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Heavy Hearted Jun 2018
The river winds in from distant lands
With mercyless power it turns stone to sand
Through its mysterious life, the very earth it commands
And Yet the fearful river still runs through our hands.
In torrents of furry where the deepest currents flow
The rivers wild waters surge with woe. For
Onward, forever, its destined to go
A permenant home it won't ever know.

The river runs from each of us
As a refugee of fear,
It knows in a blink it will be somewhere else
Its waves are really its tears.
It runs from the audacity  
Of the selfish human mind
As Its massive life capacity,
Of flora and fauna combined,
Are threatened by our antics and helpless to our crime
So the river runs on their behalf, from everyone, in time-


even within its whitecap foam
Water's yearning for a home

So roam does the water- endlessly,
till its long gone out of sight
The essential droplets of the river-
Nomads day and night.
L B Jul 2018
An early evening gust
broke the back of the day's blaze
Still 90 degrees at eight
in orange haze
Sweat runs down my neck
Through the gorge between my *******
The wind lifts my linen shirt
runs its hands along my sides
reviving memory
of Forest Park
of a blanket in the grass

Where the pines trace
so many faces
Crackling popping kids
stolen matches, running
screaming victorious!
Blowing tin cans up with fire crackers
Bicycles, sparklers, fireworks at dusk
That whole afternoon
I spent hammering caps

Noise really makes us kids
really
especially
annoying

Mom wants us out!
Gone! All of us!
No needs. No excuses!
No cookies! No slices of bologna!
“No more Kool Aid!
Out now!
Out!”

That evening I tried
to dismiss the itchy sweat
of stupid-sister-Suzy-matching-sun-suits
at Gino's family picnic
When some kid
(I don't know?)
between the rigatoni and the sweet corn
Some kid
tosses a sparkler
into box of fireworks
I don't know?
whether to cry or laugh
I was pretty scared
Rockets going off across the lawn
and onto porch
Craze of colors through the trees
Some at eye-level horror!
But the sight of Aunt Nedda
diving under picnic table
Stockings, garter belt upended
Capsized beyond her caring
of uplifted dress

Some images just stay with you, ya know?

July 4th always lands for me
on a firework's ***
"Caps"  are little red rolls of gunpowder dots, originally made to give a snap to toy guns of the 1950s.  We figured out that by layering them and using a hammer, you could get a bigger crack.
Kara Jean May 2016
The weekend drips slowly
Regrouping, fixing her flowing blouse
Removing moments of stupidity
Told, goals will not wait upon the playing
The world doubts her abilities
She keeps a flower crown
A sip in her soul and a push beyond control
A gut on the verge of dying
She smiles introducing her cries to the world
If God could see, how proud would he be
Taking shots as they sing
Oh to have a presence built on a kingdom of storm clouds
A goddess with out an understanding
Slow
music
lullabies
like [you]; a spell,
very contagious.
as it enchants my mind
to see and to believe in
night of magic where dream happens.
lingering, inexplicable
[you] trap with never ending promises.
Etheree form
writerReader Jan 2015
my heart was running
the blood glowed crimson red
my brain yelled, "wait up!"
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
There's a peculiar kind of beauty that can only be experienced
with the innate knowledge that the moment is fleeting
and the most intense beauty can only be seen in
the presence of both light and shadows.
For it’s often in the loss of a thing
that its worth to us becomes
most precious and by
letting it go with
grace we can
best savor
its purest
delights.
Realizing
that the pain
runs so deep only
because the beauty ran
so deep and that without
it having once touched us we
wouldn't now know the emptiness
of its loss, our grief will eventually turn to
thankfulness that it ever touched us at all, and
we will be left awed by the mystery of its haunting.
***
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
If this is how I feel
Then it must be real
I can't explain how my mind runs
If I'm still alive
When you say goodnight
Then my life has just begun

I'm climbing across the room
Bracing the monsoon
That's gonna take me down
And if I'm still alive
When you say goodnight
Then I hope you stay around

