'Rocketing' poems - Hello Poetry

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onlylovepoetry Jul 2023

How do you paint water, or clouds? Or write of love?

how do you paint water, or clouds?

I could read poetry for the brief,
of my of remaining life, however brief,
and never be satiated, of love, and streams of water,
never stilled, always running in patterns that exist,
but for milliseconds, admired by clouds born in, of,
a moment of re-formation that is perpetuity long:
unending shape shifting, like the freedom of flowing water
currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay,
inconceivable that human eyes or their spoken words
could capture their shiny white foamy essence

But of love, that we can do, paint, design, recreate its
endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity
of a pebble dropped gently to its burial sight in a quiet pond.

Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping
at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies: the
exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds
and the water, who could paint that, who capable of capturing
said sensations that wrack and enliven the body with invisible
interior chemical reactions. I cannot. Thankfully better men and women have treatised their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study and stare at these flows, hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom.

Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into
place, or alternatively caucus to run endlessly arms extending,
flying though not airborne , rocketing us upwards while feet never budging, but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love.

2:58AM
Friday
jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century.

O.L.P.

inspired by the police of Oxford, Lewis and Hathaway

#olp #paint #clouds #water #write #poetry

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Dylan Thomas

Poem On His Birthday

In the mustardseed sun,
By full tilt river and switchback sea
  Where the cormorants scud,
In his house on stilts high among beaks
  And palavers of birds
This sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave
  He celebrates and spurns
His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age;
  Herons spire and spear.

  Under and round him go
Flounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails,
  Doing what they are told,
Curlews aloud in the congered waves
  Work at their ways to death,
And the rhymer in the long tongued room,
  Who tolls his birthday bell,
Toils towards the ambush of his wounds;
  Herons, steeple stemmed, bless.

  In the thistledown fall,
He sings towards anguish; finches fly
  In the claw tracks of hawks
On a seizing sky; small fishes glide
  Through wynds and shells of drowned
Ship towns to pastures of otters. He
  In his slant, racking house
And the hewn coils of his trade perceives
  Herons walk in their shroud,

  The livelong river's robe
Of minnows wreathing around their prayer;
  And far at sea he knows,
Who slaves to his crouched, eternal end
  Under a serpent cloud,
Dolphins dive in their turnturtle dust,
  The rippled seals streak down
To **** and their own tide daubing blood
  Slides good in the sleek mouth.

  In a cavernous, swung
Wave's silence, wept white angelus knells.
  Thirty-five bells sing struck
On skull and scar where his loves lie wrecked,
  Steered by the falling stars.
And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage
  Terror will rage apart
Before chains break to a hammer flame
  And love unbolts the dark

  And freely he goes lost
In the unknown, famous light of great
  And fabulous, dear God.
Dark is a way and light is a place,
  Heaven that never was
Nor will be ever is always true,
  And, in that brambled void,
Plenty as blackberries in the woods
  The dead grow for His joy.

  There he might wander bare
With the spirits of the horseshoe bay
  Or the stars' seashore dead,
Marrow of eagles, the roots of whales
  And wishbones of wild geese,
With blessed, unborn God and His Ghost,
  And every soul His priest,
Gulled and chanter in young Heaven's fold
  Be at cloud quaking peace,

  But dark is a long way.
He, on the earth of the night, alone
  With all the living, prays,
Who knows the rocketing wind will blow
  The bones out of the hills,
And the scythed boulders bleed, and the last
  Rage shattered waters kick
Masts and fishes to the still quick starts,
  Faithlessly unto Him

  Who is the light of old
And air shaped Heaven where souls grow wild
  As horses in the foam:
Oh, let me midlife mourn by the shrined
  And druid herons' vows
The voyage to ruin I must run,
  Dawn ships clouted aground,
Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue,
  Count my blessings aloud:

  Four elements and five
Senses, and man a spirit in love
  Tangling through this spun slime
To his nimbus bell cool kingdom come
  And the lost, moonshine domes,
And the sea that hides his secret selves
  Deep in its black, base bones,
Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh,
  And this last blessing most,

  That the closer I move
To death, one man through his sundered hulks,
  The louder the sun blooms
And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults;
  And every wave of the way
And gale I tackle, the whole world then,
  With more triumphant faith
That ever was since the world was said,
  Spins its morning of praise,

  I hear the bouncing hills
Grow larked and greener at berry brown
  Fall and the dew larks sing
Taller this thunderclap spring, and how
  More spanned with angles ride
The mansouled fiery islands! Oh,
  Holier then their eyes,
And my shining men no more alone
  As I sail out to die.

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Hopi Butler Nov 2011

Orange Juice then Frosting

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

Time is repetition
As I watch from the couch
“He won’t last the weekend,”
Says Hospice
“They said he might not last the weekend,”
Says Dauson
He’s stronger than they know,
I say

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

False hope, of course
I can see the way
The cancer fights
Deceiving the guards
Hiding and attacking
Slowly taking what’s theirs
Slowly killing,
Spreading down towards the
Ground then rocketing up
Until his psyche
Dissipates into nothing

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

“Go hunting, it’s opening day,”
He says
They listen
But only because
He yells at them to
She goes out to smoke
My grandma with my grandpa’s killer
“Can you pick Dauson up?”
Says Mom to Tracy
Keith’s mother,
Mother of my brother’s “brother”

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then Frosting

I know it’s coming
Yelling it’s arrival
Like the steady beat of a beating drum
I’m surprised
That no one else
Can hear it
That no one else
Can feel it
Permeating the air
The shadows reaching out
With tendrils made of cold
Made of smoke
Made of death’s sweet kiss

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

Time is fast forwarded
Laying him down on the bed
“Melissa’s almost here,
The boys are almost here”
And then time stops for a moment
He’s facing me
Eyes closed, mouth parted
A single tear that is his own
Freezes on his cheek

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

You asked what changed
Me the most?
What made me who
I am today?
A grave stone
A wooden cross
Seeing a man die slowly
Day after day

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Aimin Dec 2018

My Traveling Mind

My mind feels
As though it
Flickers.
“Tick,
Tic,
Ti,
T.”

To experience ADD
is to have your brain
Switch between
Six different channels,
Six different themes.
It will always feel like you are
Rocketing between things.

In the span of a second,
Your mind will explore the dying children
In Mozambique.
In the next ponder,
Your mind indulges in the roleplay of
Naruto and the pink-haired chick.

I have no power over
Who dances in my play.
I know they bring flames,
But I’m uncertain as to
Who is managing the stage.
I am the director of this show, yet
I was banned to say.

The show has no ending, no beginning,
My life didn't come with instructions.
So I ****** it up and just lived with it.

In the moments that I daydream,
I always force myself to be in the present.
In fear that the world will think
I'm too dumb or complacent.
But that's just how my brain works.

Ten seconds gone,
I am travelling across the pool.
A red bruise on my lips and
A crack on my tooth.
I ask myself again,
Then and there,
How and when
Did I get this bruise?

