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Emily Grace Oct 2018
That it’s a beautiful blessing that we forge
tDo you think I am safe now?
Sweetheart, you have to remember.
You have to! You have to!
You cannot just sweep it under the rug,
You cannot just sleep through it, and hope to wake up like it’s just a nightmare.
Sure you can pretend like it was,
Oh, just don’t kick stones.......
don’t kick stones!
They said so many times in my life
To
“drink more, it’s fun, we have a whole bottle, we’re going to take another sip
Keep sipping until you finish it”

But one sip was dead to me,
How can we call things like
“I think I got *****, last night”
Our divine pan, our destiny
Because every single day
I am praying to god that
I can forget all of it and release the tension that always seems to rest inside my skin, my skinny, my over eating
My swelling heart, overriding all
Of the hate, that I could have felt
Just showing me all I am is love
All I am is love, and nothing else
My sweeping up old memories
Has made a really mess
And I am so overwhelmed
I forget I am safer than I was
When this was life we had no
Idea that dreams can excuse the things
That hurt me most, and I think man’s message to the world is,
I will hurt you, and you will love
And once someone told me,
“Nobody really wants to hear about your problems.”
I guess it’s true, this one is one
That most everyone would feel
So sick from, it would be the hardest
Truth to chew through
I drank too much of the truth serum for you to be able to sit and listen, and chew
And he dragged me me through the doorway
As my friends watched me, and I begged them to help me my hands were grasping for the doorframe
This is the one of the first times as a young girl that I really fight for my life
Held on for as long as I could
And I’m watching them on the ground
Laughing, they don’t know any better
I think I remember them wanting to help me
But they couldn’t help me
I guess they couldn’t help me
I don’t remember
I don’t remember the rest
I don’t want to remember the rest
I woke up with my pants off
And next to him,
He grabs my hand to touch his personal “at attention”
I feel the same anxiety,
It paralyzes me, even now
I have flashbacks
I have panic attacks
Remember, she was on the kitchen floor

Woke up,
forgetting ,
paralysis walking
waking seeing,
every day remembering
Even more
I wish that
I didn’t remember that
Gracie, how beautiful ?
I forget
Crazy, beautiful
Prabhat Chhetri Oct 2016
someone told me about a girl who goes to coffee shops alone and sips her coffee and then comes back home
and writes about how the sugar always disappears perfectly
and all the human noises she didn't hear but she remembers the song that played and how the sad words broke the trance beats
and when she looks at the stars it fills up her heart
to see how close they shine
even though they are light years apart

accepting this makes it easier to face the next day

our alienation forever peeps through
the spaces and edges of
a cracked culture
A Shuli Aug 2017
I'm a lamb-- with the eyes of a lion,
A bull-- with the heart of a dove;
A Tyger; with the hooves of a poet.
I am a stag-- with the antlers of a Texas Longhorn.

I am blessed with the sight of a dinosaur; But the vision of a dragon.
I am the wind, I fell trees;
I caress cheeks.

I come like a lover’s memory.
I go like sorrow--may it never run its fingers down your spine,
As it has mine.

Smile, I want You to know:
We can fly with my wings of a falcon,
Can pierce the silence of the night with my Eagle's cry.

So Know me
Know me like an echo knows the distant mountains.
And Remember me.
Remember me like the golden grass remembers the wind.
©2017 all rights reserved
Kara Jean May 2016
Dark limitless halls
Chair wobbling,
sitting strategically
Not dead
Nor alive
In the middle comprised
Scattered thoughts
Hate, frustration, paranoia
Confining
Self -reliance
Life of defiance
"Why must I suffer,"
ready to die
Creation made for a different environment
A voice whispering,
"Look up there is a sky"
Baffled, she now remembers her grace
A new place
A world
Universe in the making
The black was only the beginning
Laura Jane Mar 2015
The body remembers, though it has been
four years since the summer you shattered your
knee but still limped out across the continent
to Boston to see him you idiot and
this is the fourth summer you've placed between
yourself and the last pin and the last *****
your body remembers, though in the
torturous lengthening of fused and toughened tissues
the bad leg is finally catching up,
and the scar with its ten numb inches of
puckered track has come to fade bone white
against your skin
but it’s still stored somewhere
in your sockets or cells and when you fall off your bike you still cry
Though you’re not really hurt your body remembers
So that when you’re confronted with their engagement photo
(you didn’t even know he was seeing anyone)
the darkened garden at the Plymouth Plantation
begins to bloom up around you before you can stop it
like a seizure or a vision, and you’re there again
trespassing after him through shadowy pines
and night-damp atlantic air
to where the white chairs encircle the altar.
typhany Jan 2014
my arms remember razor blades and spiked needles
and my veins ache to feel the warmth of her
swimming perfectly through my bloodstream
and engulfing my every fear, my every desire
until i am nothing but a pool of sticky tar