I'm perfect. No I'm not
I'm happy with that
I think it's better to change yourself
You'll never be the same
You can even change your name
But I can always be myself
Around you
September Roses Oct 2017
To watch one suffer
To be there as they slowly fall to the rubble
You reach out but as the tides pull in they go further and further from hope
From comfort
A never ending spiral they're falling your fingers slipping through theirs as you let them go
It isn't your fault but blood still runs
And you still remember
Alexander Mar 27
I’m just a stepping stone in your river of love,
A current reminder I will never be enough.
I actually love the river
Raygan Emma Jane Nov 2018
I’ve decided to quit smoking
So I stop searching for fire from strangers
When I’m craving the taste of your lips


R.M
a mcvicar Mar 12
stripey girlie lost in the woods
trees fall behind you but your feet are now roots
Daphne's magick won't come running to save you
because, stripey girlie, you are too lost in your boots

pointing at little birds' tiny nests of tiny houses
hearing, not listening, to their creative social outlet
incorporating the spark into your very own eyelashes
seeing the world through another's survival handle

hear the roaring of the forest's floor as it breaks under your toes
crumble into nothingness and girlie'll be thought of no more
stripey girlie, pointy girlie, it was all your fault
'cause you couldn't hide your chip (from another machine) no more
Jo Barber Apr 2018
Like I loved coffee,
that's how I loved you.
Like the first cigarette of the day.
Or like a Beatles song
blasted on the radio
during a road trip
to nowhere in particular.
Like each slice of coffee cake,
cinnamon and pecans
delicately, deliciously curled
into every little streusel.
Like spring,
when the snow melts into water
and runs, rushes
past yellow-colored, polka-dotted rain boots
on a sun-soaked afternoon.
I loved you like I love you;
simply, completely,
without frills and without doubt.
I love you.
Feedback?
King Panda May 2016
the river is
drinking it
sequins
blankets
the river runs past
hobos
unidentified
water fowl
two trolls
taking shelter under
the bridge
there’s conversation
in another language
fiendish brains connecting
fiendish yet
beautiful
thunder
tampons
a turtle
a naked boy
on the patio
rain
definitely
rain
unmatched
and the steam
coming from the
bridge
once there was a troll
on my face
and I swatted it
with a broom
but it came back
it came back
with you

laughter pounds
with the rain
laughter that wears
emotion like
skin
soft
elastic
still pink
bouncing
on the river’s surface
breaking
absorbed
sustenance for
the trolls
like fiends with faces
like minds with names
these two connect
with spark
and the rain
falls
the stillness under
nature’s
machinery
Jordan Rowan Nov 2015
The sun sets on dripping blood
Shed for love
And brought out from a gun
Elizabeth is close to death
Drawing final breaths
She was so fine and so young

Pedro runs across the barroom floor
Bursting through the door
On his way to the border by the sea
His hand is still hot from rage
There's nothing left to save
All he can do is flee

Now that heaven can finally breathe
Resting on the sea
While Pedro hides away from law
Elizabeth wore Pedro's golden ring
Along a silver string
Yet she moaned among the farmer's straw

Pedro shed the lonely tears
Of a love lost in years
He made a promise that he kept
As he read aloud the vows she wrote
With the heart she broke
The sun set as he wept
King Panda May 2016
rain
mud and grass
common prayer
good weather
good people
art
and umbrella bags
because who wants to
get wet?
unless it’s with you
I could
I would
jump into the lake
for that rock
sew
cleanse
initials made in sharpie
and unclamp
we run
around the park
the afternoon surrounds us
the woman in the bikini
passes
and we laugh
iced tea
decaf coffee
cake without teeth
and that airstream camper
you always wanted
I could live in your
backyard
I could live somewhere
not here
in silver
prostrated
with my back to the
moon
like dead
like a mummy
like a mirror
and life would make sense
life would be beautiful
like this run
with perfect amounts of sweat
and conversation that runs
waves in the sand
and tells the squirrels
goodnight, tractor
see you tomorrow

and the land that billows
is dug up
and chewed
like a goodnight poem
this run with you
takes rest
on my soul
and I crack my ribs
to take the spring’s
twilight
aroma
Jamie Riley Apr 2018
They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

Sun beams brighten motley roofs
on tessellations which blacken beige
in blurry air.



























BANG!





















An artificial cloud.

































“Look,” she points, “Let’s go!”

She takes him and they fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

“They’re coming!
"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.