It can be such a disadvantage,
It can be such a gift.
To be wholesome in a way,
But to also lack the basics.

I feel like I’m constantly living between
The two binary opposites.
As regulating emotions
can become a huge problem
I may have creativity and the sway,
But I'm also managing my impulsivity every day.

Do you know
Why I zone out
And lose focus?
My world inside
Can just be too chaotic.
But trust that I'm working on it.

Regardless,
I know this faucet will flow seamlessly
And being more aware of this condition
Will only help me manage it.

So what have I to lose,
In the midst of this plight?
I’ve been writing a lot of poetry,
Haven’t I?

AOA

#adhd #attention #deficit #hyperacticity #disorder #depression #add

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karen dannette Feb 2013

*******Praying for Forgiveness*******

My pain is like a dripping faucet
abused and mistreated
My overall condition, worsening drip by drip by drip.
Filling up the sink of life and drowning slowly,
agonizingly.

Choices made with haste and without true understanding of the possible result of the bitterness and pain I was causing.
The loss of the only child you carried in your womb, protected and loved by you, tenderly and with intent.
Mistakes so numerous, an exact moment of loss not known.
Immature woman given young child to raise in this world
of temptation, sin and emotional turbulence.......

-SIN OF THE FLESH CHOSEN OVER A GODLY LIFE-

My beautiful boy with a heart full of hope and abundance
damaged with a change of plans in my travels, unfairly and unjust.
Causing his vehicle to careen down an empty highway of bitterness and isolation.
Fortifying walls around his heart full of abundance of trust and love
Now cold and distant from the mother that shielded him from pain with strain and exertion.

My voice beckons him from across the canyon
To PLEASE allow me to make things ok again between us.
But, alas, only the echo of my own voice is rocketing in the distance
Emptiness and hopelessness, I strain to hear anything at all, no emotion allowed to return to me.  Not even an angry voice.
Beating myself with a metal chain, ****** and in complete desperation, standing on piercing nails with ripped off limbs.....

-OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER-
FOR EVER??
NO MORE CHANCES.
FORGOTTEN, WATCHING IN DESPAIR AS HIS LIFE GOES ON WITHOUT ME
SO EASILY, HE MAKES IT APPEAR.

Regret is like an ancient building ruining the value of its neighbors
decrepit and broken down,
Depraved, isolated and abandoned with recklessness.
So ugly on the outside, no one dares try to re-enter the condemnation of the door.
No one believes it can ever be restored to its original beauty and inspiration.

Hopeful and optimistic for a reunion of remembrance and forgiveness.
Determined with purpose, willing to risk looking shamed and unlovable.
No more self-respect because of hasty, decisions and instant gratification.
Still holding my breath.  Could this be the time I call and he finally comes around?
Grasping to clutch, once again, the blessed unconditional love and trust of my only son.

Negligent and selfish, unintentional life choices of a mother
Difficult to completely accept responsibility for injuries sustained by my misjudgment.
Finally, after years of scripture and study,
Understanding the agony and misery
God must have felt to watch Jesus' beaten and prodded,

GOD SACRIFICED HIS ONLY SON
............THE ONLY WAY TO SHIELD US FROM THE UNIMAGINABLE PAIN AND MISERY
OF AN  ETERNITY  IN HELL ALONE AND UNWANTED
FINALLY RENEWED WITH FORGIVENESS!!!
AFTER WE HAD SINNED AGAINST HIM SINCE THE GARDEN OF EDEN FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS.

Almost insane from the self-inflicted abuse,
Survival instincts start to make me want to give up and continue my bad choices to numb the memory of him.
Yet, still begging to have him love me again, even if it was for a single minute.
Dreaming of a loving hug from son to mother in earnest and heartfelt.  Willing to settle ANY emotion at all reciprocated.
Hoping he never makes a mistake that causes such irreparable intensity, empty and unwanted.

After 12 years of comforting and soothing and protection,
Everything lost, no more memory at all of mother needed...
No thought of how important he made me feel at one time.
Only father standing proud in picture next to child
                Lovingly smiling at him with adoration.

He respects him and loves him as much as he condemns and disregards me.
               He only speaks or thinks of me with disdain and total detachment
And.. Only when absolutely unavoidable and by force, it appears.
What kind of hell on earth is this?
           My own tears drown my hope and regret now defines me with each effort of possible reconciliation that is tossed away like an unwanted thing.

Drip, drip, drip.
My heart is ripped into a million pieces, by my own hand.
Never to be needed again
If forgiveness will never be possible, tell me now.
                 Please have mercy, while I grieve the loss of my only son.  Yet he lives.

addiction ad·dic·tion (ə-dĭk'shən)
n.
Habitual psychological and physiological dependence on a substance or practice beyond one's voluntary control causing regret and devastation to loved ones..
sometimes, irreparable.

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Pearson Bolt Jan 2017

generation

i was raised
by the greatest
generation.
at least,
that's what we
were told.

we were raised
at your knee,
told stories
of the American
Dream. "work hard,"
you told us, "obey,
consume, and god
will provide
for your every need."

you neglected
to mention
you'd borrowed
our only home,
a loan
you've since
squandered.

like the parable
of old,
you buried
your talent
in the sand—
along with your head.
dormant, you twiddled
your thumbs,
ignored the warning
signs of sky-rocketing
carbon emissions.

when you die
alone
you'll leave
behind a footprint
larger than your
tiny mind
could fathom.
it will echo
in the hallways
of your vacant,
dilapidated mansions.

you stood upon
the shoulders
of gods and giants,
but you gave us
a globe
unbalanced,
off-axis.

now, like Atlas,
we're left to carry
your burdens.
this yoke is heavy
and we are slight.

there's
no future
now, thanks
to you.
only prophecies
of nuclear holocaust,
economic collapse,
and the inevitable
heat-death
of the universe.

#dream #change #american #generation #climate

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Ayaba Babe Jan 2013

Extraterrestrial

She blinks.
And such an ordinary unnoticeable movement
Creates movements in places he never intended to landslide.
She's a super natural rip tide
She's an extraterrestrial tour guide
To the universe
Of his dreams.
The
Space
Of her smile
Sends his pupils rocketing space-bound.
The black holes of her throat are cautiously slippery,
She wants him to drown.
She's ******* him down
Down
She's gathering him up
And escorting him around
Like shooting stars in a moonlit sky
His pupils search for the skies in her eyes
And she blinks.
She etches the disguise of his demise in her memory,
And she tattoos her name in his heart with permanent ink.