my nostrils burn without the powder
flying into my brain, and dripping down my throat
keeping me awake for days on end
and opening up my mind for my pen
shaking as i hold it to the paper; scribble

my tongue dwells on the bitter taste of hallucinogens
that made me dance in the coldest rain
and swim in the smallest pools of warm blood
that erupted from the belly of an orange tiger
who held my hand, and danced to the beats

my stomach remembers the feeling of pill bottles
emptied out; the tablets dissolved
coaxing me into warm slumbers, and forgetfulness
i miss the feeling of letting go
of love, of pain, of regret
I.

“You can only fight the way you practice”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy


His lessons started late
As always, and as always
What is thrown is a question
You grip tightly
around your fingers
as one would,
as one always should.

With a branch he beckons:
“Come” he asks,

“if a stick is struck from this angle,
what would your answer be?”


Always, the old man taught
With each strike, each parry,
Each disarm and lock,
Each time my knuckles
Would hurt. This way
he makes it sure
that my body
remembers.

This is always
the first step.
My mind might forget.
But the body
Remembers.


II.

“It is difficult to realize the true Way just through sword-fencing. Know the smallest things and the biggest things, the shallowest things and the deepest things.”
― Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings: Miyamoto Musashi


With him, everything starts
The vague quality of nonwords
Taught from pain, simplified
Through science:

the fulcrum and the lever.

Each joint, each turn,
a pattern to comprehend,
all things work in context:

A framework of the undeniable
Fact:


the world is separate
In only these two words:


Taub at Tihaya

The colloquial words for
Face down and face up;
This is a pattern
of the body.

III.

“If you wish to control others you must first control yourself”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy


Tihaya

The lesson starts
When he presses
His thumb forward
to a hand asking for alms
like turning a doorknob
too far to the right.

Taub

when I pull back
four fingers
on a giving hand
too far to what is left.

these are the means
for control.
When I know
How much is necessary
To push or to pull,
To teach or to break.

- 18 October 2017
For my Arnis Teachers: **** Mang Boy of Orabes Henerales; **** Fred Fernandez of Arnis Defense Silat, and Patrick Gamayo, a student of both teachers and combined the two arts.

* Special thanks for Jeffrey Steven Pua for additional poetics
Mohamed Nasir Jul 2018
The teacher's eyes gathered colours about
The cultured garden scene she knew so well;
She likes the section flowers nicely sprout
Her hidden world where varying colours jell.
Achievers pride she takes with all her heart;
Like outstanding pupils she proudly groomed.
But scrappy lazy ones, never seems to start,
She wished them luck and left alone to bloom.
The sun regardless shines on all juniors.
The bright ones, the brats she pitied a lot.
Through years and wise by age she remembers,
Oft visiting her those she had forgot,
Those she loved and cared have whittled away.
But strugglers now trees they weathered to stay.
Tom Spencer May 21
a door closes
and I hear him

shuffling down the hallway
his wife of sixty-six years

my mother
asleep, almost invisible

beneath the blankets
as fragile as a baby bird

he stops to wind
the grandfather clock

smiles and nods
“I smell that coffee”

ninety years-old
and still "up-and-at-em”

pills to ration
a newspaper to fetch

dishes to put away
meanwhile

back in their room
dreaming

she remembers
everything

standing by his side
she turns to meet his eyes

Tom Spencer © 2019
Nico Julleza Mar 2018
The seraph sky on ebony night,
A white marble of placid light.
Casting to the living glass,
Haunting, the feelings elapse.

A time of gardenia drapes,
Hanging the mourning wall.
Scent of ambrosia fogging,
The pavement covered in moss.

