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lifeonLSD Oct 2018
He walks by
like I am standing there
in one piece

Unbreakable
at first glance,
unshakable
by the second

How little
does he
know yet

Walking in my space
will not go
unscathed

I hope
he doesn't notice
the trail left behind

That the soft stings
will not get
mistaken

Let's hope
he doesn't follow his
tracks back
English Jam Apr 2018
Mountains on mountains erupt from the earth's chambers of burdened lava and collapse back into their hellish landscape just as quickly

Waves assault the beach in frenzied randomness, striking their mark upon the sand and washing it away in the same breath

Birds flail about, learning to sail the clouds while dolphins soar their vast expanse of golden sea

People in suits war with each other for ****** glory, sign a ***** of paper agreeing to stop, then ignorantly carry on their violent pastiche

Far away, tucked behind his world of scattered phrases and pretentious works of art, the writer observes all this

P
R
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C
R
A
S
T
I
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A
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Donall Dempsey Dec 2018
SCATTERED DREAMS

Whenever I fell
asleep

my father came
& cupped me in his hands

carried me to bed
as if I were as precious

as water
in a hot dry land


or draped like discarded clothing
on a couch...in a garden


on a bench or a beach
I would be gathered up


& awake to find myself
back in the safety of my own bed.


And I would have thought
I had flown


or being magically
transported by a spell


but it was only the ordinary
magic of my father


cradling me in his arms
gathering up the littlest


of my scattered dreams
stroking my hair

& tip-toeing backwards
out of the room

his voice
full of tenderness


casting a spell
“Good night son...goodnight...goodnight.”
Chris Neilson Jul 2016
Attended a dinner party with poets departed
secured a place in a fantasy scenario self created
Dylan Thomas did not go gently to the event
discussion with Yeats was heaven sent

Conversation with Shakespeare was ***** and lewd
even brawling Brendan Behan found him crude
Wordsworth wandered in as lonely as a lakeside cloud
faced with his eloquence before me I bowed

John Cooper Clarke's showing brought mouths open wide
Jim Morrison spoke, "You've broken on through to the other side!"
The Salford Bard looked dead so they let him in
as refusing him entry a gratuitous grave sin

Heaney was asked for his views on Brexit
a number was taken for dear Seamus to text it
"Here come some female poets?", exclaimed Sylvia Plath
as Browning, Dickinson and Rossetti walked up a path

When I shuffle off this mortal coil
with relics scattered in suitable soil
eternal musing with all the above
would bring evermore everlasting love
NURUL AMALIA Jan 2018
everything is so sweet
like cotton candy sold in the night market
just like vanilla ice cream that melted on the tongue
tonight the sky was bombarded with fireworks
rainbow colors are scattered everywhere
stars have friends
they celebrate
ryn Apr 2015
This is me...*          
Seeking refuge          
under a tree,          
As the wind released          
it's pensive sigh.          
Leaves sapped dry          
were then set free.          
Shades of yellow          
took to the air in an          
attempt to fly.          

This is me...
Peering through
jaundiced eyes.
Laying still
in a torrent of
ochre.
As leaves fall
from lowered skies,
Drenching
and
submerging
me in a sea of
scattered amber.

This is me...          
Captivated by this          
spectacular phenom.         
Flavescent dance          
governed by          
wind and gravity.         
This is the dream...          
Too long held for ransom          
By the relentless          
grasp of reality.         

This is me...
Awaiting such time to
arise and run.
In my heap,
my safe haven,
my fortress of yellow.
Till the inevitable set of
the *orange
sun
Only then...
myself to the moon
I would again
show.
Matadi Aug 2018
Close mouths ,don't get fed
Broken hearts, share their beds
lost soul linger, endless roads
Empty hearts, ends up cold

Mean folks are the bold
**** folks beautiful soul
Black or white
White is right
Perry Jan 20
I took my time, carefully building and piecing together those four tiny letters.  Finally aligning them in the perfect order, constructing that word.  That word I then gave to you.  And then you just ripped the letters back apart, leaving that word here, broken on the floor.