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Nathan Tuy Sep 2017

Espresso Skitto

Beauty is the sky filled with dark clouds.
Beauty is the black birds swooning across the black sky.
Beauty is the moths rocketing themselves to their death.
Beauty is the cigarette smoke that has escaped my lungs.
Beauty is those amber red leaves falling from the trees.
Beauty is the claustrophobia that suffocates me when I'm alone in my bed.
Beauty is the phone that hasn't rung for months.
Beauty is the ***** of empty papers in the bin.
Beauty is the voices bleeding from your daily fights that have become white noises to my ears.
Beauty is the creature I see everytime I look in the mirror.
Beauty is the cruel daggers that you whisper into my ears.
Beauty is the blisters on my knuckles I got from punishing the wall for your sins.
Beauty is the scratches on my arms.
Beauty is the pills that numb the pain in my soul.
Beauty is Morpheus,the only friend who's around to help me through the torments of my life.
Beauty is the razor that has been hiding in the mess on my desk for months now.
Beauty is death herself.
Beauty is life.

#depression #alone #pain #despair #father #family #problems #escape

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b for short Feb 2016

class b fireworks for stephanie

She’s been put together;
spattered with
handfuls of shiny warning labels that
no one ever took the time to read,
only to reside in a lonely wooden box—
sheltered, still, and safe.
Living unlit and knowing nothing but patience,
she’s unaware of all the wonderment
that resides just beneath her own surface.
When the box finally opens,
she’s handled carefully
by strong, gentle hands that recognize
all of her treacherous potential.
She doesn’t flinch,
when those trusted fingers
strike the match
to light her fuse.
She doesn’t fret
when the heat catalyzes
a chemical reaction—
one far beyond her control.
She only sings
when her own jolt sends her rocketing
a hundred feet into the night sky.
And when she can’t stand the pressure
any longer
she swallows what pride she has left
and explodes—
a million strands of glittering fire
decorating the dark, ominous unknown.
Just for a moment, she hopes
she’s the most beautiful thing
those hands have ever touched.
But as she fizzles out into a small cloud
of smoke and something that once was,
she accepts her purpose
as the short-lived,
soon forgotten,
spectacularly unsuspected
good time.

© Bitsy Sanders, February 2016

#fireworks

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Marshal Gebbie Nov 2011

Resultant from years of financial haggling
The Money Boys come to the fore
Capitalizing on predatory trading
Manipulating for profits galore.
Leveraged stocks and debt obligation
advantage producing high dividend yield,
Squeezing the borrowers mortgage commitment,
Showing the hopeless the foreclosure field.
Passionless people with passionless faces
Smiling with fathomless eyes at your plight,
Knowing that if foreclosure is pending
Return on the sale will turn out all right.

Inflationary pressures are gradually worsening
Our Treasury man is flexing his arm
He’s keeping a close eye on monetary policy
Holding the cash rate to stop fiscal harm.
Upside and downsides defy expectation,
Rampantly wobbling the real estate boom,
Uncertainties globally, holding to ransom,
That American sub prime must remedy soon.

The high Government spending and big dairy pay outs
The rocketing prices of everyday stuff
Ridiculous rules for control of emissions
And fiscal expansion that’s really too tough.
Domestic inflation is making it harder
The Treasurer’s threatening to hike it this year
Persistent uncertainties running quite rampant
And our money communities sniffing the air.

Do you have faith in the bank institution?
Do you trust them with all of your funds?
In the event of collapse do you think you’ll be honoured
With return of deposits in full total sum?
Not on your Nellie my fine young depositor
An unsecured creditor fellow are you,
You go to the back of the line if there’s failure
You’re hung high and dry at the end of the queue.
You can yell and complain till the sun sets my friend
Compose all the letters you like to the judge.
But the fact of the matter in Money Men chatter
Means IT’S LEGAL and ON THIS OUR STATE WILL NOT BUDGE!

So the money boys win, never mind about justice
Causing division right here on our plate.
There’s the rich and the poor, the haves and the have nots
Social corrosion in wealth based hate.

Extrapolate out and you witness this worldwide
The fabulous West and the destitute poor,
The pina coladas and Chevrolet excess
Thin starving kids on dirt African floors.
Indulgent young starlets with ******* teasers
Black Ethiopian mothers in rags.
The fat and the frivolous gorging on beefsteak
Filthy and homeless men begging for ****.

When you bring it all back it’s a fraudulent system
Where the money men cause a division in man
Instead of devising a planet of sharing
They grab and they gouge and they keep all they can.
The God of GET is worshipped widely, Egocentric, selfish man
Tomorrows future hangs in the balance.
…WOULD YOU LAY ODDS ON GETS’ GREAT PLAN ?

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
25 January 2008

© 2011 Marshal Gebbie

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Kapil Dutta Jun 2014

(1)

    Leave Me Alone, She asked me for.
    I gave up my soul, She lend me before.
    It was her I lived for, Now where do I stand with out her anymore!

    She never loved me, Nor my mind.
    But it is me who's hopes never die.
    My hopes now live in vain, Is this where the story stains?

    I can sorry her, but for what?
    She never would learn that my love is not a fraud.
    I have tuned hollow now, Where to run and whom to follow now?

    It ain't gonna happen again, It would be too insane.
    Now I have to live in this ocean of pain, because that's how I'm gonna win.
    I ain't gonna be "The Looser" in the end. Is there someone you wanna send?

     (2)

    Love. What is Love? A blend of pain and hope.
    For me, Not something mankind has been defining from it's toe.
    They have been shamelessly lying, Telling that love has ever since been flying.
    All through ages, Love has been forgot.
    Shakespeare was one of the last, Who could blast the world with love and even more.
    Next would be who? Who would be true?
    You might doubt.
    That would be my taken seat, Could there be anyone who can jump over this feat?

    (3)

    (A)

    I speak a word, But my feelings are never heard.
    They loose away while their companions are slipping forward.

    (B)

    My Love,
                    Now I ask for nothing more but an immortal curve on the floor of your face, To the depth of your gaze.

    (C)

    For many it would be tough to see through my poetical haze.
    But trust me, The cloud you can not think out is where my love has finally got.

    (4)

    I deserve to be laughed at. She is all normal, But me beating 20 at my 15th gate.
    Hate is all that I can get, For nervously striking jungles of irritating thoughts in her head.
    I am depressed, But why to dash her future with my fate?

    (5)

    The other side of my debates. This is not what I should get.
    There are rocketing drops of thoughts in my head, That a day would come when the right realization would hit her bed.

    (6)

    That is all very well said.
    But all I can really do is hope,
    Till I am finally dead...


-KD

Meaning :
This is a very old poem, also one of the most emotional ones that I have written till date. I keep this poem with me all the time, 24/7, everywhere I go, and I dedicated it to this one person whom I'm going to refer to as Miss. K. This is a very special poem for me, and very difficult to explain at the same time, but I would still try my best.

As a aid for explanation, I divided the poem into six parts. I would explain each part separately as a whole.

Prologue :
The origin of this poem lives in the womb of the message I received some two years ago. In the message, The protagonist or Miss. K conveyed  to me that she wants me to leave her alone and cease to exist in her personal life. As a reflection to those three sharp words - Leave Me Alone, I wrote this poem.

