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Nnaemeka Mokeme Aug 2018
While the calmness returns,
the strangers gone,
noise of gunshots,
the cry of the wounded
and dying are no more heard,
our children and women
came out of hiding,
the young men smiling sheepishly
as they survived the onslaught
of the insurgents.
You can see the older women
in small groups scattered all over
selling food and all kinds of stuff.
The stragglers returns,
loitering all over the place,
trying to adjust and blend
into the communities.
Laughter and shouts of joy
is again heard in our land
even the morning songs
of the turtle dove.
The stray dogs are seen
looking for food and handouts.
The women pounding
their yam in mortar
with the pistil are
heard in our backyard
with the noise of
happy children singing
and dancing at the village
square in the moonlight,
while the elders and young
men keep watch.
What a beautiful moment
as peace returns.
With grateful heart we
celebrate this day.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Medusa May 2018
no apology
just sleep


sleep
what a strange

word
If we live in our dreams and hopes with
A strand of faith that someday all will
Be realized, while in our day to day
Life we feel we must pretend that such
Thoughts are are not who we truly are
Because that would estrange us from the
World of normalcy and convention, with
A price to pay.   Is it not reasonable, even
Yet to say desirable perhaps but always
Inevitable that one or the other of our-
Selves must needs die; and in the end it
Will not be a hard choice -to choose life
Knowing with God all things most real
That are for our salvation will be done.
Come He has said my burden is lite.
He who makes all things new knows:
In him who believes it is the old world
That is dying and a new world is  being
Born  and we nearer to God do rejoice
Bryan Lunsford May 2018
Since she walked away I haven’t known what to do,
With all of my colors that have turned gray–I’ve been left to only feel this color of blue,
As there’s not a shade in this world that could ever replace her hues,
My sight and mind has been left in a haze–and left ever so confused,
With my eyes that stay closed–for I’ve been blinded by the truth,
Wherein the only thing my eyes want to see–will no longer be in my view,
So go ahead and paint my world however you wish and want to,
As you can paint my whole world with the most vibrant and amazing hues,
But until the day that she returns–all my eyes will see is gray and blue
Empire Jun 12
Its fingers closing around my throat
Afraid to swallow, to breathe
In case I won’t be able to...
Can’t get it out of my mind...
GET OUT OF MY HEAD
The monsters are crawling back in
They’re trying to take control
I STILL HAVE CONTROL

What is control.... control.... lol
Control has only ever brought me
MADNESS

I can’t let them see
THEY CAN’T KNOW

I can’t tell the doctor...
I DON’T WANT MORE MEDS

I’m slipping

It’s coming back.

****.
Yes, please dangle my triggers in front of my face. Please threaten me with them. It’s really funny.
Emily Dec 2018
I miss you like summer
But know you can’t stay away for long.
It’s nature’s way
For you to find your way back.
Until the season changes
Anticipation of you keeps me warm.

@letemflow
Blind Aesthetic Oct 2018
If words were a currency
I would ask for a refund
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
and

you think you are done with it.
but the notion potion returns with your stolen free will
taunting and tearing, sealing and then dissolving
the seals

no retirement in this world from where human means pliable
and pliable means capable of being twisted; nay, retwisted...

last we left you,
we were weeping on the concrete sidewalk of
Third Avenue, the police, giving you a move on command,
as Jean Valjean earworms one into the incapacity of movement  because of the audacity to request to bring him home

such is the sorrow of the lost child; it comes with irregularity
yet, never failing to return, the child lost, the residual, resides
within like a violin adagio reaching the punishing silence
after a crescendo that  pretense promised momentary relief

we struggle to keep any and all keepsakes,
polished and fed; rust and time, no polish in the five & time dime
that does a good enough job,
but you buy it anyway

well aware that fate will inevitably rob you, it’s so purposed

twist you, retest you and re-will you, to never forget until
you have no need for forgetting but the peace of
constant remembering when all on that day
molecules and nucleotides
collide in the atmosphere,
dog licking, cat weeping purrs, meaning hallelujah home

the endless sadness of the lost lad-ness, dimly grow the recollections of the first word, the first delight, the confidence complete
that your babe is non pareil; the violin sweeps you along and the genteel tide still too string strong to resist

the woman comes into the room;
the reddened eyes no hide
the weeping outside and in the centerpiece of a soul;
why she asks, not surprised for she’s seen it
too many **** poem-times:
my Adam, I answer;
suffices and wisely
leaves me to
compose and decompose simultaneously
weeping weeping forever weeping even when not

furious eddies rock smashing,
curious they splash me with taunts
"you want for naught!"

