun : mo·tion : \ ˈmō-shən \ : an act, process, or instance of changing place/forward, backward, up, down, pacing, running, crawling/how we flee from our lives, our problems, our responsibilities/instead of focusing on motion we look to pictures/picture : noun : pic·ture :  \ ˈpik-chər \ : a design or representation made by various means/click, zoom, import, export/our lives are on a flash drive, on a snapchat, on an instagram, on a memory card/everywhere but on our own memories/we don’t like pictures either/they show moments never to be regained from our past/our solution?/combine them into something better/movie : verb : mov·ie :  \ ˈmü-vē \ : an escape from reality/we use movies to deflect the pain of our lives/we think that we watch because we are bored/no/we watch to escape/escape : verb :  es·cape : /əˈskāp/ : a recording of moving images that tells a story and that people watch on a screen or television.
I wrote this a while back but I fell in love with dictionary poetry after it
ThePoet Oct 2015
Trust is heavy
in weight and it
is too great a mass,
it is the foundation
of love and yet
as fragile as glass.
For trust is easy
at loss but so hard
to be regained,
because once it is
broken it will
forever be stained.

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)
sol Jul 2018

I just put on my headphones and blasted Bon Iver
Then i just laid there not moving,
I guess i figured if i held my breath long enough & remained super still
I would sink into my bed and fade away
Away from everything, escaping it all
I wish i had disappeared into the mist of darkness that surrounded my room
But the song ended,
My eyes flared open,
I regained consciousness, sadly i was still here
©sol /the poems i never wrote
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
A God of everything
From my hopes to my dreams
and even more..

A miracle of the world
from its earthly to the heavenly
everyone adores..

A wonder to my eyes
from man whose blinded faith
he lets them see..

A voice of my song
symphonies of life lose its note
you conduct a new..

An ark of Le voyage
sailing tides of shore to shore
trod waters core..

A blimp up above  
gracing colors of glacial on air
everlasting he care..

A rock of revelation
standing every storm to storm
Avant is his norm..

A shepherd of lambs
from my heart whilst was lost
to him, I found..

A cross to my soul
were Calvary’s sins he bargains
a new life regained..
Tomorrow gonna be Sunday...
God Bless you Poets..
Bring the Lord to any place of your heart..

#God #Shepherd #Cross Wonder #Miracle

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
LR Thompson Mar 2019
A portal appeared
Thin line sheared
Ripping the world
As the end neared
For cataclysm came
Ragnarok Regained
The gods they fell
The mortals to blame
Thus darkness came
Descent into hell
Lightnings they strike
With storms that hail
Some devils do call
While others may fail
Yet heroes do rise
In light they shine
Rising at the moment
What fate defines
Ready to battle
To war they ride
A shout TO ARMS!
Their enemies do cry
Some may flee
And others do die
The devil had felled
A hero had rised
The day was won
Terra his bride
My fight for my wife, Tara.
duane hall Nov 2018
I once saw an angel fluttering in the breeze
She looked so majestic, so wild and free
I crept upon her ever so slowly
She looked so pure, she looked so holy
But the closer I got the more I could tell
She was  depressed,  she wasn't quite well
She flew too high, got too close to the sun
She burned her wings, she came undone
She lost her bearings and fell to the earth
It was such a pity, I could tell she was hurt
I took her in and nursed her to health
I gave her my love, I gave her my wealth
I loved her so dearly, I held her so tight
Only to discover she had regained her flight
My days are lonely, I feel so alone
Oh how I wish my angel would come home
She haunts my dreams , I'm filled with confusion
Now my life is just an illusion
A lesson to learn, a word to the wise
When your angel departs,  your spirit dies.
ghost queen Mar 2019
The train slowed as it pulled into la Gare de l’Est, the cars bumping and wheels grinding as it came to a stop. It was late. I’d have to move fast to catch the last metro home. I didn’t have the energy, I was tired, cold and hungry, which made me grumpy.