Part 1 : This is the most easy to understand part. Here I talk about my sorrow, The pain that I have received, My confusion on how to deal with this situation of rejection and more. I complain that even if I sorry her, She will not understand what she means to me. But, realizing that there is no one in my life right now who can console me, I start counseling my self. I propose the idea of not letting something like this ever happen again. I try to fight my emotions.

Part 2 : Here, in the second part, the philosophical state of my mind kicks in and I start questing everything.

What is love?
I discover that, Love is nothing but a blend of pain and hope. You always receive pain when in Love, They go hand in hand. And for your love to sustain, You need hope.

I then move forward sharing my thought that since ages, love has been defined as that happy feeling you receive when you are in a intimate bond with someone. But, following my thoughts, I think that love is not all about happiness, but also about the pain you receive along with it.
In support of my thought, I mention how Shakespeare was one of the only few artistic personalities who really understood true love, and you can see a reflection of that in his works. There is a reason why his famous work, Romeo and Juliet had a not so happy ending.

Then I float to the realization that not many understand true love in the actual sense. This leads me to the conclusion that I am one of the very few who face and realize what true love truly means.

Part 3 :  The third part is my favorite, and to explain it in detail, I divided it into three more parts. I will be explaining each separately.

    A :   "I speak a word, But my feelings are never heard.
            They loose away while their companions are slipping forward."

I want to communicate. I want to explain. I want to convey my feeling to her but the tool I have been provided with by virtue is my mouth. I need to speak up.  But, speaking alone would not help. I need to carefully wrap my feeling around the words I utter, and set them on the voyage to reach her beautiful mind and hope that she will understand.
So, with all the courage that I consist within me, I speak.
But as soon as I open my mouth, I dash into the realization that my feelings are so delicate that the words I utter just can not handle them.
Thus, when the words start falling out of my mouth, The bond that I set between them and my feelings, falls apart and soon I though see the words reaching her ears, I sense the absence of my feelings.
Disappointed, I look down, and see my feelings falling on the ground.
Thus, in those two line, all I am trying to say is, my feelings loose away and fall down while their companions, the words I use to convey them slip forward to reach her ears.

    B :   "My Love,

                                 Now I ask for nothing more but an immortal curve on the floor of your face, To the depth of your gaze."

Here you can see me attempting to write a brief two line letter to Miss. K. In the letter I try to explain to the girl that, there is not much that I need from her. All I am asking for is an immortal curve on the floor of her face, which translates to an never ending smile on her face. I want her to be happy all the time, To discover happiness in every fraction of second that she lives, Every gaze of the outside world that she takes.

    C :  "For many it would be tough to see through my poetical haze.
             But trust me, The cloud you can not think out is where my love has  finally got."

By now I realize that the people who will read this poem in the future, will not be able to understand anything thanks to the poetical haze that I create here. So, in accordance with the complexity of the poem I try to assure the reader that the love I hold within myself for Miss. K reaches even beyond the average maximum, which is what the Cloud 9 stands for. Normally Cloud 9 is referred to as the maximum state of happiness, but for me, its even beyond that.

Part 4 : As I said, I wrote this poem some two years ago. I was 15 years old then, but my thought process and the way I use to talk made many people think that I am too mature for my age. They would say that I think and talk like a 20 year old guy. But she was nothing like that, she was just another normal average teenager. This wide difference in my thought process and the realization that she might never understand me, made me super nervous which eventually lead me to poke her with all the thoughts that use to hover in my mind at that time.  I send her long irritating messages which for obvious reasons she did not like. Thus, all this directs me to the conclusion that her hate towards me is justified. In the aftermath of all this mess, I tell myself that even though I am depressed, I do not have any rights to irritate her with my mournful out of control roaming thoughts, and I should stop trying to dash her future with my fate.

Part 5 : In a counter flow of ideas, I try having second thoughts about whether or not I deserve what I am getting in return of all the love that I have. I know that she does not understand me nor does she realize how much I love her, But still I stick to the hope that someday the realizations will hit her. Some day she will understand. Some day she will know.

Part 6 : In the conclusion of it all, that is in part 6, I talk about how good a poem this is. I complement myself, telling that perhaps reading this she might finally understand.
But I also remind myself that I can write as many such poems as I want. I can be Philosophical, Creative, Artistic and try everything possible to make her understand but in the end, all  that I can really do is Hope!

Hope till I am finally dead.

Thank you for reading.
Like it, Share it.
http://thekdradio.blogspot.in/
KD

#love #feelings #life #pain #death #hope #happiness #thoughts #true #sorrow #understanding

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Chris Apr 2015

Crash Landed

-

Tracing the cosmos
In wide open spaces
Only to face
The dreams that I wander
A lonely existence
Among constellations
Orbiting my desires
Now eclipsed by you

Gazing down
The earth below seems faded
As this distance counts
Light years like glazed donuts
Tempting from a window, as a kid
Licking the glass,
Never tasting the prize

Lunar phases
Become poetic phrases
Cosmic dust descending
Caught in gravity’s pull
Rocketing towards a target
Programmed for a safe
Reentry into your heart

The craft juts and jolts, screeching
Amidst the desolate silence of space
“Houston, we have a problem.
She needs to know how I feel,
how much I love her...”
Static echoed frequency hums
Transmission ended
All hope burned up
Crash landed

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Patti Masterman-Heterodynemind Nov 2010

Carnival of the Migraine

The colored carousel is coming for me again
The roller coaster zigzags across my vision
My head thumps with it's own band inside
Pounding away on one side, wearing it down to bone
Colorful streamers follow it, but I can’t focus on them
The image shifts with each movement of the eyeballs.

Why do they always have to bang on the same spot?
I knock some holes in the wall with my head
The freakshow’s fat lady is on the other side, taking a bow
But it feels just like looking into a mirror.
In order to feel some control over the pain I'm privy to,
I tighten the vise on my temple a few turns

Then I bang my neck with a tire iron
Just for equal opportunity agony.
The dwarf man stares at that, as if I am the highlight of the show.
I start to do a little tap dance, but my head blasts off on it’s own,
As if out of a cannon, rocketing above the arena
Slowly turning in it’s bug-eyed orbit.
I remember just in time to tighten the noose and step off the chair,
To the excited howls of delight, from the crowd-
But the support gives, every time; it’s all part of the act.

Why do I always have to work so hard performing
To achieve what my body does without thinking?
The clowns are pointing at me and laughing now,
And the children want to know, what is it all for?
But now blood is in my eyes, and the striking of the clock
Makes my vision shake, so I lay down in the cool doom of twilight
And wait for the loud music to slowly dissipate.

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Dorothy Parker

Wail

Love has gone a-rocketing.
That is not the worst;
I could do without the thing,
And not be the first.

Joy has gone the way it came.
That is nothing new;
I could get along the same, --
Many people do.

Now I am bereft.
All my pretty hates are dead,
And what have I left?