but naught is the only possess
that owing it makes one impoverished

perhaps he will email me, ewail me,
does he know I am at the
Wailing Wall, Jerusalem,
insert parchment prayers for his safety

oh my Absalom, oh my Adam, my favorite first born,
come sit next to me on the sidewalk so close to where you live,
comfort me as in the days of your youth,
now that we are both
so very much older

sleep well all you lads and children,
never mind these unstoppable tearings,
never mind the heaviness,
for it has passed
as the tears shed
enlighten my embodiment

7/16/18 prone and alone
for my kinship
danne Sep 2018
awaken
from the slumber
to throw their name in the lake
if the wind ever returns
to appeal onto the yearning
lift it from your shoulders
and crush it with a boulder.
How cruel time can seem
That I should like something less
The more I love it
Haiku:
Lizzy Jun 2014
Grayness swells and burns as ice
Coldness fills hollow creeks
My mindless ghost of a shell
But drifts ever so quietly

Ghostly shells as mine
Follow the current
Follow the breeze
Too weak to fight
To swim upstream

Now I am told the sun returns
But will it return without help?
Without artificial dawn?
Will this dusk be everlasting?
Never reaching devil's hour
And never returning to shiny morning

My ghost ever mourning
A loss of some unfamiliar friend
Sick for a home that has never existed
I forever dwell on my oscillating waking
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
October 2013

for Maria and Logan...

you need two hands, one foot.
count my years.
each finger, worth a decade.
each toe, well, a century...

birthdays.

point of inflection,
point of opportunity,
presents itself,
to rewrite history.

a second coat of paint,
gift-wrapped in weak excuses.
how I lied, how I ain't,
grimm-fated fairy tales
somebody created.

invisible suits of gold-cloth
worn to my party of
past rewrit and
future foretold.

one single thought,
memory,
seizes my heart,
as I fall to my knees.
cracks my temperate ease,
renders open the
woof and weave
of recycled deceptions,
causing all to be revealed
and ask,

what if the poetry ceases?

you know prostrate?
you taste grief?

have you not but
one pain,
one act,
one deed,
one memorization,
act of cowardice,
act of desertion,
mistake maden, taken,
for which
forgiveness
can never
be given,
be taken,
attained?

do, does, did.

let me then
win the birthday lottery,
let floods of relief from
daily chores, not drown me,
chauffeurs to drive,
masseurs to massage,
cooks to cook,
les delicious treats,
keep theologians, logicians
on retainer, if need
explanations.

none know, can provide,
still and yet, a
priestly sacred chord,
grants relief,
absolution,
song of hallelujah
the ache of
perpetuity worry,
that ancient pain,
grows fresher daily,
the loss of one,
of my body,
my primal knot
unreasonable,
everything should be
permitted to be untied,
on my birthday, no?

this day, these days
breathe through words,
molecules of vowels,
stem cells of consonants,
the fabric, the tissues of life,
veins are a dictionary
of corpuscles,
red blood cells are
nouns of nutrients.

this day, these days,
the infection of my soul
is tempered, kept at bay,
tamped down from the
full flowering
of white blood cells
of rhyme, verse.

what if the poetry ceases?

Though the bones creak,
the body they carry. resurrect
for morning, afternoon
and evening prayers.

thrice daily poetry I recite,
roses red, violets blue,
my marrow transfused.

though my prayers refused,
the poetry act immolates
the fringes of my disease,
for which the common cure
is not currently invented....

what if the poetry ceases?

but be assured, told
scientists hard at work,
on the
forgive n' forget drug.

meantime,
take a bubble bath in
rosemary and mint
trap some words,
tap some words into
your cell phone bone,
the poetry heat that
provides aspirin relief.

through this poem,
on one day annual,
I am relieved, relived
the muse is feted, sated,

gone for few moments
concerns, worries of
exposure today,
agnostic's foxhole of hell
is dis-remembered,
the gloss returns,
the faux dispatched,

ain't birthdays grand?

what if the poetry ceases?

what rhymes with
Sorrow?
mmmmm,
could it be
Morrow?

bath drains, rosemary and mint
odors dismissed, the  Argentine disparu,
the Spanish Medievalists,
the Neo-Raphaelites,
all gone,
didn't they have birthdays too?

didn't know
the Renaissance come
and go,
and nobody
tole ya?

please recall t'is the day
after my sweet city recorded my
naissance in the
Hospital of the Flowers
on Fifth Avenue.

the 'crats put the datum
in the bureau with the
night creams and
the statistics
as follows:

on this day + a few,
six or twenty decades ago +
a few centuries,
a question was born,
and an ache that is
sometimes relieved,
by a poem song.

though do not celebrate,
t'is a day to calibrate,
review, edit, tinker,
rewrite, often a stinker.

always one thought recycles:

what if the poetry ceases?