I slung my satchel around my chest, grabbed my carry-on, and made my way to the exit. As I neared the door, I could feel the cold January air flooding into the car. I tightened my coat around me as I stepped down the stairs onto the quay, carry-on in my right hand.

Looking for the nearest exit, I turned left without looking and ran full on into woman. Our bodies collided, time slowed, as we compressed into each other. Her hair flowed into my face like an ocean wave. I could smell her hair, her scent, her femininity. She squealed in surprised, her voice full of youth and nubility.  

The world rushed back into real time and I saw her. My eyes opened wide in awe and disbelief that a woman could be so beautiful. I remember her eyes, supernaturally blue, sapphire blue, as if they glowed from a power within; her skin, white, milky, alabaster, as if she were a statue come to life; her hair, black, glossy, like the feathers of a witch’s raven.

Our eyes locked. Her angry gaze cut through me. I felt exposed and in danger. I looked down and apologized. “Excusez-moi mademoiselle,” I said, putting my right hand to my heart and bowing slightly as if addressing a queen.

I looked back up. Our eyes meet. She had assessed me in the blink of her eyes. She regained her composure, her body relaxed, she touched my arm, and said, “excusez-moi, I was not looking where I was going,” which I sensed was untrue.

I stepped aside. She passed, turned her head, looked me dead in the eyes, gave me a slight smile, and disappeared into the stream of the exiting crowd.

I was perplexed and confused. I’d never had that sort of exchange with a woman before. I didn’t know what to make of it. Was it good, bad, or somewhere in between?

The crowd had thinned. I started walking toward the metro station, looking for #4 Port d’ Orleans, increasing my pace before I missed the last metro home. I followed the signs, and descended the stairs to the quay. There were a few people and groups, up and down the quay, quietly waiting. I leaned on a large concrete pillar, too tired to pay attention to my surroundings, waiting for the train, smelling the air filled with exhaust from electric motors. I could hear the hum of the approaching train. In an instant it was in front of me, slowing down, coming to a stop, the doors hissing open.

I waited a bit, for the groups to board the train. Tired and on auto-pilot, I leaned down, picked up my carry-on, boarded, and sat down on a folding seat by the door, putting my carry-on between my legs.

The train slowly accelerated, humming, rocking, back and forth melodically. I looked up out of curiosity to see who else was on the last train, and I saw her, sitting on the first bench catty-corner, facing towards me. Surprised and caught off guard, that I would ever see her again, I  immediately looked down, not wanting to be caught staring, looking at her from the corner of my eyes.

I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Preternaturally beautiful, as if she wasn’t one of us, somehow not human. She was reading a Kindle, iPods in her ears. Her dress was Parisienne, black on black, the only color, the blue in her eyes, and the blood red of her lips.

She oozed sensuality, sophistication, and confidence. How could that be for a woman so young, a woman in her early 20s?

She read quiescently, only her thumb moving, ever so slightly, as she page forward through her Kindle. Her eyes never looked up, not even to see who new entered the car, when stopped at new stations.

I would look up, occasionally, to glimpse at her. She was fascinating to me, not only because of her beauty, but from her vibe. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t figure it out. Why was I so drawn to her, like a moth to flame?

The train pulled into to Ile-de-la-Cite, rapidly slowing down, passengers counter balancing so as not to fall over. The doors hissed open. In the corner of my eyes, I saw her stand up and start walking up the aisle towards the doors, towards me. I raised my head slowly, our eyes met, locked, time stopped. She smiled, subtly, but enough for me to see. Her eyes, gentle, tender, inviting. I smiled, a slight smile back, my eyes saying everything she wanted to hear.

She turned and exited the train. I stared at her, my mouth open in amazement. The klaxon sounded, the door started closing. Panic surged up within me, as I feared I would never see her again. I bolted up from my seat, headed towards the door, abandoning all behind me. The doors slammed shut with thud, I pulled down on the handle, they were locked.