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Mr John L Supak Jr Jul 2013

A Simple Love Life

A simple love life
Opportune love
Presence everywhere
One chooses to be aware
Awake and aware of truth personified
Happy with nothing left to lose
Beauty follows grace
Everything changes
How depends on
Face to face
Whisper
Love will not be contained
To hell with the moon
We glow
Before or after transforms
Here now in paradise
Create universes
Of infinite passions place
Each-others
Infinite
Embrace
Simultaneously
Synchronizing-hearts to beat as one
Divine straight true pure
Cuts bleeding
Right
Through
America's
Heartland ironic eh
Fear our matchless glory
Please perhaps maybe space to love
Lovers thinking about moving
Gratefully happy to reflect now
Believing cute twists of hope hot sultry silly
Buttery-silky-soft sticky kisses for real
Checks hearts pulsating limitless too late
Love is ready in all ways here today
Be relieved late again
Coy shy dreadful
Sweats
Joy why
So few
Regrets
Joy has found
A simple love
Buttery silky soft
Coy inky **** you & me
Crafting love-life-peace
Show is over go home to simple love
More love over love under again repeatedly unscripted
Coming back for more shocked *** dripping & jaw dropping
Focused and riveted rocketing peculiar passions with pure presence
Terrestrial love **** beautiful eyes style points grace
Throne of blushing stallion champion of abundance giving patience to naughty time to play savor Every mentionable edible
Enjoying fine fresh refined tempered real touched up and down love move it all around for real Even still hear
Sacred silence
Convert no one will ever know
Vegas style passion love over flowing
Powerfully connected heart wrenching censor ships to shore
Love confidently drooling dreaming imagining magical wet mystical
dripping warm sea foam breezes Touch intent
Lips tongues mesh definitely overdue done
Multiple heart-beats resonate as more than one
Mushy in your face grace
Presenting happiness fun presence
****-very-**** fate is alive
One chooses 2 to awake to 3 awareness
Awake and aware of freedom truth
Love love love is within the eyes of the wise
To amuse a muse loose
To a simple love life.

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wordvango Aug 2018

Unto her

Arms flesh spirals rocketing
   Climbing bursting over through cloudsspace dust particles
   Explosive birth
Coronas starlights fast
     Grasped in the black
Clasped together
        In the sparkling
Universe
            Oneness symmetric
A glimpse
             Oh my love,
Heaven.

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Ayaba Babe Apr 2013

the weight of love pt. 2

you were the first man to love me.
naturally
i loved you too,
marveling at your beauty under the summer blue of the new york city sky.
fingers entwined, hearts rocketing...
you perpetually climbed to the center of my
universe.
if i could rein in the sun,
i would converse with the earth
and hand you the center of our solar system.
the shooting of stars would be under your infliction, and
the world would slowly dance around the
conviction
of your heart beat.
your heart beat
sounds like the finale of fireworks on the fourth of july,
your eyes
flicker like the stars shining beyond the thickness of the summer new york city sky
thickness
like the weight of love.

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Kate Deter Nov 2013

Sparkling Collision

Free-floating, gliding around,
No up, no down, no left or right.
A big jumbled mess
That makes perfect sense.
Rocketing at high velocity,
Colliding and sending sparks
Flying in all directions.
The sparks float aimlessly
As the objects that created them.
They leave a sparkling trail
Of stars in their wake.
Trace it back to the origin.
Recreate the collision.
Witness for yourself
The sparks as they fly.
Maybe one day you, too,
Can be part
Of that glorious bang.

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spysgrandson Oct 2013

sang-froid

did you see him,
the stranger,
coming
crotch rocketing
down your tree lined street?
did you see the child
his sandy hair splayed
by his own journey
flying through the dusk
pedaling his bike pell-mell to eternity,
or the end of the block
where his father stood akimbo,
talking soccer, while mother
washed the windows of her SUV
did you recognize the whine
of accelerating RPMs bouncing
off the safe houses,
the cleansed castles
where time’s dust was chased away
by growing mutual funds
and manicured hands
before it had time gather
as dust ultimately must
did you see him
coming
to spoil your story
with a mangled pile
of flesh and Tommy Hilfiger
so far from the desert bombs
your labors paid to build
did you hear the sound
of your own breath when
you ran to see
or did the screams
of all the mothers
of all the stars
awaken you from a dream
did you sleep that night
without the sight of white death
in the fields of suburbia
far from where blood
was written to be spilled
by darker skin under blackened skies
forever invisible to your eyes?

written while in the clutches of writers block, whatever that means

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Kassiani Sep 2011

The Panic of Empty Space

I am a planet knocked out of orbit
Officially space-junk
And a hazard to the universe
Left with no gravity anchor
Just frightening velocity and the panic of empty space

I was not held tightly enough

There is a seizing terror in the hollows of existence
A nightmare in the dark holes where wayward satellites disappear
There is only solitude here
With space-time stretching away, away, away
And nothing trying to bring me back

Stupid girl
What were you thinking?

When the cosmos were rearranging
I thought to find myself a warm body to revolve around
A hopeful path to comfort and stability
A chance to escape the darkness of infinity

I thought to find myself a Sun

As I was inspecting every glittering piece of space rock
One caught me unawares
He pulled me straight into orbit
And I could have fought
But he seemed the brightest body in the sky
So there I was
Happy to be trapped by gravity
Doting on my captor as he shined back at me
This was the exchange
My unwavering attentions
For some heat and some light

I should have known these things can’t be sustained

There is so much energy in a burning sun
But the funny thing about fire
Is that it kills its fuel source
So despite my efforts to keep it going
The Sun found it tiresome to shine
The Sun found it tiresome to entertain a doting planet
And suddenly I found myself rocketing around the galaxy

Stupid girl!
Did you never realize that you are too much?

I have a nasty habit
Of allowing my life to revolve around someone else
Call it obsessive
Call it needy
Call it whatever you want
I should probably just call it delusional
Because it still shocks me every time I get pushed away
For trying to come closer
It’s hard
When something that brilliant means so much to you
You feel very small
And smaller still when it wrenches itself away

The universe is vast
And I am tiny
And I am lost

I wish I could have learned how to navigate alone
Or at least how to care less

Written 9/29/11

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Chelsea Anne Palmer Jul 2013

mistake of the stomach

You feel the thunder in my life
in the body of my world
you look at my forehead at my mind
you sigh at all the overwhelming pressure
information, words
you shake your brain, oh those Americans
you look at it like shelves, each person a library
you shut the door and say it's dramatic you know.
And the things you tell yourselves to push; the quotes
all the mouths that quoted the first time said what good words
but they're not just for your ears you know
you're a whole being, 80% of your 'body' is below your head
like holistic health providers say, it's not the North where we should go,
East West and South are the everywhere here
Remember your hands
like your grandparents' cooking souls
Remember your feet like your grandparents dancing souls in the 20s, even Catholics (it's true)
Remember the beat, the peaceful instrumental song without a black sea of letters on white, but a sea of movement, feet on a white kitchen floor
Instead of washing your soul in more words
the scribbles were by a full hand, dropping it across an entire shoreline, more water for the ocean
if you could only write in 96-point font, like in an ant's eyes, what could the poor swallow
we write with one of our hands, the tip of a pen a rocketing thing, and I just want an angel to cry on me
Remember Remember like your grandparents whose parents' words or Bible were seperate from a flat flat piece of paper
Hold it, a round thing, that goes in your mind, tangible and sweet
forget that your stomach fills like a penny jar, a mistake
sell the wisdom and buy everything
a pair of blue jeans with 2 pockets
so that you do not fill with pennies, so many words that lose meaning
and then when you sell everything to buy wisdom, your eyes will not be so eager and wide
and you will not be lost in the fortune of quantity

