Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
"Olympic,what was my sister like?
Did the people make her grand?"
"Yes,my darling,she was fine,
The finest in the land.
No one else was like her,
No one had her creed,
I knew within my very heart
The life that she could lead!
I sent my best of wishes to her
On a tenth of April day
She sailed away into the sun,
Nothing stood in her way.
Oh,Brittanic,my darling,
I wish that you did know
The spark of pride she sent in the air
Where'er she did go.
The air around her seemed electrically charged
With her undeniable glory
I watched from afar,
Knowing she'd make a front page story!
I felt pride within my soul
When people would stop to gaze
My sister was so beautiful and bound for happy days!"
"Olympic,why did my sister die?
Why couldn't I see her face?
We wait among happy people,
She's in a somber place."
"Brittanic,my dearest baby,
I cannot tell a lie
You must put up with this old girl,
And know that I shall cry.
I cannot think of my sister
Without my vision clouding with tears
I have been without her for so very long,
So many pain-filled years.
The day I heard that horrible truth
Will be etched forever in my heart.
The day I lost my beloved sister
With which I never wished to part.
When I received news of her sinking
I raced across the waves
Hoping I'd be able to say 'good-bye'
On her very last of days.
Oh,but I didn't get there quick enough!
I didn't have enough speed!
The Captain ordered me to give up hope,
An order I didn't want to heed!
I had raced across the blackened surf
Pressing to see how fast I could go,
Now the Captain ordered me to stop,
I hope you'll know the love I did know.
I wanted to go to that very spot
Where my sister's life did end,
A glorious lady with a glorious heart,
All ended by a word called 'sin'.
He hurt me with his ruthless order
Ceasing my propellers purpose-driven churn
My anger at him burned in my soul
I didn't want to obey a command
He was forcing me to learn!!
But,he forced me to learn
Forced me to turn away
Forced me to live without saying
"Farewell"
Forced me to return to work that day.

"Olympic,are you mad at yourself?
Upset you never could say goodbye?
Upset you left her all alone?
All alone to die?"

"Oh,Brittanic,why must you ask such things?!
Such things that tear my heart in two!
But,answer you,I will,my darling,
Answer you,I shall do.
I have tried so vainly to forgive myself,
Yet,half my heart is plunged in grief,
It wraps around my very core
Like a strangling ivy wreath.
No one gave me a kindly look,
A sympathetic word they did not say,
Such as "Fair Olympic,you did all you could
To save your dear sister that day."
But I tried! Don't they know?
I tried to save her as across that ocean I ran!
I would of said good-bye
If not halted by a foolish man!
Yet,I never got to say 'good-bye'
Never let her know,
Titanic! My treasured sister!
How I love you so!!"

"Olympic,I hope you know I love you,
E'en though your heart is sad,
Forgive yourself,my dear mother,
You did not commit any bad.
Titanic knows you love her,
She knows you tried with all of your might
When love drove you across dangerous waves
On that perilous night.
You mustn't keep hurting a heart
That has dealt with so much bad,
Forgive yourself,Olympic,
And then you may not feel so sad.
I'm sure she is not mad
At the efforts you did make
You avoided danger the best you could,
Though your life was still at stake.
You acted with such bravery
On a night devoid of moon
You did all you could in hopes
To get to her so soon.
I love you,old Olympic,
I'm not angered at your ways
Concern for one you did love
Has lasted for years and days.
I'm sure you were the perfect sister
As you are the wonderful mother to me
I feel so proud when I see you come in
From a long,weary week at sea.
When I am old and wizened  like you,
I'll remember the pleasures I have known
From a grand lady named Olympic
Who hid a heart so alone.
I love you,my beautiful friend
And I'll recall a story behind the tears
Of perservering adoration for one
That you won't see for the rest of your years.
And,I'm sure,Fair Olympic,
When it comes time you too shall die,
You will be reunited with your sister,
For your kindness never did falter,nor lie."

"Brittanic,my dearest one,
It is a reassuring thought,
I will be so glad to see her,
For love will perish not.
But,for now,I am nothing more than
For men to hurt and command
But I shall dream now
Of a far-off and distant land.
A land where my sister resides
Where she,perhaps,waits for me
On a big eternal expanse,
A grand,forever sea.
I am sure my time is coming up,
I am over 20 years old!
The humans will not want me much longer,
I am no longer eye-catching and bold.
Twenty years old and over is not a lot,
For me,my life did really now just begin
But the humans will not want me much longer
They will make my life end.
I am no longer the fashionable steamer
That people clamor to take
I am 50,000 tons of steel
One day that the ship-yard shall break.
That is our future,my darling,
No matter the life we had,
It has happened to a good many ship,
It is so brutal and bad.
Do not think false wishes
That I shall escape this fate.
No,my baby,I shan't,
It will be either early or late."

"Oh,Olympic! They cannot **** you!
You have such a life ahead!
How could they be so cruel
And with their blows,make you dead?"

"Brittanic,my darling daughter,
To them,we are naught more than machines
We have no life,no hopes,
They don't even think we have dreams.
I could tell you so much more,dearest,
There is so much more I can say,
But the humans want me to go somewhere,
So,I shall come back one day.
Be true,my darling,while I'm gone,
Make me proud of your ways
Strike out over life,
Rejoice in the sun's rays
I shall come back again,
Don't you doubt that twice,
I have much more to tell you
And your company is so nice!"

I watched her as she sailed away
Into the slowly setting sun
Thinking of all she had told me
And the life that she had run.
The first thing she had done in life
Were joyful sails o'er the ocean blue
Then,drafted into war she was,
And cared for the soldiers too.
I loved her so very dearly,
And dreaded when we had to part,
But thoughts of meeting once again
Gradually settled my heart.
Her Captain took her one way,
Mine took me the other,
I remembered everything I saw
So I could later tell my dear mother.
Not everything was exciting
In those future trips I took,
Months were passing,but I recalled
Everything like a reference book.
So much time was passing,
Now the time was nigh,
When I 'd wait for dear Mother to come in
From the waves she did ply.
I waited and waited that first day
Sought out on the open sea,
It would be a wonderful time
When it was just her and me.
She would tell of her trip,
I would tell of mine
How proud she was to carry the flag
Of the White Star Line.
I waited and waited to see the tugs
That would pull her back to shore,
Just her and I together,
Sharing stories once more.
She didn't come in that day,
Perhaps that she was late
Taking a little longer that
The time the humans did slate.
She didn't come in that next day either
And I started to fret!
Did she come into a different dock
Than what she'd normally get?
The next day came,and far way,
I saw quite a sight.
Something that looked like a ship,
Though didn't appear quite right.
I watched the tugs pull it closer,
Yes,'twas a ship indeed.
But,what in heavens happened
To give it this somber lead?
I could tell it was grand at one time,
Yet,that seemed so long ago,
Curiousity wracked my mind,
And I wanted to know.
This somber shell came closer,
Devoid of deck and stack,
I looked toward the starboard bow
And the name
OLYMPIC
stared
back.

I couldn't think at all that moment!
My heart welled up with pain!
Olympic! My treasured mother!
I shall never see you again!
You were right about the ship-breakers!
They ruthlessly tore you apart!
Not paying any heed to your
Loving,kindly heart!
How shall I survive,
Without your beauty and your truth?!
Those ignorant men killed you
In your 25 years of youth!
Oh,I hope they be cursed
For doing something so bad,
Now I am without you
And so terribly lonely and sad!
Olympic! Olympic!
I shall say your name over and over again,
Hoping it shall bring you back
From hard-hearted sin!
I watched as they pulled you away,
My vision has clouded with tears
Yet,I keep on watching
You endured such fears.
Melancholy feelings grip my heart
I no longer have interest in life!
I have seen the meaning full and complete
Of a word you did call 'strife'.
No more stories to be shared
On a night glowing with moon,
No longer shall I see you,
Gleaming in the sun of noon!
The men have done their worst,
I shall no longer hear your horn,
Such a proud note it had
That I've remembered since I was born!!
Olympic,Olympic,I love you,
I'm so happy you got to hear those words
I'll wait and watch and listen
As the lament is echoed by sea-birds.
Those tug boats are pulling away
Taking you to the last of your fate.
I love you so much,dearest mother,
But,the ship-breakers I hate!!
You pass so slowly before me
I gaze for the last time at your sleek steel,
So strong,once you were,
But that doesn't now seem real.
With barely a ripple the water glides
Across your red and black coat
The humans are so uncaring
Thinking you are only a boat.
Good-bye,my mother dearest,
Farewell and aurevoir too,
I hope so much you are with your sister,
In the heavenly,eternal blue.
I wish you the best of happiness
For you loved your sister so,
As soon as the ship-breakers broke your heart,
I know that's where you did go.
I am so glad I heard the stories of
The life that you did live.
I am so glad I knew the love
The heart of you could give.
I hear the echo of your voice,
The tales that you could bring
The truths of your soul,
And the love that you could sing........