The train started to move, I looked at her. She was looking back. Our eyes locked, as the trained sped off into the darkness of the night.
Nnaemeka Mokeme Aug 2018
The Angels surrounds
the heart of the one
whose heart is broken.
No one can feel
or see the pain in your
heart but only you.
It is hidden away from
the mortal eyes.
Only your essence and
feelings can reach out to
the one whose heart is
disturbed and confused.
No one can touch or
understand how you feel,
except through the power
of love that heals and forgives.
The spoken words of love
are understood by the heart
that is so touched by the
spirit of counsel and
of love and forgiveness.
Only it's breath can cause the
heart to flutter to feel the warmth
of the bliss it exudes.
Can anything be as sweet and
lovely than a forgiven heart of
a wounded soul who has regained
freedom from the nightmares of the
tormented life conquered.
A sureness of a soul set free is glorious.
That is the impression of what the heart
desires for a free spirit unhurt by
unfortunate circumstances.
2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
ManicHammock Sep 2017
We built a bridge on silence.
Tiptoed across our faultlines to get here.
Whereever this scorching "here" is...

Then we climbed.
And sweat, and slipped, and lost our footing, and regained ourselves.  
Bled, and cried to get here.  
To gaze out over the vast expanse of places in space and time that we made our own.
Like rose gardens grown.  
Stunning and wild.
But not without their thorns.  

These were days the sun warmed our skin.
Brightened my vision...
Days mountain pools reflected mirror images of the cloudless skies and our cloudless minds.
It is our quiet that we thrive on.  
Our stillness.
And our unsilenced passionate loud.  
Our wild.
The way my mind humbly bows to what you do to my body, knowing she, herself, will never have that kind of power over me...

But the sun is harsh at this elevation.
We are... I am exposed (with my defences down.)
Adjusting to burns
(of course, your skin is perfectly darkened for this weather...)
and sun-drenched blindness...
(and your eyes are not strangers to the desert...)
And the shale and granite that hinted of slippery slopes and stone cold hearts
are disintegrating back to dust.
No, sand...

This is an unwelcomed familiarity.

Someone else's memories.
And who could blame her?
For your callused hands have held on for dear life so long that Dear Life herself would ache and long for their grip.
Carefully cultivated and time sweetened.

But time is uninterested in our wars or our truces.
Time is immune to human emotion
And human error.
Time is still far east in battle zones.
And your wars are yours, and mine - my own.
Johnny walker Apr 2019
I woke this morning with my head still clouded from last nights dreams, with a future uncertain but at least I know we have one and that makes the
For there was a time after Helen died  I didn't even I'd make past tomorrow felt I had reason to carry
on but strength saw me through all of the sadness and sorrow
followed the loss of my wife a belief In myself that lay hidden away by grief but found again the strength that lay hidden that's enabled me to fight my back from
to again stake a claim on a life that I so nearly gave up on but through strength and the love and total dedication for my wife will be enough to see me through the rest of my days
A strength regained that had laid hidden by grief a strength
to never give up
That feeling of anxiety,
When the intution is strong,
Of something wrong
About to happen,
Somewhere, unseen,
but close enough to hurt,

When mind goes
topsy turvy,
Heart skipping a
The nerves on
restless path,
The feeling that takes away
the calm,
The endless walking,
The thoughts going berserk,
It kills the smiles,
It makes life hell.

Spiritual readings,
Diverting of thoughts,
And still the
Palpitations continues..

And then
One day,
Sanity returns,
Flutter ends,
Silence prevails,
Storm has gone
No harm done,
that day


Sparkle In Wisdom
ghost queen Jul 2019
I turned the corner, entering the Italian sculpture collection at Le Louvre, delighting in the smells and quiet sounds of the museum. I walked slowly down the creaking wood floored corridor, ignoring the Dirce, the Nymph and the Scorpion, till I came to Antonio Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.