The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and drive the mute beasts's sounds.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;

indoors,

apart,

he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner.

Long strides

too fast to follow.

She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and
       a
           beast
                      crashed
                                       in.

She turns and the fear is paralysing.


"FERMIN!"






















He hurdles the stares
and explodes
when it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.

He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass,
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
half dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding
pattering

pavement

It


peters


off


into





the







street.





"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"





Hands bleed
and flesh breathes.

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy, she tends to him
with searching hands,
and scolding words.

"Podria haber sido peor"
This poem is about an incident which happened to my Grandparents, Fermin Yanguas Ochoa and Raimunda Ramos Frias.

It was during a bull run in their village (Fitero) in Navarra, Northern Spain. 1972
Stu Harley May 17
love brings us
sweet sunlight
but
the love is never wasted
nor the love never runs
thus
love raises at the crack of dawn
L B Aug 2018
Pinto?

No, not the wild-spirited, color-splotched mare
with mane streaming like flames-thrown
behind in the wind
Taking desert inclines
with scuffing hooves on rock
catching her balance in mesquite
curbing?
The sage, dust
All
that nature throws in its pathway to knowledge
toward treachery of crosswalks?

“P-l-e-a-s-e  don't slow down!
Stop signs--?
”No!
Just keep going!
Don't slow down now!”

“They'll hear us coming
3 blocks away!”

Pinto?
Clogged carburetor--?
No one much-mentioned
rear-end inferno reputation??
A mere twinge in my signature
Woman-without-a-clue

“Hey, it runs, right?
Gets where we're goin'?”

Kids duck in back seat
so as not to be seen
In the cloud of smoke
We make our approach

Hiss Spitter, Belch, Pop
and--

BANG!

--Like a gunshot

Kids take cover
on street, in backseat
duck down
so not to be noticed...

“Oh Ma!  
MA!!!
Not right here!
Farther down!”

...so not to be seen
...by friends that matter...
in this ride
from hell!
Backfiring Beast--

“Friends”
skitter away
from what will emerge from the smoke and fumes
of high-risk-situation

Kids spill out through jammed door
to unexpected accolades
onto equality's curb
of laughter  
Public school's
wake of exhaust and relief

I drive mercifully away


Start of another school day
True. I swear!  Had this car for a short while in the early 80s when I went back to college.  It met its demise in a front-end collision.  Woman with no license ran a stop sign, plowing me into a utility pole.  The Pinto's reputation for fiery explosions burst across my mind.  I couldn't help but note the clicking hissing sound.  No time to think of my banged-up head.  Door was jammed, but window still rolled down, so I climbed through it in a skirt, no less, and ran.  Car was totaled.  If the collision had been just a little farther back, I might not be writing about it.
Cindra Carr Jul 2011
Frost tipped lines of unhappy bliss
Ignorance leaves a rancorous taste in my mouth
Fine spikes of knowledge run through the day
Pieces of hints drop gently within
Deaf ears tune out the loss that it is
Speak of nothing
Step around it
Leave it alone
Time runs fast so remember this
Ignoring it only surprises one of us in the end

cc070311
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
SNOW FALLS

She wakes to a morning
with no reason for living

cries in the mirror
to be forgiven.

Puts on her make-up
takes off her clothes

sits there & bleeds
until she can’t feel

the blood in her veins
...runs cold.

The razorblade
bleeds...bleeds.

The cat cries
to be fed.

The batteries in her Walkman
go dead.

The Rachmaninov stops.

A letter she will never read
drops on the Welcome mat.

A mobile rings & rings &...stops.

A member of a minor political party
looking for her vote

rings the doorbell twice
slips on the ice    &   ruins his coat.

Curses.

A man laughs at another man’s joke.
It’s a big laugh...he’s a big bloke.

Laughter invades the square.

There’s a chill in the air.

A friend calls for her
(to go on a blind date)  

...she doesn’t hear.

Snow...
...snow...
...snow falls.
I
Through vines indeterminate
Red cherry eyes peeped,
And spied two forms,
Fleshy pink and brown
Trees, tangled at the roots,
kissing in the canopy.

II
The garden was our
Discotheque, the sullen
Moonlight reflected
On the Black Beauties,
Twisted black mirrors,
in the garden of joy.