"Brittanic,my darling dearest,
When I was torn into by a collision with the Hawke,
It wasn't exactly pleasant,
And I had to return to dock.
The gentle men,they repaired my ****
Made me as good as new,
Then I sailed out again
Into the ocean blue.
Then,I threw a propeller blade,
Humans called me an accident-prone sort,
But,back again I went,
To be repaired at Belfast port.
That was the last time,dear daughter,
Titanic and I would be side by side
I wished it would last longer,
Yet time did not forever bide.
People took a photo
That immortalized that day
The very last time we'd be together,
Forever together,they'd say.
I hold that glorious memory
In the chambers of my heart.
Under 'lock-and-key',
Never,ever to part.
My sister and I together
Upon the ocean's crest
Glowing in the sunlight
At our next-to-best.
Oh,that moment was so long ago
Our moment side by side.
The last time we'd be together,
Before she sadly died.
The Captain thought me foolish
To plough through icy sin,
Yet,if it meant to save my sister,
I would do it all over again......"

My mother's words echoed
As she drifted away from sight.
Now she was with the one she loved
And tried to save on a 15th of April night.
I said my last good-bye to her
When the tug boats pulled her away.
This memory emblazoned fiercly
On this unforgettable day.
I watched a little longer
Wondered if there was sadness in the sea,
The Olympic-Class was over,
Now there was only me.
My mother was a masterpiece
When she was under steam.
Like a picture-postcard,
A reigning Ocean Queen.
People once loved my mother,
They sailed on only her,
But then,there came a change,
And she became a bothersome burr.
No one sought to save her
From the scrappers filth and grime,
She was wanted no longer,
Her age and fashion,her crime.
The people remembered her little
After her scrapping day
No flowers were strewn
In her solemn way.
Did any one else say 'good-bye',
Or,was I the only one?
Bading farewell to her grandeur,
And those crimes she hadn't done.
No monuments were erected
In her grand memory.
She was the daughter of Belfast,
And her second love was me.
She filled 25 years with her riches,
And also with her pride.
Filling them with love,
The love that never lied.
I always thought my mother to be
An invincible sort.
Who had no fears,or,if she did,
She left them back at port.
Her haunting words echoed
Her fortelling of her fate:

"I am nothing more than 50,000 tons of steel
For the scrappers to break...."

She said it with a certain sadness
For that was her future path,
She didn't deny  it with falsehoods
That they would tear her heart in half.
I shudder at the thought
Of the scrappers fire and tools
Who looked at my mother so eagerly
With eyes bespeaking cruel.
The company wanted her no longer,
No matter the life she had had,

"Scrapping happens to a good many ship,"
she said,
"And it is so brutal and sad."

What had she endured
In the breakers waterless dock?
Did she think of me?
Was I her final thought?
I love you,dearest mother,
There shall never be another like you
Think of you often,I will,
Upon the bounteous blue.

I am always the daughter of Olympic,
Always shall be Brittanic,
Always shall remember the love of my mother,
And the bravery of one named Titanic.
I  will always miss my mother,
And our days together in dock,
The stories she lovingly told me,
Be also under lock.
I will probably not share my stories
With many others,true,
But if the time does arise,
Share them I shall do.

"Brittanic,what was Lady Olympic like?
Did the people make her grand?"

"Yes,dear friend,she was fine,
One of the finest in the land...."
Though I am very learned in the subjects of Olympic,Titanic and Brittanic,any one who knows the story will realize many details have been left out. The reason for this is because I made it more of a 'human-interest' poem,to show the three sisters in a different light other than engine-driven steel leviathan vessels. Placing Olympic as the mother of Brittanic makes it easier,in my opinion,to gain feelings towards the matter. Yes,Brittanic was sunk in war ages before Olympic was sold to the T.W Ward shipyard,but to mix the details around makes it more interesting. I aim this prose to  spark interest in RMS Olympic,a grand lady who is remembered little.  Put yourself in the position of Brittanic and imagine the fright at seeing the demolished and scrapped vessel as her mother. When all is said and done though,I dedicate this poem to RMS  OLYMPIC. Rest In Peace,dear lady.
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
If you didn't know my story,but saw me in a book,
You'd read my name and wonder,then take a second look.
A shadow of my former beauty,I've been ruined by many years,
The things that have happened to me always bring on many tears.
I do not hide my sadness,for it is fresh and always there,
As I wait here so very lonely in my sunless Atlantic lair.
My poor,proud body is rotting away,there is nothing I can do,
Except hope maybe one day,equality will be given me too.
I recall a sadness filled day within my lonely dark,
When a plastic cup came floating down,and on my tomb left a mark.
That was one of many times I would give up and cry,
For human cruelness hurt me so,I got this rather than 'good-bye'.
I do not hardly recognize myself anymore,I say it not to be vain,
I say it with truth and exactness,to my heart welled up with pain.
Some people truly love me,for them I'm truly greatful,
Others regard me as a rusty ship with eyes that bespeak hateful.
I cannot help what happened to me,they just don't understand,
I once had a heart adventurous that would lead a career grand.
My hopeful life was ended in the year of 1912,
And my dreams,visions and pride-filled youth to the bottom delved.
I was told that youth and beauty would get me far in life,
And with these assets I proudly boasted,I knew nonesuch called 'strife'.
Throughout the tumble and crash of waves rode my lean body's length,
I reveled many times over in my satisfying,thrilling strength!
****
On the evening tide of the 14th,I saw the iceberg  true,
A handsome,glittering,ethreal prince,what was a lonely girl to do?
I rushed as fast as could be allowed to greet this glacier born one,
Eager to introduce myself and rid forlornness akin to a ton.
But when I came up closer,my heart he did stab,
With that glittering,icy spellbinding look,'twas my start of being sad.
He tore into my body,bringing unsurmountable pain,
What was the purpose of such cruelty,what could he possibly gain?
And on the night my life ended,I travelled my beloved sea no longer,
Death so young,in such a way,could life be any wronger?
I hoped so much I would not perish in a life that did just start,
Yet hopes were banished by the truths of a rapidly weakening heart.
I tried to wait as long as I could to save my passengers dear,
But the ending for so many of us was soon becoming near.
I didn't want to say farewell to the things I did love so,
And yet time was running short,and I wanted them to know:

Olympic,my lovely sister,I hope your life is a promise true,
Of many voyeurs across oceans wide,a charmer you are too.
Treasure the sun's bounty that warms the evening's chill,
And know throughout your entire life,my love is with you still.
Enjoy the satisfaction of your beauty and strength even when in dock you sit,
For a day may come anytime,and a single moment end it.
Show the Captain you are bold-bold,lovely and free,
But do not toss caution in the spray thrown off the sea.
I trust you not to be lonely in travels near and far,
For my ghost is always with you,just look up at a star.
When days come to you and a disconsolate thought you may think,
Remember the unconditioning love of a sister who'd "Never Sink".
Remember my love at morning,remember it at night,
Remember it these coming days I will no longer be in your sight.
I love you,Fair Olympic,in wordless,heartfelt ways,
Your memory I shall treasure in my saddened,sunless days.