That word, now just letters of a word, just fragments of letters, lay scattered all around my house.  I'm tripping over them every minute, everyday.  Unable to sweep up the mess, because you also broke my broom.
Ilion gray Aug 2018
The people
Are going anywhere
where they will wait,
Where the aluminum tops of pop
Bottles crash to earth
Releasing one last
Tiiiiinngg!!!((())))))
A kind of
Musical note...
A single sound through the corridors
Of order-
Watching the wind tease the trees/
Like the fastest boy
On the block,
Subtly walking
Over scattered grey
loose gravel
In the parking lot
Of the park,
Running his
Tiny ***** fingers,
Through
The other boys heads
Dusty and
Stagnant,
Filthy with earth and
Hours,
their
Blood black and  smoldering
Beneath a ceiling of skin,
Every pore
Like a window
Open
Waiting for the
One who knows,
To pass by,
All of them
Believing they
Were chosen.
"duck"
    "DUck"
              .........."DUCK
"GOOSE!!!­"

I watch the wind tease the leaves of trees-
Just this way,
At play,
Aloof
To the price of days,
Each one,
Their own.
Yet, both
The tree
And the child
Are Subtly dying,
Whilst also
climbing,
Closer to the
The sky,
Those ageless eyes
watch
their tiny fingers
stretched high
Reaching beneath
The ribs of wind,
the deepest end
Of the Seas of mid-heaven,
Into the sacred
Waves of secrets
everlasting,
Where
God taught his only
Son to swim.

I also watched,
as the wind teased
The trees that held the leaves-
Each decaying
As they rise
They bend forward like,
golden fields of days
Like sun-beaten blades of grass,
Their giant broken bodies
Like stones
So still,
That at times,
unfortunate seconds
Drifting past
Quietly,
wander
Too long
In the sadness,
Then crash
Violently,
In the silence.

If you ask some of the
people,
They will say
"We are going everywhere,
And yet we have found nothing-
Nothing/
While we wait-"

I have watched the wind tease
Everything,
All that I can hold in my eyes,
There
Where there is life everlasting-
Fingerprints,
Left after
the years wrapped it's hands
Around my neck squeezing
Till my skin began
To die and wither,
Like a brown trout
Tired, and weary
Floating way too
Close to the bank
As the edge of March,
Eat the last days of winter,
Now the evenings
Fall like ash,
Slowly arriving,
Hovering,
Softly
covering my shoulder.
The long night has just begun
Solemn and Subtle, sewn with
years
And hours
Of days that dripping
minutes
Never fill,
Arriving always
at the coldest hour
From the woods
That none
Can enter,
Lest you have reinforced your thoughts
With stolen rays of sunshine
Lest you have mapped
Constellations in the
Shattered glass  
From the broken
Windows of your eyes
punk rock hippy Jul 2014
I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.
Manda Clement Jul 2014
We did not come here on the orders of others
We came freely, our own choice, blown by the soft winds
scattered o'er many a mile
Landed upon Flanders Fields and rested a while

Then death came, disturbed the earth
Destruction hit the ground in which we slept so quietly
Awoke us from our slumber sweet
To witness tragedies and defeat

Now we are risen
and in our place beneath lie men and boys of courage, strong and true
Who fought valiantly but now lay slain
Our gentle roots entwine around their bodies that remain

Each dawn we wake for them and face the summer sun
At night our gaze doth meet moon
We stand tall and proud and dip our heads
And honour them that lie beneath with our petals red
Another WW1 inspired poem. Poppy seeds can lay dormant for many years before flowering. This is what happened on the battlefields of ww1. The earth was disturbed with all the shelling and death and destruction and released the seeds that had been laying dormant. How beautiful yet so sad.
Advent Oct 2014
when the clock ticks at 12,
another minute has passed and another day has been renewed.
it replenishes an entire moment that separates yesterday from today.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a part of me has left something for good.
something that could only be retrieved by the nostalgia
of the passing hours that gives a pang of discomfort and dismay.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a fairy godmother is there waiting for me to move past everything and start fresh,
like nothing has ever happened from yesterday

but when the clock ticks at 3,
my emotions are scattered,
eating me alive.
it kicks me out of the zone - exposing me to a world of nothing but things to hide.
it haunts my core, dwells with my demons,
building up emotions that don't seem to collide

and at 3, I find you - once again with all the sublime images we’ve captured
and grand words we’ve uttered.
i find you, drowning from the roots
of my memoirs... and there I see how midnights took parts of me

because at 3, I’ll always remember how I grew with thee


a.t.
LatteQueen Mar 2016
I'm tired of this death match
fighting for my place
amongst the scattered remains
of a
thousand
broken hearts