Copyright Chelsea Palmer July 20

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YieShawn Scutt Mar 2016

Game

You never find me in big crowds of people
Because from afar it appears fun and peaceful
but looks can often be deceitful
I never had sleepovers with the girls
Because they'd send my emotions sky rocketing in swirls
And I know for a fact I'm fragile like pearls
So putting myself in those situations just seemed cheatfull
don't spend time with many people
I clamp on to one person
They'll throw me a bone and Ill continue the burden
Learnin the hurting has turned me into a person weak people have been subdued to servin
Realizing I'm manipulative
I stalk my prey And do so premeditative
The cycle starts over every year it's repetitive
To me
The game is easy
Not very competitive

#friends #life #pain #hurt #honest #game #fragile #used #using #ironic

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David Lewis Paget Jun 2015

The Battle on the Footplate

They’d never got on before the dance
And they certainly wouldn’t now,
For Geoffrey Raise had showered praise
On the Fireman’s girl, somehow,
And she, Charlene, was impressed, it seems
With the Engine driver’s call,
And changed her date, though it seemed too late
To the Fireman, at the ball.

They stood on the plate of the Duke of Kent
With the fireman raising steam,
Shovelling coal to the firebox
In a movement swift and clean,
He scattered the coals on the glowing bed
With a practised twist of his wrist,
While the driver kept his eyes ahead
As the steam built up, and hissed.

‘Why did you jump on Charlene then,’
Said the Fireman, Henry Rice,
During a break, his back was bent
With sweat, but his eyes were ice,
‘I don’t have to answer to you,’ said Raise,
‘Charlene was anyone’s girl,
I liked the way that she held herself
And she sure knew how to twirl.’

The train pulled out of the station with
A puff and a cloud of steam,
And clattered along the track from Klifft
On its way to Essingdean,
Pulling a dozen coaches and
A Guards van at the rear,
And a hundred and twenty passengers
At the high time of the year.

‘What would you say if I did to you
What you did to me, back then,
Cutting in on your date that night,
What was her name, that Gwen?’
‘She wouldn’t have looked at you,’ said Raise,
As he pulled the chord to toot,
‘And as far as your feelings go, old chum,
I really don’t give a hoot.’

The train was rocketing down the line,
And flew past the water tower,
While Raise had opened the ***** right up
To give the Express more power,
The gauge was inching at sixty five
As they flew past Barton Dale,
While Rice was shovelling coal once more
Though his face was pinched and pale.

He took Raise down with the shovel as
They raced through Weston Town,
Who lay, half stunned on the footplate
Hanging off and looking down.
He kicked on out at the Fireman with
His size twelve steel-capped boots,
Who reached and hung on the chord that gave
The Duke of Kent its *****.

The train was racking up seventy five
As they kicked and punched and swore
Totally out of control it passed
The Halt at Elsinore,
They narrowly missed a rumbling freight
As the points took it aside,
While Raise had yelled, ‘You can go to hell,
But control your wounded pride.’

The Fireman opened the firebox
Spraying hot coals on the plate,
‘Now dance again as you danced Charlene,
If you think that you’re oh so great.’
‘Just let me get to my feet,’ said Raise
‘Or you’re going to wreck the train.’
‘It might be time,’ said the Fireman,
‘For your life to fill with pain.’

They hit the buffers at Essingdean
And the engine left the track,
It leapt up over the platform as
The roof ripped off the stack.
Raise was told when they went to court
That he’d never be re-hired,
And Rice, for want of the girl he sought,
The Fireman was fired.

David Lewis Paget

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Arlice W Davenport Feb 2020

Oedipus Rex

1.
My mother hates me!
My father hates me!
Oedipus screams to the
stealthily silent Sphinx.

He scatters riddles like laurel leaves
waiting to be braided into
a playwright's crown. It is too
grandiose to fit his cracked. cramped cranium.

His unconscious mind flies open
like the Sphinx rocketing to the sky.
Sacred haunches soar. Wings beat
steadily to reach titanic heights.

Blind to his murderous fate, Oedipus
cannot know himself. Before the
Delphic Oracle, his life shrivels,
unexamined by his bleeding eyes.

2.
Freud exults in triumph.
Maternal love births eternal love:
endless comfort and affection
for the newly bloomed beloved.

Soon, comfort metamorphoses
into feral eros, unspeakable, unthinkable,
beyond the bounds of catastrophic evil.
Submerged desire sullies the chastest kiss.

Jacosta embraces her son
as her new living king, her husband's
royal blood bubbling brazenly
on the bitter road to Thebes.

His hands stained, Oedipus strives
to transmute his trauma as our own.
We become him when Freud deigns
to interpret our darkest, direst dreams.

Blindly, we mimic him: carnal union
with the mother, lethal rage against
the father. Mourning Becomes Electra
beckons to the wary second ***.

3.
The Sphinx belies its own riddle:
How can prophecy spring from
the sculpted, smooth stone
of these perfect *******?

Only blind Teiresias plumbs the depths
of Oedipus' fate: Judgement lies blinded,
action lies blinded by the ventricles of
violence, the twisted telos of the mind.

Humans sin against the world, against
nature, siphoned of joy. They sin without
a sacred perch to rise from. Blood and *****,
mud and blindness fashion their Oedipal souls.

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Ellyn k Thaiden Apr 2014

I cannot explain you.

I cannot form my thoughts or emotions into words, but if I could make them into anything, they would be a rainbow of colors sky rocketing through the atmosphere and propelling themselves into the heavens.

You make me take compliments. You've forced me to see that I am worthy of life. I am not just taking up air. I am perfect to someone, even with all my flaws and misprints. I have a purpose. Even when I feel useless and so disconnected to the world, you yank me back down. You are an anchor, keeping me from floating too far away. You are a shoulder on which I can cry on. You are a raging fire when determined and calm water when provoked. You are kind and gentle and everything I want to try to be. If a person were to describe you in perfect detail five months ago, I wouldn't have believed them, couldn't of fathomed a person like you existing. But you do exist. And you let me exist and spin around you, like the moon to the earth. A satellite. You are my Earth. I am your Moon. And you are perfect.

I cannot say what I want to. I cannot express what I feel right now. But I hope you allow me the time to show you.