I rest on a sandy sea bottom,amongst accoutrements of life,
From an unforgettable day when I learned the meaning of strife.
The earth has covered the stab the iceberg in my side did maim,
But despite that all,the hurt in my heart did stain.
I relive in over and over,wishing it were just a dream,
Yet awaken to the truths to know,my broken funnels have no more steam.
The way I landed in this grave,I look like I shall sail ahead,
But,that is all a fantasy,my once-strong body is dead.
It will not go anywhere,today or ever again,
I am helpless to the trash that falls upon me from heartless men.
The ship that sail above me hold people bright and gay,
Who do not know the sorrows that were on a 15th of April day.
They sail on to their destination,thinking nothing of me,
Who haunts the very waves they ride on my beloved Atlantic sea.
They dream of their days ahead,cheerful and free of plight,
Disregarding any notion of a nightmarish Hadean night.
They dance,they revel and throw trash over the side,
Where it floats down eventually onto the Ocean's Queen who has died.
They do not know of an iceberg with a sinister,laughing gaze,
And who pleasured in so knowing he ended my happy days.
They do not know of terror,of the ocean flooding ones' heart,
They do not know suffering for a ship breaking apart.
They do not know the agony of bading goodbye,
To the sunshine and a beloved sister who would never,ever lie.
They stand aboard a breezy bow,above the white waves foam,
Knowing soon,within a few days,they will be going home.
They seem to forget I belonged somewhere once too,
My home wasn't supposed to be an ocean floor,far from the sky's blue.
They do not know I've loved,they do not know I've cared,
They do not know the pain in my heart,that in scrapping,my sister wasn't spared.
They are the people who have this phrase float off their lips:
"Olympic and Titanic ,they are little more than ships!"
You humans claim you hold a bond to those you love so dear,
How different is it for me,I ask,with my sister built so near?
There is so much out there for those to remember me,
But my poor,sweet sister is forgotten,plunged into ocean history.
When you recall me,try to think of her too,
Bring her alive within your heart,I leave it up to you.
Years have passed,times have changed,though down here it's the same,
I am still the great Titanic,though my bow no longer says my name.
Some people who have discovered me have been respecting and kind,
I shall never give up my secrets,but their visits I don't mind.
Then,there are others,who ravage me to know,
They steal my finery,what is rightly mine;how can they hurt me so?
Although I do not mind some visits,I am now accustomed to the dark,
For the lights they shine upon me are so horribly bold and stark.
I am now part of this sea for one-hundred and one years strong,
All stemming from an April night when the most horrible went wrong.
The rust that drapes off me,some people say are like tears,
And,partially they are,my dearest friend,of the sorrows of many years.
The ocean floor is somber,the ocean floor is cold,
All the more unpleasant for a girl who's growing old.
My song it is of truth,to show that life is not a game,
But,treasure it every minute you can,all the very same.
It may be pleasant,it may be sorrow,
But,hold close the day you live in,think not heavily of a 'morrow.
I thought I'd have a tomorrow too,as I sit here in my grave,
I had a tomorrow,yes indeed,but not in a life-filled way.
I rest under these bitter waves,a melancholy heart is mine,
A shadow of my former beauty,a ghost of the White Star Line.
In the Aprils of today,on the dancing surf above,
My soul rises up to haunt the sea I love.
My soul is not marred by tears,fright and rust,
Whole and in perfection,before my death it's just.
At the latitude and longitude of that long ago day,
I have stopped many a vessel,so,remember me that may.
The scrapping of my sister,the sinking of me,
Life ended none too kind for both Queens of the Sea.
Remember us,gay vacationers,as you gaze up at a cloud,
For Titanic and Olympic,death 'twas not proud.....

I rest under these bitter waves,
A melancholy heart is mine,
We are remnants of our former beauty,
We are the ghosts of the
WHITE STAR LINE...
This poem is dedicated to my beloved Royal Mail Steamship 'Titanic',and her more forgotten,yet beautiful sister,Olympic. Never shall the sea be host to two finer ocean liners.
Michael Briefs Nov 2017
It seemed so much had been lost.  

So much had slipped through
A grasping hand,
A yearning heart,
A desperate mind
As mine.

The dull march of days present
Was shadowed by the
Gloom of regrets and
Shrieked by a shrill wind at lonely,
Bitter hours.  
What was mine? What was ours?
Gone for good and all?

My love, it seemed, was only
Ever a dark dream.
In my swelling and stinging agony,
Love was
As a locked door
And my heart was a bloodied fist
Beating against it.  
A wraith-like specter of doubt clung to me
With oppressive raiment,
Scrapping over exposed skin
Like course, mortifying fabric.  

Then, from out of a pristine past,
A voice  
Called out to me.  
The herald of an angel
Rung clear and glad as winter bells,
Celebrant!  
The dark narcissus of mortality was
Driven off!
The burial cloak was split;
The stone was rolled back!  

A hope newly found
Surrounds and soars above me,
As a deep, azure ribbon of
Stretching, unending sky!

I am imbued with cheering thoughts
Of our days gone by!
Glories recalled in a moment relived;
Revelries and song lifted with voices
And hearts, stout and full!

Together,
With my beautiful Eurydician queen;
Returned, she was,
From an underworld of time.
We coax and stir
The memories of first passions,
Innocent, powerful and pure.
We are now bending
The arc of our history,
Rending the precious pearl of affection
From the murky domain of
A love denied.  
Renewed and viewed through  
Prismic fractures of sadness
And through the sharp focus
Of blue eyes, in rapt recognition,
Surprised!  

Today is reborn,
Lived again and again,
With each pulse of the clock,
Each beat of my heart.  
The blood within
Is purged of that familiar poison.  

All is potent and refreshed:
You, your face, your voice, your touch, your scent,
Your vibration pours to and through me, once again!
Oh, true friend,
Tender lover,
Gently knocking at my door.
You return from distant lands
Remote and misty,
Bringing light and love
To my lonely shore.
I approach from my realm,
Far removed.  
Age and ages have chiseled
The shape of my soul.
In part, it is smoothed;
Refined with wisdom, empathy, and clarity.
Also, though,
It is,
In part,
Broken, jagged, and cracked,
As the forgotten sculptures
Of ancient empires,
Renowned
And doomed.

Yet I realize, all at once,
That I am not forgotten.  
I am not doomed
To shadow.
I breathe,
I seek,
I still have hope and
Words to tell!
And I still have my love for you!
My life is now freed from that
Sad spell.  

This breath,
This stony soul
(Sculpted by the Artist of Pain)
And this trammeled heart
Trembles in desire of
Your beauty,
Your touch and
Your presence --
Your calming presence,
Bringing levity,
Reassurance
And familiar stories of
Hopeful remembrance.  
From love recalled,
Comes your unexpected
Embrace and
Sweet sign of friendship.

That time of distress has come and
Gone and we turn to discover that
Our tender connection remains,
True and undefeated!
It rises with the earliest song
Of still sleepy birds,
Lilting on the cool air of the morn.  

This uplifting emotion
Again flows within me,
As an angel granting absolution,
Touching me in a place
As deep as first love.  

Welcome!
Kim McCarthy Mar 2013
They live in huge houses, drive fancy cars
Most know poverty only secondhand
So how can they fix a problem... They don't really understand

Given the role of a leader
However, I'm convinced they are confused
We live in worlds too far apart...
How can they lead with similar views

Their children go to private schools
Only the finest and elite
Their children will never need public education
So they allow funding to deplete
Their children will succeed
I believe it's part of their plan
To ensure that high society
Will forever lead the average man

The evidence is no secret
They don't seem to care if we agree
They know they hold this power
So it doesn't matter if we see

Our taxes keep going up
Unemployment is at an all time high
Life keeps getting harder for those just scrapping by
The people making these decisions
Of course they find it easy enough to do
They're not deciding for themselves
They decide for me and you

The truth of the matter is...
This country is ruled by hypocrisy
They disguise this, however, very cleverly
Today it's what we know as Democracy

"A political government run by 'The People' through 'Selected' officials"... Democracy defined
Compare it to the way it was truly designed

Sure we get to 'select the official'
But the one thing they seem to neglect
They pick the people
Many, that corruptive politics help select
She married off to a village chief at age of 14,
But only after being chopped of a ******* in a Maasai
Ritual of FGM, chlitoridectomy or you name it,
For the African elders strictly marry circumcised virgins,
What a ritual so pernicious that my nerves panic with fire.
She gets into a marriage now, Male sided marriage,
Where women and distaff are seen, but not heard whatsoever,
It is her well rounded buttocks, sharply ***** *****
Tight thighs and sweet sensuous moans to be made in bed
That matters most, but not her thoughts not even human feelings.
She starts of her day by morning glory; early morning *** at 5.30,
Then she jumps of her bed, whether sexually satisfied or not,
She goes straight for her broom then begins sweeping,
And scrapping her house, the main house then the kitchen,
No brassiere under her blouse or lingerie under her skirt,
For you never can tell when the chief’s cloud will accumulate,
Into thunderous rain, ready for planting and planting,
She then prepares porridge from millet and sorghum
Or Soya beans, ground nuts and simsim for the children
To take before they leave to school, both her children,
And those sired through out-growing by her husband,
Then she goes at the cow shed to milk her native cows,
Which she milks by dodging ceaseless kicks from the angst ridden cow,
She sings and whistles hymns for the cow to calm and stand balmy,
But coincidentally her last-born baby, three months old boy,
Named after the paternal grandfather wakes up,
Starts crying and croaning for attention, suckling,
She shelves milking aside, and rushes to pick the baby up
Not because of anything but lest its crying may disturb her husband
From sweet morning sleep, it is so bad and punishable.
She picks back the baby, using a shawl as a cot,
Then comes back to the milking shed, to resume her work,
Only to come to a surprise; the calf un-knoosed itself
And has suckled its mother’s udder dry, foam frothing
At the mandibles; she picks two litres of milk to her house
To the kitchen, starts cooking for her husband, two calabashes
Of tea, over spiced with milk and Kericho tea leaves,
As the husband is called to a treat of mellifluous tea,
She jumps at washing her husband’s clothes;
Unmarried brother-in-law passes by, and runs back to his cottage,
Scoops and brings his grimed Jeans Levis Straus trouser,
Also to be washed by his in-law, as the woman belongs
To the clan, to the entire community but not singly to the man
Or the husband who married her, she washes it minus qualm,
Lunch hour knocks, she rushes to the kitchen and cooks,
For the children are about to come from school, they must eat
Eat on time, if not declare this woman a public disgrace
Who can not cook for the community, forget of the children,
Evening comes; she cooks again, her baby still on the back,
The husband complains of the food being not delicious,
Salt was not enough, she did not put in pepper; a stupid woman!
She accepts her mistake and apologizes effusively, or else fire!
She goes to mend the bed for the husband to rest, plus the baby,
She goes out behind the hut to take a bath,
The husband has not yet constructed a bathroom,
For fear that evil neighbours can plant there voodoo
It can **** the husband to forego his wives and cows,
She comes back to her bedroom, when drying herself up,
The husband goes up in libido; he forcefully shoves her to the bed
As the giggles desperately, he jumps on her bust, minus foreplay,
No single kissing, pinching, nor fondling of the breast or even kissing her
On the stunted *******, he penetrates her mechanically, like a block of stone
He introduces himself deep and deeper into her,
Then he releases warm ***** into her, before even she is aroused
He falls asleep like a log of wood, leaving her wide awake on a flame
Flaming ****** desire, burning and torturing her like an abyss.
This rhythm repeats like a circa, on a pattern of regular basis,
She endured and finishes one year without getting pregnant,
The husband gets self-suspicious and irritated, very irked,
As per why the woman on whom his cows were wasted is not receiving
His very powerful seeds, to become pregnant, to carry his son,
He beats her up, ruthless flogging and kicking, kicking her buttocks,
Insulting and lambasting in heavyweight measure, down to ash pit
She apologizes and promises to be pregnant in a fortnight,
To which the man accedes; but…but…but let it be
That you miss to be pregnant, I will chase you away,
I will repossess my cows, I squandered on you
In payment of your pride price; dowry
To marry a reproductively better wife.
(translated into Germany as below)