Portraits of Celts amidst,
Drifting upon moonlight mist.
Eyes delving, ears opt to hear,
Voices whisper of ancient fear.

An oracle muses the unguided,
As trees speaks the truth.
Humanity strives to be the art,
Yet only remembers by a few.
#MoonBright #Humanity #Haunting #WeAreOne #Nature #LoveInOne

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2018
Hector Jan 2018
~

Where will I touch you the first time

if I ever was to meet you?

If desires build trails, we must follow

until the fires are extinguished

or we burn down to embers-

I can almost feel you,

drunk with crimson lips of wine

numbing all my senses

if with a kiss I could swallow

your entire universe

and the universe remembers

how a flicker of light burst into fire-

And how your ******* may feel

under my trembling hands

playful ******* enticing

my mouth to satisfy my wants,

my teeth wanting to bite

and slowly drink the rising

desperation of a moment-

Then let the black lace peel

from around your waist

to expose your moon like skin

driving me insane with desire,

my mouth creating streams

of honey flowing down

to the river between your legs.

There is where I begin

to find a place filled with dreams

of heavens,

blissful elixir of life

in your flow I will rise

and find the fountain of youth

where my thirst will drown-

And I will take you,

until galaxies collapse into the light

you have become,

entering every space inside

in a rhythmic dance,

drunk with the feel of skin on skin

on legs spread wide

to receive everything I am,

every dream, every wish

and every want-

So tell me,

where will I touch you the first time

if I ever was to meet you?


-
H.O
-

https://soundcloud.com/som-40/implosion
“I want to make you weep. I want all your pleasure, Iris, all your pain, everything you are. Come for me."
And she felt herself bow with the stark white bliss of her epiphany, the shattering realization of his words and his hands and his mouth. She was gasping for breath, shaking, lost, unseeing. The center of her being pulsing with pleasure.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire
Lyn Senz 2 Apr 2018
by Danny Smith

The old man rises from his chair
gently cursing the ache that crept into his bones
when he wasn't looking

His slippered feet scuff the carpet
making a journey they know without him
to the window

He watches down on the cars
as they flash through the rain on an urgent journey
somewhere

Leaning forward to rest his forehead
on the cool damp pane that shields him from it all
his prison wall

The cars seem to softly merge
as fragments like a broken mirror
tease and torment

A lifetime of dreams and tomorrows
that somehow became painful yesterdays
much too fast

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed
he remembers her face and the soft scar on her cheek
a perfect imperfection

The laughter and cries of children
running to him with chocolate smeared mouths
grown now, gone now

All of them to different worlds
ones where he was afraid to travel to
out there

Plenty of time to make it through
but the nights seem to skip the sunshine days
sentenced

he shuffles back to the chair
lowering himself with limbs that can't be his
removes his slippers

Reaches for the polished shoes
years old but hardly worn and still uncreased
laces them

Moves slowly through the house
turning of lights, collecting a wallet
a pack of cigarettes, a photograph
pocketing them

The old man stands at the open door
just a fragment of someone elses memory, as he walks
into the rain


©Danny Smith
one of my favorites. it may be the only
copy on the internet. I couldn't find it.
it used to be on the 'Poemish' website
which is gone now. He had maybe only
12 poems in all that he submitted, and
they were all good, but sadly this is the
only one I decided to save. He lives/lived
in England as I remember.
Tea Jun 2015
Thomas creek keeps moving
This water gives way to childhood play.
I think this place remembers me.
Old gravel road,
potholes lined in Oregon ferns
The same ones that tickled my knees
when I was as young as three
I think they remember me

Lazy light filters down to green
Earth, mud and skipping rocks
Serve as old novelties and
Time ticking clocks.
The only place left
That remembers me.

vast enough to hold my past.
The only green enough that last
Fountain of youth that makes me sprite
Jump into a past with such delight
Thanks for holding on.

Stagnate nostalgia
Remembering skinned knees
Deep breaths, cold water that calmed dread
youth to living all grown up
some things remain the same...
Do you remember my name?
Do you remember me?
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Tomorrow's sunrise
is a memoir.
It remembers
an exact mirror.

Like it showed up
a thousand times earlier.
At the end of the same
veiled night.

Once again will it take
a trip to the memory lane
and lay on a sea of primulas
interpreting in colour
that’s sweet dream!