I gazed at it lazily, longingly, savoring its sensuality, love, and tenderness. It was beautiful, beyond belief, exquisite. It evoked so many emotions, to the point of being overwhelming. I stared at it, losing myself, in time and reverie, wishing I could love and be loved with such intensity.

“It’s beautiful, “I heard a feminine whisper in my ear. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my neck. “Yes,” I replied, slowly, instinctively, coming out of my trance, and turning towards the voice.

Our eyes met, locked, I couldn’t look away, as if bewitched, her incandescent blue eyes fathomless, tender, worldly, looking, seeing deep into my soul. I could feel her in me, like a new born kitten exploring every nook and cranny. It was slightly unnerving, knowing she could wander, at will, unfettered, and yet calming, even comforting.

As I regained my sense, I recognized her and stared, incredulously, until she said, softly, sweetly, “je m’appelle Seraphine.”  

She moved in a bit closer, cocking her head towards my right ear, and whispered, “It is my favorite, it's so tender and passionate, the way he holds her, kisses her, the way only a god could.” I noted her tone, the way she said it, with such confidence, as if she knew, from experience, what it was like, to be kissed, loved, by a god.  

She gently pulled back a bit, looked me in the eyes, like a child looking at a puppy. She was beautiful, preternaturally beautiful, a paragon, goddess like. I just stared at her in awe.

“I think we’ve seen each other around Paris”, she said softly, smiling, “and may have bumped into each other in the Metro.” “Yes, I think we have,” I replied, as she extended her right hand, as a queen would, to a knight. I didn’t know if I should  kneel and kiss her hand, or shake it. I took her hand in mine, it was soft, warm, moist. I could feel her youth, femininity, life in her hand. I shook it, gently, stopped, slightly released my grip, our hands slid apart, touching, sliding, caressing down our fingers, stopping ever so slightly at the tips, before releasing. The ecstasy of her touch. I longed for more. I heard her sigh, my eyes moved from her hand, to her lips, finally to her eyes. I smiled and said, almost in a whisper, “Je m’appelle Damien.”
currently writing #5, your comments and feedback are greatly appreciated
Time lost
Never regained
Thoughts lost
The essence
No words can retain

Health is wealth
Powerless bench
No reason to rhyme

Time will seal all, with a word called heal
Sid Lollan Aug 2017
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

(Authors of (obligatory)
Redemption: what is true genius if it ain’t dead yet?
Let you, who **** it, not be present for its resurrection.)

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

i had a nightmare:

i opened the door of my ranch-house in the boonies of
southern pa.
out-into the grasses of the old Congo;
There stood the Lion.
20 feet away
i, frozen in the magnitude of his vision;
spirit, dominated by his
Not even a growl.
i remained
paralyzed—he licked the backs of his paws
and combed a wiry mane...
…a halfa-second was a year if it was a halfa-second now...
somewhere in there
i regained my legs and without knowing
grabbed the doorknob. Twist. Open. Step inside.
turn to close the...doorway is gone, the house has vanished

i was nothing but-a body of plastic fear
melted and cast into mannequin limbs and head.
i could feel the Lion’s entire, real
spirit crushing spirt
on my hollow caste self.

his breathe stunk of blood that
forced my replicaego into infant curl…
…Finally, the beast roared a canyon
i shivered!
a shiver that shook inside my head
thru the spine to shake
my bones inside the bed.

Thru the constricting red curtain of bloodclot eye
spy the tiny eclipse
of the Black Crow inna massive sheet of african sun;
i must be dead already.
The Lion feels the Crow perched onna cape fig nearby
and his muscles tighten accordingly, his beastly hunger
displaced by boiled-blood anger.

with the beast
where Fear has reached saturation-point;
it is Nothing if it is Everything…
…the Crow lets out a hiss
like spikes of radio-static, interrupted by series
of whooping-caws…
…stomach vibrated by the Lion’s low,
almost internal growl. For the
first time, his tranquilizing orbs
divert from mine
to capture the Black Crow perched on the dying cape fig.
uncertainty taps my shoulder…then…i feel my body;
the weight releases
and as i motion to rise from the grass and dirt, the Congo dissolves and i’m
sitting up on my mattress with broken springs in the humid
summer slumber of southern pa.