FRAU OHNE FREIHEIT FUR GEWISSEN

Sie ist erst vor heiraten
Zu ein Holunder im Dorf,
Gerade noch im Alter von vierzehn
Aber danach sie klitoris,
Auf traditionell rituell von Maasai
Wiel afrikanisch mann streng
Heiraten Jungfrau wer  er bescheiden,
Sie begin ihr tag am morgen
Mit verkehr bei tagesanbruch,
Dann sie sprung vor der Bett,
Und direct sie gehen fur besen,
Sie haben ein kinder auf ihr Ruckeseite,
Dann sie gehen draussen au kuhstall
Sie begin melekn die kuh ahnlich der fabric
Dann sie gehen au kuche
Zu Koch Tee fur ihr mann
Wer ist schlafend im der haus
Danach ihr mann haben tee trinken,
Sie gehen draussen fur next kempf
Sie begin wasche kleider
Von ihr mann und die schwiegereitern,
Weil afikanisch frau gehoren zu gemeinschaft
Aber nicht zu individuell mann.
Sie wasche der kleider ohne bendenken,
Dann mittagszeit klopftes
Sie gehen au der kuche zu Koch
Dann ihr mann essen ahnlich schwein,
Abend kommen fur ihr ein pause machen,
Die kinder still auf ihr Ruckseite
Sie jetzt hinstzen die kinder auf Bett,
Wo ihr mann ist still schlafend,
Wann sie beginn ausiehen sich
Ihr  mann auf Bett gehen Libido
Er stossen sie auf der Bett,
Und sprungen auf ihr Buste
Ohne kussen , er eindringen  ihr,
Tief und tief er eindringen ihr
Ahnlich ein klotz von Holz.
Ihr liebe ist ahnlich diese zeiteleute,
Fur diese frau wer haben nicht
Freiheit fur gewissen sosehr sie kempf.

*****Vergnugen******
Samantha Creek Aug 2012
I can remember my 9 year old hands scrapping macabre words on top those tortured blue lines that pitied my gated head.  
I can remember my down the street friends, lips turned purple, from the snow temperature, glistening watered creek in my yard.
I can remember the quivering muscles in my stomach begging me not upchuck a landslide of overflowing butterflies on that summer night when he took my hand.
I can remember shutting out the lights on that one night while the cross hanging on my wall starred me down to fall to my knees and pray for the rotten wood in my heart to be repaired.
I can remember turning over away from that cross and find comfort in the damp pillow trailing a broken path to my withered eyes.
I can remember the thrown away unopened lunches falling free from my fingertips and throat.
I can remember my stomach hating me and my mind thinking in happy confetti-like gestures with a piñata full of echo’s, because candy insides are the devil.
I can remember abandoned dinners when spiders that took my place to cobweb my chair, and my food in the trashcan.
I can remember remnants of silver, sharp-toothed squares being injected on my skin and used as crayons.
I can remember the tree’s with broken arms smiling at me as I sat under the black leaves sharing their loneliness with me and I never did mind.
I can remember my lullaby had the same frequency as the jumpy breathes fluttering from my sunken lips harmonizing with the drops of my tears and blood.
I can remember the creature starring back at me in my bedroom and we had matching scars.
I can remember I hated her.
I can remember she hated me.
I can remember the young, immature boys with sharpened tongues quick with words that constricted the evil accumulating my skeleton as if I did not already know what needed to disappear.
I can remember my lips faking exposure of my tarnished, ***** teeth with the corners of my mouth turned up and the reflection of my cross blurred in the two windows on my body.
I can remember his voice on the other end of the phone line as he confessed his love at the same time while he was the tracing paper on my skin and I was that paper’s captain with a sharp, shiny penknife.
I can remember skipping the blue skies outside my chambered bed failing to search for the keys, but I was the guard and they were hanging on my cross.
I can remember falling to my bathroom floor, cold and sweaty begging for forgiveness as I gave my body and soul away to the undertaker when I checked off sin number “too many”.
I can remember God’s smile at me from the heavens and my heart being split open but not the bad kind of split, the kind that burst in the presence of grace.
I can remember the growling of my stomach scaring me away into night terrors, every night but they soon became my home.
I can remember sitting on the floor as my older sister, with her packed bags, walking out my house into her adult world and I was not at her car door waving goodbye.
I can remember my older brother leaving for college and I ignored the door shut.
I can remember my selfishness floating in the hands of Satan for he is the record sin keeper.
I can remember church pews darkening as I sat up from them because my sins squeezed inside and left scars, but that golden, stained glass alter at the front kept them in line all nice and tidy, and I would smile back.
I can remember that beige bread chiseled heavenly by the hands of God resting in the little golden doors behind God’s chair sprinting down my throat and planted seeds of glory in my withered and dry garden.
I can remember the holy water raining in my stomach praying for minerals of bits of food.
I can remember the blood in my veins fighting the layers of my skin rebuilding crooked patches that did match my normal skin color because I was the chemical warfare throwing rusted razors and bow and arrows penetrating the fortress just above my veins.  
I can remember needles and stitching living in the doctor’s drawer untouched by my skin even though my name has been reserved on them 47 times.
I can remember breathing.
I can remember praying.
I can remember living.
I can remember remembering this when I am 100 years old.
René Mutumé Jun 2013
We lay down together.  

Unable to move.  

Our smell the same.  

Skin stretched out.  

Holding each other’s hand.

The days and weeks we hadn’t been eating properly didn’t show on her figure as it did mine.  She still looked full.  

Muscles and waist growing tighter, thinner.  But hers,
Hers

Her face, *******, lips, hadn’t changed.

An animal in love with beauty.  Old beauty, future beauty.

Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia.  We had been travelling Europe for some time.  That’s where we were.  One of those places.  All of them.

And the heat kept beating, making me sweat.  
It made her sweat too.  
But we always had enough energy to be together.  

                  As our bodies become hungrier, our need for each others skin increased.  
                  Her sighs and moans and thighs becoming louder.  Penetrating darkness.  
                  The cicadas.  Black trees.  Collapsing.  Grinding.  Feeding.

Our love, returning to dusk my dear...  

Giving life back to the morning.  Killing each other.
Controlling hell.

A stretch of green.  Hard hills.  
Sand inside our **** and hair;
The ground, and her perfect smell.

We stand-up, and continue to walk through the breeze towards the train station.
I pray the monies been wired.  We stop.  I pull her into myself.  
Tell her all these things.  

She smiles  
our bodies join  
and hills the size of Gods

                                                           ­      Became nothing again.

                                                         ­                          :::
            

‘We will be fine.’

She said gracefully.

                                                    ­                               :::

            

There was nothing at the station hardly  
but a shop was open in the blazing afternoon
the unknown shop-keeper didn’t smile
but sold us enough with what we had to get us drunk;

There were no people or trains/we had five hours to burn until the next one came
the day stretched out and up into the evening as we laughed and screamed like two boiling oysters drunk in a kitchen time passed into and through the hours we wound around each other like two fighting seas her thighs tensing with absolute strength on my lap moaning from her stomach and into the sky

as I did
we kissed again, slowly and absolute - celebrating release
making the day travel into night

my back lay against the cold wood of the station seat
we began to wind down.
and the need for hope faded as we both began to sleep

I said one last thing to her to make her laugh a little, before we rested in wait for the last train.