The sun is in the know
It will paint across.
But own’t touch the rose
it will sleep in its dew.
noren Mar 19
A damaged soul
needs time to heal and get up.
But it is often mistaken for a slain soldier
that lies in the gory battlefield
and trampled upon.

It's defeated, but it doesn't die
It remembers every feet that trod on it
But finds power in the struggle to overcome
the pain of being mistaken - deep within  
It fights another battle which it can't fail to win.
Jocelyn Sharp May 2014
Blue eyes, auborn hair, porcelin skin.
Thats what you see until you get to whats within.

Within it a soul that longs to come out.
Float through the air, scream, run and shout.
It wants you to know how much you are missed.
How much i know it knows it ****** up, how it misses every kiss.
It wants you to know that it still remembers your smell.
The way you look when you first wake up, and how youre putting it through hell.
It remembers your music, your voice soft and sweet.
It remembers how much you loved the feeling of the sand on your feet.
It wants you to know, that it dwells on the past.
That its hard to move on when you left without looking back.
It has a few questions, like why would you leave?
It thought it had found its mate, another soul from the same breed.
It longs to hold you again, to rock you to sleep.
It wants to feel the way you breathe when your dreaming those beautiful dreams,
It wants to tell you that it misses you so.
It wants to ask you, why would you go?
Logan Robertson May 2017
Lost Love


He remembers that day
many sad years ago
it was sunny out,
but soon a storm raged.

He returned home early
from work,
eager
to rest and nurse a cold.
Eager
to see his gorgeous wife
fix him a delicious soup
and give loving care,
a remedy not.
He caught a surprise.

Was it then a hallucination?
To see her ex's car
in front of their house,
fanning the flames in his heart?
Or to imagine the house shaking,
or to hear love noises howling
from the rafters of contempt,
as her fireplace warmed tempest.
He sure hoped then... it had been a misfire
it wasn't.

He slowly opened the front door,
walking decrepit and sad,
like he was in hospice care.
He could see the final script
playing out,
more so the tragic ending
the trail of clothes,
her ex-boyfriend's scent,
calamity,
and approaching closer
the devil speaking louder.

He opened the bedroom door
to their parts caught in honey jars
and scarlet red on his tainted wife
over bed sheets of shame.
Their eyes catch,
both flush, and tearful,
as breathing stopped,
his melancholy eyes asking why?
Why?
What about the future  lily pods,
our family, house, kids
... and you sell out.
What about being fresh
out of college with our dreams,
passion and honor...us.
What about the bonds,
pinky swears, pricking of blood
marital vows.
Her eyes had no answers.
She cried, loudest
as her ex-boyfriend bolted
not before passing the mill.

He closed her door for good
that mournful day,
dismissing darkness,
opening his wrath for her
in his mind, yet
what words or light can be exchanged?

Uprooted and lost, he walked
scarred over and over
by her promise and lost love.

That was thirty years ago
and he still walks with her
ghosts, and it still pains.

LR-5/4/17
Steve Page Apr 2017
Remember to think better,
think further,
think deeper
and with vigour.
Pepper your remember
with colour,
with light,
with friends who delight.
Boost your remember
with story,
with histories,
with cramped group selfies.
And remember your remembers
whenever,
wherever
you drift off centre.
And there you'll discover
your defenders,
your never surrenders
against all contenders.
Then you'll remember
your forevers.
Remember -
it's your best self defense.
Remember.  It's the best self defense.
labyrinths Nov 2013
i.
your teeth chatter and the wind hits your face.
you can no longer feel your hands or legs.
something about frostbite floats around your mind.
and while your head is screaming, go home
your legs are screaming, left, right, left, right.

you remember walking this way from school.
when your sister would pick you up and walk with you.
or when your "best friend" would make you take the long way
so you could walk her home.

you remember trying to climb that tree
to impress a couple of kids
in hopes that you would become friends.
you remember falling
and the shrill laughter of "never never friends"

you remember sitting in that field
and writing poetry
about the dogs that passed.

you remember playing in that park
with a girl you thought
you'd be friends with forever.
you remember sitting on the swings
while your mom talked to other moms
about what it was like to be a mother.
you remember sliding down the slide,
playing in the sand,
and the reluctance to go home.