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

-What security?
under deep-cover;
jungian re-uploads. Them. Resurrected witha blackmarket
medicine a Witch Doctor devolution;
Replicate, regenerate, forever
<01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100111 01110010 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100>
Bottom feeding grave robbers and tomb vandals are all they are!-

-Better check what ya put down here…liable to shape a ghoul,
and you know this haunt is made-up of enough spooks-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Professors of chaos preach:
O wanderers!
write me the manifesto
walking atop a line of hot coals
-I smell me some burning soles-

(They intend to:
Pour, pure from cold-clear spring-spout
      into muddy-brown-clay, dissolved,
rushing against dried-up bones of gully-walls…
…the Crow just sits above
         and laughs there

Don’t ya see it?)

is not about the past,
about what the present
can mold the past
for the future.
-the marble’s trajectory sure to
flip onnit’s axis d’pending on which record you dig-

(One mistake
can a coward make
one accident happen
up-on that a martyr stake’d.
etched in the rut of each separate fate;)

The lion
must roar for his P R I D E
lion wears his hide
as a mascot
Black Crow eats crow egg blues
        black crow spotted me yellow in the bushes
pants down, gun-in-hand
-send your prayers-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Justin Kipker Sep 2018
Navigating the tumultuous waters of the mind
You give something meaningful and intangible
It's returned unwanted
Overwhelmed in shock
You retreat into what you know
What's always been there
While you try to shake the dangerous thoughts
Trying to rebuild
By tearing down the wall
So I can trust again
Miss what you thought you knew
Not knowing if it can be regained
Try to sort the fact from fiction
What was once considered a source of strength
Was it merely an illusion?
The line between love and hate is so thin
Which is the true illusion?
Chantell Wild May 2019
woke up this morning
only to find
that i had lost something
its nothing important really
not to anyone but me
its my mind, you see.
between you and me
i am a little lost
but i guess that’s how
its meant to be for now..
at  what cost?
all will be regained
maybe next lifetime
i will finally learn to see
things for what they are
for what they were
if only i were her
i could i would i should
know better
but alas
it is what it is for now.
Jasmin Joy Oct 2018
I remember the day that
we travelled together.
At first I was very nervous
but I regained myself.
He sat on my left and my
heart began to beat so fast
We locked our hands together.
There was a deep silent(in my mind)
all around in that busy town.
''Speak babe'' he  said
But I kept quite.. He realised
that I'm nervous and he
kissed on my left hand..
I felt a snow fall in my heart..
I smiled.  He gave me a hug
but I didn't noticed it...bcoz
I was nervous.. We sat together
for few minutes.. For me
it was too long bcoz he
was with me.. He asked for
a kiss but I realised that
I reached my home
I wished to give one
but I couldn't.
Now I'm waiting for our
next meeting to give him
the kiss that he deserved.
Now my heart says 'Miss you babe..
See you soon...'
I wish that our love should
never end. ''JE VOUS AIME....''
This incident took place inside a bus. It was after 1 year the lovers meet..
They sat together for the first time in their 3 years of love.. They are amazing lovers.. They rarely contact each other coz their situation was like that... But their love is a true love.. hatsoff lovers♡♡♡
Sean M O'Kane Sep 2018
Robert Frost once talked of taking the ‘road less travelled’.
Well, I didn’t.
When the time came, I blindly went and took the safest road.
A very long path where the pitfalls were plenty.
I stumbled in the bracken. Stymied by the darkness that fell quickly as I ambled along.
The soul bruised, battered and exhausted at every infrequent stop.
It was not apparent then that in this venture there was a bleak dead end ahead.
I plowed on even though something inside was telling me again and again to turn back.
But, slowly, a gleaming light of hope crossed my vista beckoning me home.
I crawled. My strength regained as the light intensified.
Then the end was in sight - the portal was within grasp.
And so, yes, I now take that road less travelled.
Standing tall and proud as I gleefully stride down its glowing thoroughfare.  
Smiling at the diverse and playful changes that cross my pathway.
All told, it’s never too late to trust your instincts and make a difference.
Just ask me.
And Robert Frost.
Bongani Jul 2019
Days passed and weeks passed
Still searching for answers that will fulifill my past.
You were my part that didn't last
I'm still asking my self.
What might took part?
To break us apart.
I dwell deep in my thoughts
Seating comfortable on an old cart
Thinking about you my part.
I'm lost in the dark
Clicking stones hoping for spark....but
No luck i remained stuck in the dark.
I heard a glimpse
Working me up while i was going down to the darkness without any little brightness.
I regained my consciousness and i was lying on the green grass.
It was the first time....cause i was on the other side....
And i found my other part.
Finding your real...true self
Riveá Feb 2019
They say two is better than one.
After meeting you,
that saying finally has meaning.
Imagine a painting of a world
in which everything exists in gloomy shades of grey,
a world in which colors no longer reside after long, weary years.  
This is a place where the word “happy,” has no home in the dictionary.  
Now imagine a new artist comes along,
repainting everything in the brightest colors they can find.
Grass is turned an emerald green,
the sky is a beautiful baby blue,
and the sun now lives in the top corner at all times.  
This, my dear, is how you have made me feel.
You brought your own ideas into my dull world and
all at once,
everything regained color.
Ben Estrada Mar 2019
Wow, will you look at this guy's stuff?
Dang, that's really depressing...