She began to curl into rest, her hair across my lap, but I notice that she sees one more thing before her eyes shut.  She was looking down to the end of the station where the entrance was.  Her eyes burst.  Her laughter stopped like a match being put out.  
Her nails dig into my leg.

I smile down telling her she can’t fool me with the same old tricks; then I look too.

He was coming.

He moved like slow clay.

‘No.’

‘There’s just one of him... I can take him.'

We have to get this train...’  I think.

His lips lay still like two grey worms on top of each other.  Emotion.
Less.  Moving towards us.

And there was no-where else for us to go.  No more running.  
And I wouldn’t have run even if I could.

And this is what I thought seconds before he was near us.





11.46 pm.
the train nears
the night mixing with the hopeless age of the station
gently moving her body to one side I began to run at the man walking towards us
i call every mutilated thought I can from my mind and air
silence them
and pour them only into my movemnet

He was Russian like her.  Old school Russian.  No sympathy for an English ******* wanna be saviour like me.

No sympathy.
I jumped into the air - I could see he hadn’t expected that  
the time I hung there expanded for miles dying slower than normal
i have time to see his cold receding head,
the lines across his wide brow/the shoulders of a man half-bull
eyes etched into wood
he looks up as I connect

I land an elbow directly to his face before I land fully catching him with my momentum
all of my weight landing on his nose and mouth
‘let this slow him down’  I ask fate
the adrenalin jack-knifing through my body like a restless rush of pure red almost bringing it to a halt
tt rocks him, a little...
next: left
left
straight right
the biggest one i've  
Blood.

His head hung slightly low in sudden contemplation and pain
he still has a lot left.  I think

A gorilla dancing with a fly.

i follow up with more punches
his hand shoots for my throat faster than I can react

I can punch.  But he’s taken many a man like me.  
I think




No air.




I hear Russian
And parts of the station again.
I hear her voice
Straight in its pitch and unchanging melody
But-without-the-laughter.  
I can tell she’s scared from the way she puts too many words in her sentences, too fast.  
I see his grey outline pushing a much smaller one against the wall.
I think about Natashka back inside one of those rooms.

I think about her sorrow and strong will.  
Defiant, but captive.  

I was certain at every turn that she was misleading me.  
(She was)
She had bent my logic so far back it stayed there and made sense again
like a wild contortionist miming a perfect song

I had travelled miles to find her
after three months of dream I finally did.

“ah Jerome”.  
She Said.

We drank and made love for hours.  
reality adjusted to us
not the other way around

dark forms behind the curtains of an apartment
a bed of velvet sweat
wrapped around you, inside you.  

*****.  No air.  New life.
  
“Jerome”  She said after three days.
“You-must-go.  I have lied.  They come here when I call them.  They make you give money...”
“I know hon.”  I said.

“Lets go.”

We made final, violent, love.  
And then left.
I will now owe ‘at least 25,000 Euro’s’ she tells me

I figure it’s all worth-it
“That’s alright”  I reply
and light up as we leave the building





My rib-cage roars into the ground with disgust and rage.  
My remaining spirit pours into my hands and knees as I rise.
A dead sprinter.
A dead man
still rising;
A spitting snarl.  A scream.
The rats are woken.  
Old angels are woken.  
And I ask all the beer drunk spirits that are close to help me.

I tackle him hard into the wall, we crash into Natashka
but she moves just in time, even his legs are heavy, they slow my rage,
i only manage to get one, its under my right arm, held with both hands, my left leg steps inside his remaining right, behind it, I pull, the trip works,
he falls.  

I hear the train.  I follow me in
again
all I have in the world is surprise
and his squat body is the strength of three of mine
emptied into one.

And at the maddest of times it’s the strangest of things you remember:  
i see the lights of the train flashing across her whole body
and for a moment she transforms
and is complete light...

I’ve climbing on top of him
i strike down with the madness of ten days drunk on whiskey.  
aortas ventricle pulse

His powerful fingers grasping at my limbs trying to stop me, but it’s no use.
spears made of bone ****** down into his face
and the old angels watch, as I connect, drooling and enjoying the show, happy to throw me a few chips

His arms begin to flop down like tired wild animals returning to sleep
and perhaps my fury and revulsion can break even him
my hands on her body;
i force her on the train with the last of our money
the conductors can only see two drunks fighting beside a beautiful bystander.
I force her on.

“Jerome.”  She says screaming.

A clay hand takes my breath again as it locks around my mouth from behind me.  
I manage to hold the door shut long enough while being suffocated so that the train is moving with her inside
and when the train is leaving, I finally feel joy.

“Jerome.”  She says still.

And  finally I hear not.  

Not the man choking me or the time of day.  
In the seconds that my lungs drown, I feel only the bliss of having known you, a last toast before I rest within the driving sea, salt-water changing my lungs
but I know my last action was with all my soul, my mind, my body.

Natashka, I drink to you, fully.  Finally.
This thought fills my gut.
His hands across my mouth, my eyes begin to shut.
Her smell.  

That was the last thing I thought about.



                                                       ­                                ...




I’m looking down at my body, the Russian’s beside me breathing hard.
Tired.  Big.

And then to my shock I see Natashka again.  
Walking from the far end of the station back to the area where all the scrapping happened;
one of her knees bleeding and ripped, she limps, as if something is completely broken, her foot perhaps, out of time with the rest of her body.  

She drags her handicapped body all the way towards me and clay man standing beside me.
I can only watch.
When her tattered body gets close, I get to see all the cuts, one side of herself is badly damaged where she jumped from the train
and dislocated half the joints in her body

And when she is only a reach away from him.  She touches his chest.
Hands that can change anything.

And I look at them both.  
And death saves you from nothing at all.  
You just observe the same things, at a slower pace, from a different position;

you try to tell the suicides this, but; few want to listen...
there’s nothing wrong with oblivion, just remember that once you’re there, you still need something to do...

I break down.  Knees hitting the ground.
I see her body slide into him, closer, her hand disappears behind his back
like thin snake wondering around a rock
searching

Now

she stands pointing his own gun at him.  A shot goes into his head.  No hesitation.  Now she looks down at me, beside my choked corpse, a gun still in her hand. Weeping.

My hand wants to reach up to her.  
I can't.  

Another bullet fired
it discharges through her mouth, destroying her head.

Now she lays down beside me too
between me and russian hit man

The station endures our blood as we bleed out
forming one river that trickles down onto the tracks and gutter
you can’t tell whose blood is whose
or who is bleeding out the most

I look up at a light-bulb in the roof;
it tenses one more time, making the mosquitoes dance in quiet frenzy, before it lets out a final scream, cracking out of life.  Going-out-softly.

My head comes back down and I see another person standing only a few steps away from me.

With a turn of her head she suddenly flicks me a half-smile
the kind she knows I like
the kind that rips the spirit right out from your chest and makes it feel good.

Before we begin to walk away together something makes me turn
and we both look behind ourselves. The Russian looks down at his body too, the lines in his face are still, and yet we know how he feels.

He looks across at us as we walk away down the tracks
we can see only the deep set hoods of his brow, shadows for eyes;
he moves his feet slightly so he now faces us flat

he raises one of his palms
as the other searches for his cigarettes
in the first movement I have seen him make casually all-day

I hear him say the words:

“Do svidaniya. Moi druz'ya. Byt' khorosho"

And although his language isn’t mine, I know this means:

"Goodbye."

"My Friends."

"Be well."