ii.
you find yourself in His neighborhood.
you still remember the exact way to His house.
how could you not?
you are still smoking.
you imagine the smoke hitting His face.
He would be shocked, if only He could see you now.
what He made you.

you stop by His house.
you remember the path across His house that would lead you to school if you followed it.
you remember the tree next to His house where He poked a wasp's nest.
you remember His backyard, how you would build forts and He would always win.
you remember His living room, blanket forts where you would tease you until you cried.
you remember His mother and her patronizing smile.

there are christmas lights.
you wonder which room is His.
you wonder if His house still looks the same.
you wonder if He remembers what He did to you.

how He touched you
even though you said no.
how He told you that you wanted it
even though you said you didn't.
how He told you that you needed him
even though you knew you didn't.

He is a ghost now, just like the rest of this neighborhood.
and you know if you stay long enough
the ghosts will take it as an open invitation
and come out to play.

iii.
you keep walking.
you put the cigarette out.
you think you're lost until you find a familiar looking building.
you walk towards it.
you realize it's the church across from your elementary school.

ah, elementary school.
remember how they broke you?
remember how they called you names?
remember how you tried to **** yourself?
remember all the friends you didn't have?

you can see the ghosts, now.
the school is filled.
your legs are moving towards it.
you remember the nightmares you had about this exact place last week.
you take pictures.
you try to catch a demon on film.

you have lost all control of your legs.

this is where you told ghost stories about the old lady that lived in the forest behind the school.
this is where you made a pact that you would be friends for life.
this is where that kid told that teacher he was death when he meant to say deaf.
this is where you sat under the playground and laughed so hard you peed.
this is where you showed them the scars on your wrist.
this is where they rolled their eyes and called you "attention seeking".
this is where she told you every lie they'd ever said about you.
this is where you sat when you told them you were going to **** yourself tonight.
this is where you bled and everyone saw.
this is where you broke.

this is where you became who you are today.

iv.
the anxiety is killing you.
you light another cigarette.
you hear voices and a bark.
you make a left.

down the road is the fence you kicked your show over in the second grade.
you wonder if you should thank them for returning your shoe or not.
you don't.

you walk towards her house.
the last time you were here was halloween in grade nine.
you were dressed as the mad hatter.
being chased by some guy dressed as michael myers.
trying to figure out who you really are.

she became someone completely different less than a year later.
she had been telling people she wished your best friend would **** herself.
she got into drugs.
she was always too good for you, anyways.

you want to knock on her door and ask how she's doing.
you wonder if she remembers you.
you don't.

v.
you walk past His best friend's house.
he has bright, shining lights, too.
christmas spirit.

you wonder if he still lives there or not.
you remember the way you went to daycare together.
the three of you.

you were never close with him.
he was into hockey and more attractive girls.
by the time He transferred out of your school, he had no reason to talk to you anymore.
he forgot all about you.

he started dating girls in grade one.
he started cursing in grade five.
he had kissed a girl by grade eight.
she thought she was in love with him.
he had no idea what love meant.

he still plays lacrosse with Him.
he talked to you about Him, sometimes.
he told you how He was doing, how much he hated Him.

at least the two of you had that to talk about.

vi.
you are almost home.
you check your phone.
four missed calls.
three unanswered texts.
where r u?
you turn off your phone and put your hands in your pockets.

you're walking down the same path you would during school.
you remember the way the boy you had a crush on would tease you as you walked home.
he lived on your street.
he would call you names.
you told yourself it was only because he liked you.
he didn't.

the two of you used to be best friends.
you played in the park together.
you had matching walkie talkies.
he came to all your birthday parties
and you went to all of his.

until you weren't cool enough.
and that was that.

you still see him sometimes.
you don't exchange a hello or even a smile.
you act like he doesn't exist.
he does the same for you.

you wonder if he feels as guilty as you do.

vii.
you are home, but you are not alone.
you've returned with your own ghost.
she is whispering in your ear how you have become
everything she would be ashamed of.

she wanted to be a veterinarian.
she wanted to be thin.
she wanted to be pretty.
she wanted to be smart.
she wanted a boyfriend.

you are unemployed.
you are overweight.
you are ****.
you are dumb.
you have a girlfriend.

she is dead and you are the only one to blame.
because you killed her.
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