This is not Sparta
I am no gladiator
and            you            
are
no
prize
Daisy Marrow May 2014
Lay down your burden.
Lay down your arms.
Hardship is over and all is numb.
You finally get to rest.
You finally get to let go.
Fall down in the snow and let nature take you.
You are not alone, never.
Thousands of bodies are scattered on the battlefield.
They all had lives.
They all had futures.
They all ended too soon.
Go ahead and turn the snow strawberry red.
Your song will be played.
Your name will live on.
We will remember you forever more.
So rest now, my soldier.
Your brothers shall bring the peace.
2014
Lonerblues Jul 2018
He
His freckles were
scattered stars,
forming
          their own
                      constellation.
He
was my
very own
             temptation.
Funny how Someone can
Asunder a heart of thine
And thou still dost adore them
With all thy riven smithereens

My love, please come to me,
In my life thou dost linger
A love from my sweet past
That beamed than many a star

My love, long have I endured
A heart sundered by love
Though wherever  I wander
Thy sweet love I still dost crave.

Oh my love, come back to me
So we may pick these riven pieces
That like sea waters scattered be
And I'll smoother thee with kisses

Together we'll never sunder
For my love will be thy love
Beaming so bright forevermore
As thy  love will be my love

Blissfully we'll dwell ever after
Like twinkling stars in galaxies
With our enchanted passion
Effulgently lingering in perpetuity.
#Love #Stars #galaxies #infinite love
Martin Heath Sep 2018
Lonesome Pine -

T'day I knelt by your Lonesome Pine
Stroking spent needles from your face
Lying lifeless scattered alas
Revealing your green eyes still shine

Limbs 'bove shadow Heaven's staircase
Swaying softly 'mongst sunlit rays
Reflecting off weathered worn steps
If only one lasting embrace

My knees felt weak upon that grass
Straining to shed a final tear
Glancing above below I stared
Sands sifting thru an hourglass

T'day I knelt by your lonesome shrine
Stroking the grey moss from your hair
Tonight tears fall thru trembling hands
Alongside our lone Lonesome Pine
Sammie wells Feb 2013
Her lover's gone
his souls departed
her devastation fills the air.

Lost in an abyss of time
forsaking all
she walks alone
raking thoughts In her head.

Their souls where entwined
to be forever enbind,
now dreams are shattered
fragments scattered
she gazes in despair.

    Unfamiliar scenes close all around her,    
crestfallen
her soul goes dormant,
the pains two deep
cuts into each heartbeat.

As day light starts to fade
she suspends herself
in the night air

longing to go to the other land,
ready to take her lovers hand.

She doesn't care to breathe
nor does she weep
as she slips into her
forever
sleep.

(SW)
Jesse stillwater Mar 2018
A pair of lily white wings
   dangling in the dappled moonlight esprit;
hang entangled as silken spider web
   draped in the sweet Magnolia tree

From beneath there was no way of knowing
   why a pair of abandoned wings lodge mislaid
One could not help but wonder how high
   one might fly with cherub wings

But these callused feet tread far below the treetops
   too high up from roots to climb
No telltale tiptoe prints cavort to be the talebearer
   No feathered traces scattered all around

A hearken say, tickle-footed as a ladybug,
   hold forth in a breeze brushed ear
Not completely undoubtable heed spoken;
   a language bestow from another ether
softly breathe a whisper'd sigh:

"Behold the wings of a fallen angel;
   uplifted by love's amazing grace
Lost alone in a moonstruck blindness
   an angel flying too close
           to the ground

                      ~

                   Jesse
.
            08 March 2018
Antino Art Sep 2018
Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after midnight
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.

Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.

In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.

Who sees
clearer through rain.

Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.

Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.

Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels under Harlem,
during storms named in late August.

Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.
Storm flight trains movement
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