III
O, to again be mov'd
By your heirloom lips,
I'd give it all, the earth,
the sun, and the water.
A sacrifice: my Homesteads,
for a home.

IV
Soil runs dry.
The sun scorches.
Plagues run rampant.
We burn, we are sacked
and pillaged, and destroyed.
Roma, Roma, Roma.

V.
Maybe the rain,
Or sweet shade,
Or gentle sun,
Or simply the need
To be so defiantly
alive, will bring us again,
And I will drink you up again,  
Brandywine.
Morgan Mercury Jun 2014
You lay in a field of flowers counting each bird that passes overhead.
You've erased concern and decided to live for the moment because you always would say, "we might be dead by tomorrow."
Flowers grew from your heart and bloomed across your lungs,
creating a garden that sang the most beautiful hymns,
while my garden was withering.
Each breath you took was never wasted,
but I couldn't help but count mine like they were birds passing overhead.
Every night you would view the stars and moon with pure amazement as if it was your first time seeing them.
You gave all your love to me and each kiss was coined in my pocket.
You fell in love with me every night and I fell for all your hymns.
Soon enough the world would pass us by but I wouldn't blink because I could live off your touch for the rest of my time.
You showed me there is more in life than just one color,
but instead, the world is a whole painting with colors that can't be described.
You showed me just how beautiful the world was.
You taught me how to grow beauty from my eyes but lately, I've been dreaming and falling for stars.
Imagining what it'd be like slow dancing with the planets, getting lost in constellations.
But I'm just not ready to go yet however I do not control time.
You showed me that dying can be beautiful.
That we'll be okay because when we leave we all become one with the earth and one with nature.
So love, love me until time runs out,
until I become one with nature.

And many years later as time starts to fly by and you slowly start to watch your clock tick down, you'll know where to find me, my love.
I'll be up with stars.
Somewhere lost in the cosmos.
I'll be spinning with the planets dreaming about what it would feel like to be able to walk on flowers again.
2014
Christian Ek Aug 2014
My pen is a wand. It can write a curse or a powerful charm. My pen is a mirror. It can show you a monster or a beautiful figure. My pen is a key. It can free you from a trapped door or it can lock you inside that door until the oxgen runs out and you can't breath. My pen is a weapon.  It will fight righteous battles or make a gruesome dissection. My pen is a balancing scale.
It is a balancing scale because it tilts when the yin & yang of my being begins to out weight one other.
Nothing is safe from my pen if i choose it not to be, my pen writes freely without filters or censorship.
My pen is a ship in the sea unable to maintain equilibrium set on a course to land. One day it will stay still, but on that day my pen will run out of ink.
everly Sep 2018
I take pride in my roots
I take pride in my melanin
And my ancestors
All those who have persevered
To get me to where I am today.
I take pride en mi pelo rizo
Gracias a Dios..

I carry my culture in my curls to
The poetry that runs through my
Veins
rushing
pulsing
sweat on the furrow of thy lip
beading
ache of the toil in their fieldwork
sweet
azucar negra
my ancestors blood was sweeter
they still don’t want us here
but some things never change
but we are able
and no beautiful ignorant person
Will ever take that away.
Maddie Rea May 6
What fuels us is much different then what humans need. We need emotions, chemicals, and lust. Zero fuels Steven, Terry fuels Raven; always matching exactly the same but polar opposites not just inside but outside as well, where I am weak you are strong. My knight in dull armor, my prince without the charming, my king without his throne. I will become your throne I will learn you and teach you. Accept without judgement, love unconditionally for all of eternity, i is you is we. For every cut you receive the blood will come from me. Every victory you receive I will be there to claim you, my prize. For every drum of your heart blood courses through me every jump you take I will falter so you come across unscathed. Every push you encounter I will pull you the right way. My perfectly imperfect, my unflawed mistake. My solid ocean your grassy plains with wheat whipping in the wind. When you’re my yellow eyes demon; when black runs your veins I can still see the love buried in your soul for me. In this life and every other you will always be my eternal fire driving me through in my darkest nightmares, the light at the end of my darkest paths, the one to always catch me diving off this cliff , to hold me when I am at my most evil. The angel to my fallen.
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