Anyhoo, let me introduce myself,
I'm this guy from the future.
Weird right? Well, anything is possible at this point.

So, until recently my life was falling apart,
I was gonna get kicked out of college,
my friends stopped hanging out with me,
the girl I had a crush on started dating my friend,
and I had lost sight of my purpose...

                                          But...(ooh I like wait)

Just a few words were spoken,
a few words that will echo throughout eternity.

I've regained sight of my purpose
without being able to see it.
My path has been set,
and I have no clue where.
It's crazy to those who don't understand
but they don't have to
not understand I mean.
Anyone can find their purpose,
you just need to know where to look.

I lost it, but boy am I thankful I found it again...
This truly is the peace that passes all understanding.
Sachie Jan 2019
I promised myself to write something about you but when I looked into the windows of your soul, I saw the universe crashing, stars exploding, galaxies colliding. I saw beauty... and a light feeling of unfathomable ecstasy. Blinding and slowly fading, mesmerizing yet menacing, fleeting but forever alluring.
And I realized that you are as beautiful as your soul.

Distracted, I promised myself to write something about you. I took a pen so I get to remember every fragments of my broken thoughts. But with each stroke of it, as I write the words into existence, as it gets out of my system, now existing but meaningless, I remember you. Existing and meaningful.

In the midst of my captivity, I regained my sanity. Distracted again, I promised myself to write something about you. I typed and clicked my thoughts into the computer. But the caret was like a swinging watch hypnotising me to ruminate on your images. Smiles like a monlight of laughter, eyes lifeless as coins, hair thick and coarse like dune grass, montage of everything you cannot give and a list of reasons why I promised myself to write something about you.