More of a prose than poem. Sorry.

#love #moon #happy #earth #emotions #solar #system #prose #struggle

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MYSTICAL VOYAGER Apr 2016

IMMORTAL COMPONENT

An immortal component
in all being chosen
when firing from body fast
through rapidly spinning tunnel vast
walls emblazened with Aztec figures
chattering very fast in various languages
rocketing out through them
into a vast void to float
suddenly seeing many interchanging symbols most
passing into afterlife plane
deathless soul continuously born again
in many times places and planets
a huge intergalactic adventure with many facets
a lifetime on one planet given
just an instant in limitless time driven
over the course
of immense enterprise of souls journey force
evolving consciousness more and more
each planet a soul school to learn
radically advancing through levels term
depending on actions from previous lifetimes
to manifest current lives rhyme
gaining more awareness each time
to be more awake and recognize the signs
continuous birth and death
of planets and souls galaxies and universes met
coming back full circle into the now
which is all there somehow

#afterlife #journey #souls #cosmic #intergalactic #shamanic #evolutionary

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Ovi-Odiete Dec 2016

THE FIRST ONE (BLACKNIGHT SERIES 1)

THE FIRST ONE
        *TO **** OR TO?

THE FIRST ONE  *was obsessed with the penchant to ****
Where he lay bare when darkness falls, lurking around looking for blood to spew and flesh to drill.
Customarily, from a distance, he looked calmer and more laid back, but on a closer view, he's a  frenzied  beast prowling for a prey.

***

THE CLOUD  gave way and an emanating surge of blackness forged in.
The green leaves became blur, the shrubs, dull and the air smelled dark.
And tonight, no guiding star traveled by
..............
The stars had refused sprouting, so darkness took charge, winning an inglorious war.
And in the midst of the thick chasm of darkness, stood a monstrous shadow. Hiding a knife neatly behind his trousers. There he was, prowling, watching the arena until he claimed it safe.
..........
Like a meandering hungry wolf waiting for a shriveling prey. This shadow swirled, turning in circles, hungry and abashed. His impatient attitude took the better half of him as he began canvassing round a circle. And as if fate had a penchant for entwining tragedies, a young and innocent girl with eyes that scored blue was seen walking into the presence of an unseen monster.
................
It was fate, not serendipity. And here she was, unsuspecting.
The monstrous shadow still in hiding, watched his new founded prey and was waiting for the perfect moment to pierce and attack. He's baying for blood and just within this dark patch of time, a beautiful and enchanting young girl was passing by.

All of a sudden, she felt some unseen eyes plucking into her soul. Someone must be lurking around. She could feel it.
The air smelt horror.....
The breeze was too cold.
The arena itself was encapsulating danger and turning around she saw a stranger.
A very tall, muscled ripping, Strong and unusual strange man. Fear gripped her. She began breathing too hard and too shallow at once. She couldn't make do the exact face of him, but from the heat of the moment, she could tell he wants just one thing. Her blood.

The monstrous stranger brought out a knife, sharp and direct and attempted to pierce. Groaning and roaring like a savaging beast he directed it to her chest, but then he paused. Her eyes.

It was her eyes

Her eyes held him there. There was something about her eyes that made him pause and ponder.
There was tears. Tears of a broken soul, that was long kept within the chasms of her spirit. There was hope, hope for a fallen soul, that it will rise again. And there was warmth, warmth for a cold heart, that it will melt again.

He looked into her eyes and for once in his life, he could see himself within those piercing sunken magnetic eyes

And for the first time, the monstrous stranger was on his knees, crying in pain and agony.
"What can bring an undaunted warrior down on bended knees"?
A woman's tears can pierce into the most rigid of hearts.
Raising his head, he could find her no more. She was gone, gone into the black night.
A moment of rocketing rage flew in as he screamed
"Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
Perplexed, fascinated and enraged at the same time, he would go into the night and search for her amidst the wave of blackness and spill her blood to the sands of time.

But could he actually spill the blood of the strange girl  with eyes that brought warmth, hope and whose tears brought him down on shriveled knees?

**Ovi Odiete© Dec, 2016.

A woman's tears can pierce into the most rigid of hearts.

#first #night #blood #**** #monster #stranger

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Pedro Tejada Apr 2010

Perks of Desolation

I wish I could drive a fossilized Cadillac
right through an arid desert
in the middle of Arizona
so my desolation can have its own landscape.

I’ll ask the grains of sand
rocketing in swirls around the wind
if they've seen my talent running by;
I’ve been calling it for months now.

The citizens of Earth are not cold.
It was just my eyes that gave them frostbite,
my mind that morphed their faces
to resemble the hideous change within.

I’m not sure if that’s a truth
that fate has put on layaway since birth,
or perhaps a rumor that’s been force fed
like wart-ridden frogs to the purest of tongues.

All I want at this point
is to be a center of a desert’s mushroom cloud,
leaving with a new look at the sky
and a bit of dry skin.

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Wuji Sep 2012

Getting Caught Got Old

Can't believe you're on your way upstream,
Against all the odds.
A trout rocketing through the river bed,
Leaving in his wake all doubt.
Fisherman staring longing wishing to escape,
Knee deep already in his own ways.

Shaking his fist,
Seranading them with swears,
Jealously is so honest,
We all know how he feels.

Trout broke away to the love he sought to taste,
Half way there you should have seen his face.
Not fork in the road but a bear in the way,
Killed for life reborn again someday.
Fisherman was satisfied, he was right again,
Cast the rod into the stream since the cycle was still intact.

Whistling to himself,
Face slowly withered away.
Crual smile tattooed to his face,
Which the Reaper will make disappear.

Rain is so settling.

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awallflower Feb 2014

the waves that swallows me whole

The waves are crashing harder
than the sound of my pulse beating
The sea eagles flew ahead
Mighty and free, powerful with the gift of flight

A glimpse of a round, blue canvas above me is all I could see
as I lie down flat, on the sea bed.
The miniscule grains of sand are everywhere
on me, on my pale arms and down the curve of my spine

The mermaids tell me of the waves above me
and of the people that comes in floods of hundreds in the heat of summer
They invited me along to the swim to the top
but honey, I am tired and I do not try no more

Once I was from the land above
but slowly the currents drag me down
I tried to struggle but the waves didnt release its death-like grip on me.
It drowns me in a silence so deafening loud
Too tired to swim, too exhausted to care
I close my eyes and everything becomes pitch black
The sea swallowed me whole
I belonged to the sea now.

A long time ago, the people tried to save me
They came with a ladder to get me out
- the ladder that was the only chance I knew
I hesitated and I didnt know to reach out or not
then they were gone and I was alone again
After that for a longer time still
I wondered if I would have grabbed it with an intense fervor
or be deathly quiet and composed, sinking back into the darkness that hid everything the mermaids knew

Its dark down here in this abysm
I can hear the water pouring down
It hits my body without a warning
Its cold its freezing its numbing me
The damp sand is burying me and I can't scream out
The waves are threatening to fill this crevice

My anxiety is sky rocketing but my body is still
I will not leave this hole I am in after all.
This is the end I chose for me.