(how will I breathe?)
Notes: my birthday was a few weeks ago. One of a number poems I've written about birthdays.  This one was modified, but only slightly for Maria and Logan.
Carter Ginter Jul 2016
I don't need to breathe
I just need to sleep
I need you to stop getting so close to me
I'm a ticking time bomb
Ready to blow
One more second
And my world will explode

I'm Dreaming of death
No regrets
**** all these demons that are filling my head
They tempt me with rest
That final escape
And I'm waiting for the moment that
I finally cave

Lost in a moment
And I'm feeling alright
Maybe even thinking
I don't hate this life
But that light came so fast
And Now it's all passed
My darkness returns
Leaving nothing in its path

I'm Dreaming of death
No regrets
**** all these demons that are filling my head
They tempt me will rest
A final escape
And I'm waiting for the minute that
I finally cave

Ugh
God save my soul
I need a way out
I've been digging my grave
And This dirts coats my mouth
But I know you cant hear me
No I don't believe
Cause I control my own destiny

But I can't do it on my own

I'm Dreaming of death
No regrets
**** all these demons that are filling my head
They tempt me will rest
A final escape
And I'm waiting for the second that
I finally cave

Please, I know you can do it
No
Baby don't give in
I swear it'll change
Just try to make it
One more day
Another song
elizabeth Mar 2018
i've wanted to be a mystery for as long as i can remember. my whole life, i ached for someone to wonder about me, to need to know more, to write pages of poetry for me, to feel love songs in their body when they saw me. i desired words of love and lust and wonder to describe me. i never understood what i was doing wrong, why i wasn't receiving bundles of pink, heart-shaped valentines full of adoration, why i couldn't seem to make anyone curious about who i was. i'd watch others only share small pieces of themselves to capture the hearts of random lovers, and i so wished to do the same. i know that, deep in my core, that's not who i am. my heart is tattooed on my sleeve, and every emotion that goes through my mind appears right across my face. i feel too much, there's no way around it. no one will ever wonder about a girl if you can easily see what she's feeling. i've tried to crush that part of myself, tried to drain my body of all the excess feelings. it refills though, like a river after a drought. the water always returns, most often in storms. the feelings rush into me and make it impossible to mute them. i've come to the conclusion that i will never be a person that a stranger on the bus sees from across the aisles and thinks about for the rest of the day. that those who want to be wanted rarely get that. that i will forever be the one who writes poetry about someone, and it will never be the other way around. it hurts, but i've realized now that no blurry, rushed words about a love for me will ever grace a page in a diary, even if that's the only thing i need.
Jordan Rowan Mar 2016
I greet myself every morning
Try to convince myself that bad complexion's kinda charming
Maybe youth is never-ending
Then I see my tax returns are pending
I wish I could promise everlasting
But I've always been told that lying is a bad thing
I'd like to do this
Maybe forever
But only if me and my lover stay together

I was conceived in a kitchen
And it became the place my childhood was murdered in
I fell asleep at the movies
Somehow the sounds of violence really soothe me
I smoked a dozen
Hacked my way to a suicidal buzz again
I'd like to do this
Maybe forever
But only if me and my family stay together

I gave a prophet my number
She sent it to the clouds and now I'm going under
Am I the only me?
Or am I a product of genetic destiny?
It doesn't matter
Happiness is measured in love and laughter
I'd like to do this
Maybe forever
But only if me and my friends stay together
Mitch Prax Jul 2015
This feeling returns
Like running in circles
It's getting old
It leaves me at the
bottom of the bottle
lonely and cold
oliver o Jun 2018
there are nights
in which my body plays cage
the space we take up feels too much
everything numbs
and that feeling returns
the one i can only describe as burning
and we are merged
and we are divided
we are overly aware of our limbs
yet we cannot feel them at all
my body does not love me
she returns
making herself home in my belly and *******
there is something familiar about it
something comfortable
like sinking and floating at the same time
the cold and the dark and the deep
carrying me off to places unspeakable
embracing me
sealing me up as if i were a letter
and it an envelope
i am sent with no return address
and my heart sighs the song of my wonder
if this body will ever be mine
Philosophy involves feeling
like an unknowing child
most of the time, brief
revelation and then
unknowingness
returns again.
How long I've been alive
yet how old I feel inside.
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