                                                         ­                             ...
And winds they wither and they accentuate cosmic dithers
Ducks become swans and butterflies fly in the air of rivers
We should soon begin to question who we are on this plan-et
A bucket or cube, a form of strings finding tune
They said there’d be purveyors and pilgrims
These sages would then show the way in a web of disarray
So the picture plays and their gleam is seen
Incarnating from distant streams
’yes they call them starseeds

They have been helping societies feel secure, giving answers
Contributing to the developments thereto
Some called them heroes, psychics or star-soldiers
It was forgotten that they were merely messengers, creating vortexes so the many
Would get to the essence or heart of Creation and Divinity
The problems began with the worship of the commissars of Divinity
And the gods their parents, being merged into a monotheistic god
For artificial synchronization of stealing light and doctoring it into dark light
To subdue the power of Darkness
So with more people being manipulated and hooked by crystals
And chips, scrapping their memory of their once absolute multi-dimensional divinity
They began to forget and this energy was channeled to the heads of darkness and their fortresses
And as such humanity grew weak and the solutions were left to be found by the so called heroes

With the growing human-farming, as the hybrids being created then were used as mere sheep or even cattle  
With the decaying or ceasing dignity of the human conscience, they were made to be intermediary-conscious
And so the lives of the Messengers and their affiliates became the epitome of living for the many
Absurd as it is, the human races with its varying colours and fragrances, each soul being unique in its right
And now with this bombardment of doctrine that set a standard of being
These laws not culminating the commonwealth of many
Not governing humanity in its best interests, so the heroes began to be sacrificed
Their lives weren’t pure, they were planned before they were even born
Corrupting the consciousness of individuality and essential or sincere being

And they came in Kings/Priest Kings or Sorcerer Kings
And who would blame them, it is their Parents who set out or designed these paradigms
And so these corrupt thought forms of half truths and duality and dark light became hereditary
The times changed and these heroes took on the impressions of Presidents, Wealthy business men or Emperors of Commerce
Finding themselves in the modern Capitalistic World,  a world which was manufactured prior to their reign
The grave concern is the death of Identity and the Integrity of the Soul
And the lives of Pastors/Chanellers/Pilgrims/Shamans  or what have you became the mirror of Divinity
As opposed to Divinity mirroring in the clear view of people having identity and a sincere embrace of the heart’s mysterious logic
So it is safe to say that this would create a world robotic

This wouldn’t last forever though for some Parents are responsible and they care
So the Earth then would be visited by the Golden ones once more
Apparent with the recent UFO Sightings, crashed UFOs and the bodies of Extraterrestrials
Alien Abduction confessions, cavern findings
With this people would begin to remember and would not load their worries or problems on the shoulders
Of a few individuals as they would learn how big the world is
As Humanity would identify, if for the first time, who or what God is
Furthermore Who or WHAT THE Source is
And once the lives of heroes would cease to be manipulated, so too would the lives of the many
We would learn that there needn’t be “special” people for we will have found the Divine elements in each of us
And that the sooner we can enhance Intelligent Life working together without the need for hierarchies we can soon develop a
High Level of Spirituality and be an Independent Race
Heroes are beings too who have lives and ambitions, have flaws and afflictions, have faced convictions and submissions
The gods are beings with their mistakes as well, some who have lied and have not revealed the whole truth to
Protect their children for it could have been noted that they were too “young”
But humans will grow and God they will know, the Source furthermore, and there will be a shift in thinking and thus in being and Living
It has begun, Finding the answers following the Dignity of the Conscience,
Cosmic blueprint, a song sung for parents absent
A play of star glow, uplifting the wayward ways of the big show
Living in the Integrity of the Soul, following the Dignity of the Conscience.
This is to all the starseeds, indigos, orbs, rainbow children and star-hybrids who have been tortured and alienated. The wounds they have suffered due to social rejection, all that physical pain hinders their functioning and delays the missions they have here
This is to all the Presidents, Kings, Priests and Reformists who have been manipulated, used and sacrificed.
And this then an effort to sound the voices of those stuck in (hell) Inner Earth who have a Messiah-paradigm instilled deeply in their thinking, an effort to stretch the Light so they too can stand and access the True Light of Divinity...

Preparing for the Golden Age
Aniseed May 2015
Your skin wasn't so soft
Not the softness you'd find
In great love stories

You didn't always have the
Words to say something
You fumbled with them
While I babbled

You snored -
Only a little, I promise

Yet in ways I found
Them so endearing
Perhaps it was just you
And I find myself
Tripping and tumbling
And scrapping ideas
Of not needing love
Or just not being aware

Because I'm just yearning
To brush against that arm again

Stories be ******
Whatever this feeling is, it's terrifying.
Chad A Dolezal Apr 2012
A feeling, an ocean and a dream to describe:
It’s another mid afternoon morning and the sunlight billows through the windows and pierces my eyes; they fight for consciousness and after some struggle with my two-ton eyelids, I managed to pick myself up and stagger off to the shower. Twenty minutes later, cleaned and clothed, I make my way downstairs to see what faces still linger in the house from the night before. With each step from under my feet comes a cold shrill scream; the nails, with a century of twisting and turning wiggled themselves free. With the slightest exchange of pressure, the nails give way and plunge back into the body of the stair from which they had escaped.  
It’s quiet downstairs. There’s not a sound; no voices of laughter echoing from the floors and off of the ceilings, not a sound of friends or strangers’ feet as they scramble to rustle up their clothes and belongings from the night prior. I had grown accustomed to hearing this in the morning and in all honestly, I’ve grown quite fond of the array of faces that had made camp here for the night. Usually this means front row seats to a race track where they all spin and run into one another to get started on their endless lists of routines and obligations. For the lucky few who get to vacation rather than push papers on the weekend, this meant a new companion and hopefully a day of company. Unfortunately, today the house is hallow, so empty it could make someone dream.
After pacing the house for a bit, the stillness starts to settle in; the leaking faucet growing unbearably ever more predominate with a slow crescendo of slurred reminders, drip no one’s home, drip you’re alone, drip what are you going to do? Drip, drip and the deafening silence like a parasite is crawling its way up and under my skin. My feet and hands get restless so I grab my acoustic guitar and head for the door.
On the porch, I take refuge on the cool concrete and light a cigarette; as the cherry churns the paper burns slowly, mimicking the melody of minors strummed ever so softly. My mind starts to wander, slipping into its self, lofting away like the ribbon of smoke from the cigarette. How funny it is that the greatest of men and minds have achieved the unbelievable; they unraveled the wheel, the moon met man from a tin can, empires leveled by the push of a button and as a tired heart’s tick softens, a surgeon’s scalpel cuts open and easily replaces it. With all the trophies brightly polished placed on the mantle of man there is not a space for the trophy that is truly worth parading; a cure for emotions. Irony, like a well aged whiskey, drunken my humor and ferments my appreciation. As a disease loneliness infests like a tumor, endlessly growing. The thoughts that once retreated so easily at the first hint of war are now back, glowing with vengeance tailored with armies; and they’ve got me cornered, it begins.
I start sinking, farther and farther down, unable to swim in this brackish abyss; any attempt to kick my legs, swing my arms has become a day dream, perhaps its only momentary paralysis caused from my leap of faith from my raft of hope that in my mind I had been previously enjoying the warm weather and smooth sailing; until the vessel caught a flame and was swallowed by the ocean of despair.
The light that once danced all alone up on the surface has retreated from fear. My lungs now burning as they cling to my last breath, they swell with anger, splitting at the seams from the pressure of the ocean’s hand gasping my poor lungs, tension alone compressing my entire chest I can feel the sharp pains as they are growing nearer and nearer to exploding, I clench my already squinted eyes from the burn of ocean’s salt. In some last attempt for survival with my eyes firmly tightened, just as the water starts to creep its way down my throat into my lungs I can feel the water begin to thicken.
No longer sinking into the great void of salted rift tides but resting gently on a mattress of sand. With my back exposed, the sun quickly heats my sopping wet T-shirt, my bones fill once again with life. Have I, by some lottery of luck, washed up on the beach? Scrapping the sand from my eyes in pursuit to unravel this mystery, the sand has magnetized itself to pruned skin and drenched clothing. I clear my eyes to the best of my ability, I can still feel the sand gritting in the folds of my eye lids and after a few fresh breaths of air which fill my sore lungs with relief, I roll over to sit up and dig my feet deep into the sand. I look out shielding my eyes from the blinding sun with my hand. I look to the left and then the right and quickly darting back and forth from each position, there is no ocean in view. What was my inevitable aquatic ending has now vanished; no longer sinking but standing. I am alone in what has become an ocean of sand; a desert of wandering and mystery.
With the blistering sun and vultures circling over head as constant reminder that this is in fact real; I began to stumble about for shelter. After what seemed like hours of hurdles the moon flies high while the sun sleeps in the southern sky, I find myself under a cliff of overhanging rocks; sitting down the rocks are warm and almost caressing. This bit of refuge reminds me of my mother; as a child I remember straying from her in a department store. Unknowing then that she had not been tailing me like a blood hound, until I turned around and as far as I knew she had vanished from the earth. After sprinting and retracing my steps like map I see her, the site of her from across the store fills me with joy, still sprinting I run to her, eyes like a fountain they poured into her arms as she held me there in her arms; they were warm and safe.
A faint smile crawls its way onto my face and the same tears of relief rain from my eyes and floods the ground; the sand now flooded starts to move vigorously from side to another. Out of the mist of their rumbling out gets pushed a blade of grass, and then another and another one by one pull their way out of the sand  to the surface; as the flowers start to blossom the slumbered sun awakes to a lush field of flowers filled with life. Within the field I move freely about, running in circles of familiar joy; the large sunflowers sway in the breeze of my arms as I run past them. The garden is beautiful with explosions of color all around held by peddles of flowers, and a small pond in the very center; a garden this perfect had to have been birthed by a gardener with the most beautiful of hands; Hands much like my grandfather.
Kneeling down beside the pond I splash some water with my hands on to my face to clear the filth from my pores. A gleam catches my eye from the mirror of the water, and I’m staring myself in the eyes. The pond isn’t reflecting what’s circled around me, but it’s reflecting me as a child, a bit older than the child crying for his mother; my face in the reflection, so precious and young just beaming full of life.
As if the pond were a movie screen the memory that had started to fade with age in my memory is playing crystal clear. I can see that little boy surrounded by familiar trees and flowers with the fields running farther than my eyes can see. That little boy is laying on the equally little wooden bridge that stretches over the little pond, my father laying beside him on the bridge with their heads and hands poking playfully over the edge of the bridge. Through the eyes of that little boy I can see a stick in hand trying to catch the nonexistent fish just as his father had showed him. My father looks down at me with a smile flooding his face as he says to me, “you know, Chad; I’m very lucky to have you, you’re all I could have ever asked for in this world. You’re a beautiful boy, a perfect son and I love you very much”. I remember watching a tear roll down the side of his face and watching it fall and disrupt the surface of the pond. Back on the other side of the glass; as his tear hits the pond the ripple breaks up the memory and just like the garden, the pond with the little bridge, my father and his sweet child; they all disappeared just as they had throughout my life. This time things felt different, not the cold touch of my bitter friend loneliness, but seeing that memory polished, shining new brings peace to my heavy heart.
A sharp sting burns my lips, the cigarette now burnt to the filter rips me back into body leaving the army, that ocean, the desert and the garden all behind. From footsteps behind me “I hoped I’d find you here”; I turn around and there she is, standing silhouetted by the sun, my angel. Charcoaled hair and island sky eyes, she had come to rescue me. “Hey you, I was hoping we could spend the day together; are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” I smile and nod my head. “Aright then come on.” and with that no longer in the vantage point window watching, but through a door and living.
Savio Apr 2013
A dream over due
1999
september
it is august
the flies are insects
growing the Vice apple between the graying chicago winter fern of the ******
towering
empty parking lot super market trees
brown
baige
***** and autumn
skin like apple sauce
dancing inside the mirror of Lust and his Sister Fresno California
On a Payphone
At a Fuel Station
Lights all Blue
Lights all dull
dullified by the gasoline
the cigarette butts that collect in the mouths of mountain saints
Capture Zen
Burn all the books that led you too led poisoning