Continue reading...

jeremy wyatt Mar 2011

When I switch his bathroom light on
the fan starts to turn
a rumble and a whine taking him back through time....

Kaufmann starter kicking off
crack like thunder smoke and cough
from the man on the extinguisher in the smoke
laugh at his cursing you lip-read what he spoke
Wide track rumble to the strip
don't be long she overheats quick
airbourne twenty-four cylinders yell
thank you Rotol Goodyear and Shell
you might sigh for a merlin maybe
but fear this awkward sleeve-valve baby
nothing faster in the sky
get it wrong you are going to die
Fly off track to where she is staying
as you pass you feel her praying
then out across drowned Doggerland
skimming waves speed to command
December greys from sea to sky
hit the coast then climbing high
not trains or targets in the  rubble
today your flying into trouble
Their last big throw to claim the air
put all theirs up from anywhere
trails in the sky mark souls that fall
just men who answered duty's call
over Holland's blasted ports
remember rocketing those forts
now a maelstrom fire and shell
into modern Dante's hell
you picked a speck to follow down
moving fast this chap's no clown
kicking rudder yawing mind
he doesn't see you down behind
A TA 152 now you know
see now howbloody fast they go
push the throttle out to the stop
break the limit wire hope she won't pop
sees you know and spirals round
gaining height you're gaining ground
an elegant sight for both to see
but this is the last thing he will see
Twenty millimetre rounds
make an evil dreadful sound
a mockery of alloy and steel
pulls it apart like the fruit you peel
was that a puff of red you saw
made you gasp a nerve still raw
as the shells chewed up to his cockpit
where a frightened human being sits
gone now in a shower of flame
war and fear this was never a game
low on fuel and cold inside
keep low for home above  the tide
A buzz for her again to show
you made it back but yet you know
however much she has to pray
her heart is breaking every day
A month or two and war will end
Europe for now you did defend..

I turn the light out the fan slows down
notice the tears and then your frown
feel so helpless as you lie
in your bodies prison longing to die
missing so badly the wife who is gone
could you  fly to her beyond the sun
So sad to see you sitting there
your world a bathroom a bed and a chair
we needed you seventy years ago
now it seems nobody wants to know.....

Continue reading...

John Edward Smallshaw Dec 2013

The hive.

Words multiplying inside my brain,buzzing like bees making honey again
I relax into a hot wax bath, earthed and birthing joined up writing,
multiplying's so exciting.
In barren times I spin no rhymes,not one bee and no honey for me but now,kapow it's multiplying and though I'm trying
I struggle to stop the words from sliding,rocketing out and colliding,even then this collision's providing me
with more honey,
and more bees buzzin' in my head.

Continue reading...

Linda Desrosiers Feb 2015

Puzzle Piece

You!
Yes you , you are that one and only puzzle piece.
Where do you belong ?!?!?!?
My curiosity is sky rocketing.
Are you with or without?
These unanswered questions, they flow , the flow in my brain.
But why ?
Why do you do this to me ?
I can't think about anything, nothing but you , the puzzle and the whole image.
Why the struggle?
Why the pain?
But wait you look just just like me
Are ends look just perfectly the same .
But why don't we fit as one ?
Why are you just that one puzzle piece?

Continue reading...

Julia Low May 2012

Disclaimer.

I will disappear for hours, days, months, and the occasional year. It’s not something I plan. It’s not something I can help, and it’s not something I like. But I ignore my phone, abandon my computer mid-conversation, and like to sit alone sometimes.

It’s not you, it’s me (the one time you’ll hear that and it will be true). There are times when I crave attention, appreciation, and acknowledgement. But then come the anxieties, the stresses, and the loathing that follow each of those. Occasionally, even the softest touch can send shivers of pure disdain rocketing over synapses.

I wear a veil of invisibility, irrelevance, and though it is frequently lifted or brushed aside, know that it always remains, that it will always cast shadows.

Continue reading...

decompoetry Aug 2010

The Lost

They sat on the stoop,
on the rooftop,
on the grass.
They watched,
they saw,
they turned away
in disgust
and disarray;
vowed never to see,
but to be.

Ideas sprayed on parchment:
plans for the future,
true ideals
indestructible,
fit to last.
It was their turn
to undo the past.

They would create change,
destroy order,
and recycle the entrails
into a revolution,
one that would have an outcome;
an outcome not of the worst
but of the best.
They’d pierce straight through
this vanilla-stained vest.

They looked in each others' eyes
and smiled at what they saw,
for within each pupil
glowed a fire;
a fire of the downfall
and revival
of this world
they've come to know
and hate.

They knew one day soon
their hatred would spin
and move in the other direction;
the direction of light,
of true happiness
and peace.
The soothing sparks
rocketing from their eyes
convinced them so.

They knew they would succeed,
unlike others who have tried,
they knew how to win,
knew not to try
but to do.
They would release
their envisioned paradise
from their grasp
and upon the oblivious.

But as they grew older
an event occurred
that would cause a change,
a change that would make sure
to reject any other,
a change that would be the annihilator
of their dystopic utopia.

A small occurrence,
unrecognizable,
a brick thrown
shatters through the window,
triggers a false realization.
The shards succumb them
into the seducing
sepulchral-inducing cage
that keeps them bookmarked
to the same opening page.

Vents crack,
in pours the fog.
The mist once loved,
now loathed,
seeps through the fracture,
smothers their hope,
breathes their air,
air they used to dream,
now nothing more than a theme.

Fear drags them down
like the others,
devours wonders of the unknown,
slashes at their flesh,
shrieks of monotone,
visions escape from the wound,
wounds of which sealed
with reminders of the failed,
never to be reopened,
their appetite remains forever lost.

Now they walk
back and forth,
forth and back,
hands in pockets,
shoulders shrugged.
What's the time?
They've lost track.
All watches are smashed,
big hand frozen on yesterday.

They are the lost,
previous dreams forgotten,
left in the rain,
drifted away
down the drain,
never to regain
their once beloved ambition.
Instead they gather
gritty ammunition
and float towards
certainty, the predictability
of a future that ceases in a puddle.
They are the lost.

Continue reading...

Brynn Dec 2012

Waves on the Sea

Watch the waves on the sea,
The way they change from day to day;
Crashing on the shore.

At full force with the moon at night,
Hitting everything in their way
Watch the waves on the sea,

With walls of water at full height,
Capturing the moon’s rays
Crashing on the shore.

Rocketing mist into full flight
Leaving those without anything to say ,
Watch the waves on the sea,

With the moon as the only light
The show can be seen from miles away,
Crashing on the shore.

With the moon shinning bright,
You just want to stay.
Watch the waves on the sea,
Crashing on the shore.

my attempt at a villanelle for my lit project...

Continue reading...

— The End —