And for the last time, I promised myself to write something about you... and I did.
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
Those most desperate among us,
  must learn to cry alone

Themselves regained through tears of pain
  —to mark their pathway home

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Desire Dec 2018
I grew out my beard.
I grew out my stomach.
My ears ring randomly.  
My eyes see things differently.
I speak or say less.  I move in silence.
I sleep in when I want.
I haven't touched razors since my return
nor rifles since the field ops.
I've grown in maturity mentally.
I've grown insensitive verbally.
I've grown to miss the uniform
and pride of belonging in a brotherhood;
I miss my extended family.
I miss the people, not the troubles.
I miss the gym, where others alike
flexed invisible muscles.
My days once had routine,
pattern, structure and rhythm.
Weekends full of workouts, worship, and beer.
Weeks full of work, blood, sweat, and tears.
I've grown in experience.
I've regained freedom as a civilian.
But the transition has been a grueling process.
Yet, I've grown to be grateful nonetheless,
as not everyone gets to go back "home" ...
(remember the fallen) ...
However, if I'm honest, I don't think there's ever
an actual adjustment...
[I'm growing]
XLIII. Adapt and Overcome
The life of a Veteran
Random reflection
Ryan Joseph Aug 2018
I was suppose to choose you,
But hereafter, you declined,
My oozing heart turned into blue,
Affliction tortured my mind.

Demented, like an altered bamboo,
Drifted in the wind, I fall apart,
Oh girl, I'm just missin' you,
It's no use, for he regained your heart.

You said you love me,
Yes, you definitely did,
So where's that guarantee?
Do I have to plead?

If you did love me,
Then you won't have to test my faith,
This made me hate thee,
And you didn't mind and deviate.

We're gone our separate ways,
Detached with each other's lives,
Goodbye, this bidding I must face,
Until the pain in me subsides.

I was supposed to choose you,
But hereafter, you declined,
And "BANG", consciousness blew,
She suddenly snapped backed into my mind.
Faith is just a word, so it needs to be proved.
Tommy Randell Jan 2019
In the drawing of a self portrait
There are choices to be made,
Surprises that lie in wait -
Which Me will show his face today?

The Cynic, the Lover, the Clown,
The textures of Shadow and Pain,
The Father, the Loser, the Frown,
The calligraphy of Peace regained?

Should i try and aim for a likeness,
Improvise something dramatic,
Make a statement, Bold and Revealing,
Or go all out for the Laconic?

But who is the Writer and what is Written?
Who is the Painter and what is his mission?
On the canvas or on the page
Do I want a mirror and not a portrait?

Who knows? In poetry or in a sketch
The aim must be for something essential -
But never The Truth, no no no, for that
We'd all need a much sharper pencil !
BEK Nov 2018
I was like a third grader on Show and Tell day with a boring rock collection
Although it took me years to create
And much resiliency through countless voyages
I had no intention of having it on display

But you were there
A rare and unique beauty
For you, my show went on and on
I displayed parts of me, piece by piece, by piece
Hiding nothing away

"This is from the time I sat on the beach and let the waves form me."
"This is from the time I was boiling hot and shot out of the earth."
You politely asked questions at first
An "ooh" and "ah" here and there
You're kind in that way

"This is from the time I surrounded myself with lots of other broken rocks for far too long."
"These are my remains from the time I jumped off a cliff."
I forgot to practice good showmanship
Leave them wanting more
I thought, maybe if I go on, you'll stay

"This is from the time I was under enormous heat and pressure."
"This is from the time I stumbled down a gigantic mountain."
I was consumed by the hope of captivating you
Maybe there was at least one noticeable rock in my bucket
Or perhaps a chance that I have quite an impressive array

I regained my senses
The clouds of hope that had muddled my view had now cleared
I noticed I ran out of "cool" rocks
Or maybe I never had any
I realized that I lost your attention long ago anyway

You were preoccupied with thinking about how cool the magician that came before me was
I thought, "Pleh, how cool is creating illusions and disappearing just to reappear in a box somewhere in another room or making you jump through flaming hoops?"
Or maybe you were anxiously awaiting the Show and Tell Grand Finale
The kid with the adorable puppy
I guess I really can't say

I decided to end my show with a bucket full of unseen rocks
I walked back to my desk shoulders slouched
Head slumped, level with the creaky old floor
I made a wish for the magician to return to thrill you with endless spellbinding tricks
Or maybe you'd be able to go home with the kid with the puppy
How cool is geology anyway?
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