I am Van Gogh
Scrapping off the dried paint of my walls
of my women
naked in my bed of a hope factor

I am going insane
and the stars do not mind
the Clouds seem to be careless
Vagabond seasonal weather Kansas

Everybody is on the Train
headed to Dreams
100 dollars a ticket
Give me your Wallet
your Sister
your Sins
your nights and your day-shadows bouncing off walls and mailboxes like school-boy toys
your
you're
Insight
Outsight
Farsight
Downsight
Glancing at the peripheral French Decedent girl with black hair
hair black like wet once lit cigarettes

God, smoking a cigar made in The Ol' Great West of timber and the elderly gasping away their lives as a window sits neatly with tundra flowers
and a cacti that never dies
Winter comes in a Van
Full of soup
Full of the Dead Children of Days on in
Full of Dogs with rabies
Full of Cheap women
who gave up on 7:30
and washed their hands in the juices of an Apple Eve sank her yellow teeth into

Savage
Savage

Headlights heading towards Home
Towards Late-Night Television

Oven on

God and Satan
Spooning on the water bed of America
America the great
America the greed
America the want

America the me
you
her
Dog
Pigeon on the side street of NYC push town till suit bye Death

Coffin constructed of Iron and Filled with Wine
Coffin made by a young man sitting in his jacket
smoking a neat cigar
smoking with Gin
Gin
Gin
Gin
The Fireplace is where we may have made Love
But the Heat was ours
and the Torn down back door back yard Tall 100 year old Tree
has left
only a Stump
A beginning of its sprout from a seed
to a Giant
to a home for Birds and Flies and ants and rodents

I am in the Tower
Drinking your Whiskey
Drinking the lipstick of a woman who has nothing to do
so she falls in love with the Shadows of night bricks
of City Street Walls and streets
Swerving
entwining
Curving
Doubting
Ditching

Like love it self
Left out in the Sun
Left with the cacti of Old Age
old hands and old eyes that quiver like melting ice in the 90 degree Texan weather

We run to the fountain of Youth
but the gates are closed
The Pool boy quit his Job
and now the water in contaminated

Drink Vinegar
Drink Chlorine
Clear the mind
the hairs on your chest
the Teeth in between your Chin and Lips

It is no Longer Time
it is no Longer Past
Future
Clean
*****
Washed
Murdered by a knife

It is no longer 1AM
and the Sky wants me to wake up

But the Coffee Machine is crooked and only works if I hold it at an angle

Goodbye Crows of Brooklyn
I'll be on the payphone collect call to subconscious

I'll be on the road
traveling with my hair
traveling with Life
traveling with Destiny and Hope and Emily Tennessee

5 dollars a gallon
Poetic T Aug 2018
What! the What!
               was that which I think
                              were syllables
perpetrating from the sewer
                 of their open commentary
on my life.

As though it was a live play.

                And they were the voice over
scrapping at my thoughts.
                                  Well if I were you!
When did I ask this magpie of gossip
to intrude on my daily reflections.
       But no you stain that window
               I want to stare outward too.

Mind your own business, I know yours
went bankrupt long ago..
           Never paying dues to what you paid out.
But never counting the cost of what
                          every word cost you.

Now its time to change that channel
                                      to white noise.
All the persistent vocals drowned out.
Now I can watch my life without commentary.
Others should watch themselves not others
             just because your is a repeat of a dull life.
Becca P Jun 2017
Skinny is a feeling.
The feeling of a necklace scrapping protruding collarbones,
The feeling of rings slipping off thinning fingers,
The feeling of sharp cheekbones slicing into skin,
The feeling of hunger scratching stomachs,
The feeling of jeans becoming baggy around pencil legs,
The feeling of bald patches covered with wooly hats in summer,
The feeling of sharp ankles balancing on scales,
The feeling of needles in arms,
The feeling of hospital blankets,
The feeling of cold.

But there’s no feeling in death.
Salt Peanuts Nov 2010
The Empire State Building is a giant *******
Concrete is broken, NYPD, taxis racing, red light green light
I enter the hand of the city through it's capillaries breaking mad concrete
Warm gusts of ****, grime, and transportation swallow me
The city feeds off dreams and hope which we personally, willingly give up
We all somehow learn to accept this fate 
The passerby no longer human but broken mirror 
The hand inundates my eyes from breezes of tomorrow
The spacy apartment, and the affluent career and the acquantanceship
Of the handful of New Yorkers that run the hand: all questionable plans today
It's as if the hand's grasp, although sharp and brick, would venerate your intellect, guaranteed
If that's the case, I see wizards of wisdom everyday snoozing on concrete and cardboard and plastic
Bearded, black with dirt and skin, threads ripped by a world inferrior than the one in thier minds
Empire "*******" State  of intellect, scrapping billion dollar clouds
Sardine can subways, escalators, elevators, high on crack **** speed of sound
The cash nerve system meltsdown into golden chips to feed the pigeons
Glass and steel craft spaces for modernity to be sold like a Washington Heights *****
You can feel the growth of the hand at the end of your intestines
It's a warm, uncomfortable vibration revealed in your *******
Foreign tongues buzz through the air, through your hair for 19.95
New York needs a haircut, some profound discipline so we wake up from this bizzare life of welcomed pain
You once charmed me with hopes of culture, open minds, connections, real connections, love and laughter
Yet, Today I am hungry in Murray hill
I am cold in Chelsea
I am broken in Union Square
I ***** in SoHo
I have fallen in the East River
And I bleed on financial monoliths 
Someone have mercy on my wills
It is an intention trying to be fulfilled
But failed when it became self-aware
kirk Dec 2018
When you decide to wash the car, make sure of your stability
Don't lose your footing, or any form of your own credibility
Some driveways are a dangerous place, they can be a liability
Knees get grazed through carelessness, but that's your responsibility

You've slipped down the embankment, you wasn't banking on a stumble
Coming into contact with the concrete, giving you good cause to grumble
Is it possible that your garden, has got loose parts that crumble
Or was it due to clumsiness, that made you fall and tumble

Water splashing on the car, but it wasn't that translucent
You ended up with ****** knees, from your unruly movement
Bucket dropping did not help, with your clean car improvement
I can't say that your actions, didn't cause us some amusement

We had a laugh at your expense, because your knees got scuffed
Spilling water on the path, is when your legs we're stuffed
You didn't look too happy, so I guess you wasn't chuffed
Because you fell, it'll be some time before the car gets buffed

One thing I will mention, we would not have seen you fall
If you didn't have that camera, that you wanted to install
But it has served it's purpose, cos we have seen it all
You was not completely focused, and you wasn't on the ball

Security has now been viewed, splashed water not in stealth
Is it worth the hassle, when you clean the car yourself
You don't want to trip and fall, and damage your leg health
Take it to the car wash, cos it doesn't cost much wealth

Your unfortunate leg scrapping, we hope it was not deep
But we nearly ****** ourselves, when you fell in a heap
We laughed at your misfortune, it almost made us weep
Cleaning cars come at a price, when it's done on the cheep  

Some Ideas are valid, and most of them go far
Set backs are not wanted, make sure that your on par
Be aware of your surroundings, if your washing the car
Trips around the garden could result, in a blooded scar
Based on a true story
Jasmyn 'Ladi J' Feb 2014
Untold Vulnerabilities Pt. VII: The Completion but Not the End
“Cause all of me loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I’ll give my all to you
You’re my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I’m winning
Cause I give you all of me
And you give me all of you”
Questions that ping around my head like a pin ball in pool hall full of the nasty smell of fugs and alcohol
I feel intoxicated…
Take back everything cause from day one I knew you were the one
But we all go through untold vulnerabilities
Hold back like a frustration building up to never be released
You though… you fill my cup with overflow
Even though it took us long to get here
Holding back the words I love you like they stole something
Even though they have in the past
I love you broke me and you time and time again
I love you made me and you resent companionship
I love you even punched me and you in the face till we were numb
Feeling like a *** on the street leading to unhappiness
So how could I… no how could we even fathom this love that has developed
We seem to know each other with even not knowing
Inner glowing that shines between us when we stare into each other’s eyes
See we were together but we were both too naïve to say it
Scars so deep they hold you back from what’s right in front of you
Man I would even ask myself…
“Hey Ladi J… would you rather have a man that loves you or commits to you…??”
I want all of you not just pieces
But hey you said it was an order to things
Provide…protect…profess…right?!
But till the day you asked me to be yours I continued to be skeptical
But those electrical feelings every time  I’m around you that send currents through my body that lead to every blissful kiss all seemed like a hit or miss cause I never truly knew how you felt
It was like waiting for daddy to hit me with that belt
I held my pain…owned my pain…
But all the while wondered could you even handle my pain
Whispers of love still seeped through
“Cause all of me loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I’ll give my all to you
You’re my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I’m winning
Cause I give you all of me
And you give me all of you”
They say the number 7 is the number of completion
So I end my untold vulnerabilities here
I’ve said how I felt but I know US won’t end
Team awesome…
We work together to show each other the wonders of the world
Learning lessons from each other
Treading unknown territory
Tip toeing through a battlefield called love
So I think I’m ready to cash in…checkout…cause I don’t want anyone but you
I laugh more because of you
I smile more because of you
I stand firm because of you
I live and breathe more because of you
Metaphors, similes, and personifications can’t even express how I feel about you but ima try with every word I write
To form words as perfect as you seem impossible but untold vulnerabilities aren’t easy but it got us here
This is the completion but not the end of US
Untold vulnerabilities…that leads to pillow talk
Taking long walks like Jill Scott but we don’t have to puff on trees because we get high off each other
Bonding every moment spent with you
You are like the glue that holds my brokenness together
Mending every puzzle piece of hurt
Scrapping every speckle of dirt from past clutter
It all makes sense now
So this is the completion but not the end
Souls brought together for a purpose
Captured in moments of time just for me and you
This is the completion but not the end
I won’t waiver my favor for you
I won’t bend my passion for you
I won’t over compensate for overflow of past hurt
This is the completion but not the end…
This is the completion but not the end…
“My head’s under water but I’m breathing fine
You’re not crazy and I’m outta my mind
Cause all of me loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I’ll give my all to you
You’re my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I’m winning
Cause I give you all of me
And you give me all of you”
Nick Strong Sep 2014
A large penny for the mysterious sweet shop and
A wooden tray of treasures, for my paper twist,
Fingers sticky with sugar, giggling at the silliness
Of a younger sister with a boys haircut

Silver milk bottle tops on a frosty winters morn
Pierced by hungry, pecking ****,  
Finger nails scrapping frost from window panes
Revealing the dim day dawning before simpler eyes

Listening to the breakfast radio show for latest releases
Above a chattering bustling kitchen
Shouting, a little sister curling her hair, that we’d be late
Pelting towards school bus, with Camus stuffed in a torn pocket
Memories of a childhood , long, long ago
celey Jul 2015
the scrapping of rubber shoes
on the pavement alarm me
frantically gliding as if
in search of something

the halls are suddenly
narrower than yesterday
and all the other days before

this always happens
whenever i am rushing
and i am always rushing
so i wonder why i'm always
surprised to find myself this distraught
when its color isn't pretty on me
just making everyday happenings like  being late for class dramatic
L B Apr 2017
And the emptiness now
lets the memory howl
and bang its head
off the sheer walls of never—

Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in
fog or smoke?
In any case—

lonely

looks like this--
numb and cool and slow-moving
grayish-white fingers
reaching for molecules of air
while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle
over
springtime over....

Desire perishing in a crisis of will
In the thickets of panic—
bronchial spasms expand seconds
at an open window
Choking, congestive, failure of heart!
in the face of what it means to be...
not being

...as I came into this world
breach and not breathing
to my mother’s horror!
Alone
Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath

I love life
I LOVE--   life!

Love—
inexpressible, inessential fool of a child

Love ripped apart at the v
old one
anaphylaxis-- to an antibiotic
Storm Cusick Oct 2018
Make a day right, don’t show me the spotlight
Cause I’m not ready to leave on my own
You tear my defences from all round and now I’m left alone
Money, fame, a name something to give yourself
You’re selfish you can’t see what’s happening, people begging for help
I’m no saint I am no god, I’ll do my best and pray for the less - fortunate - i am to be given a chance in this world even though I feel ****** up and it ain’t even gold
I take it day by day tryna live a way to exist in societies demands, I remand in custody every so often getting into crime cause the bills won’t soften
A family to feed, a girl to keep happy, the baby keeps crying, no screaming for someone to change its *****
I don’t know how to live so I shout out the pain, the only time I feel myself is when I’m insane,
Money doesn’t make itself it’s taken by the elite, jobs mean nothing when it’s obsolete
The PM Theresa where’s the evidence, the government is giving us nothing not even a single pence
Our freedom is limited, our lives are decided, it ain’t no wonder most of us end up dead or derived of something we never had, we end up rotten or bad... fruit it’s healthy but it’s taken as a negative connotation everything has its relation
I can’t speak for everyone maybe not even for myself I’m just a loner trying to make it right, cause I’ll never be a home owner I’ll end up on the streets begging for a real life not being able to afford to eat
And that’s the bitter end, it’s bitter sweet, the winter is coming there’s no one left to send to see if I’m okay, I’m never okay I can’t afford to pay for my existence in this life, I end up having to carry a knife and live this way it won’t change, I’m here to stay

There’s nothing we can do to change ourselves to overcome what’s happened amend itself
We shout to the people we think will listen, they gave us a voice but they want to us to keep it hidden
There’s nothing right about the way we are treated, left on streets for dead; bruised and beaten. I can’t describe the emotions inside, they’re in my head I have to abide by the laws that we are restrained by - locked in a virtual prison with no bars but no where to run or hide
Sitting here scrapping a single gram of a sugar pill, whilst the kids from school hit 1 million but I’m standing still.
It’s such a shame our lives are so different I was once you, maybe not so intelligent but I paid my dues, maybe not all of them... I guess I have nothing left to lose
You can’t see my progress because it’s nothing compared to yours - it’s a given. we work to be broken, mental illness to be welcomed - what’s left now is scars to be opened, memories repeated on imaginary screens, voices screaming - bad decisions daunting our every move, buying things we think we need; the commodities aren’t real nothing is - everything’s a virtue, myself too

The rich kids they laugh, they play on the Xbox but their mums cry out for them to stay back and watch - “We don’t want you getting Sqaure eyes, it’s bad luck”, my cries were from the blood and sweat of running from broken homes, never finding the right place to call my own, my kingdom has fallen and yours has grown
They say I’m strong but it’s just cowardice. how can they believe in something that has no bliss, - it is numbers on paper that run our world, consumed by many and overturned by loads. It keeps us warm, it gives us a name - some people die for it, is it really a gain?
We rely on false things to keep us alive, after all without dreams we’re all just bees in a hive.
This is the poem that accepted me onto here so I hope you enjoy :)
I

His tail is cylindrical hailing immaculate twine of dimensional swords and my mind

With tinder and cinder and used dynamite - wily, perplexed - we are cunning, contrite

Silt and asbestos ensnare diaphragms -
duly expressing elite contraband

"Come on man, take my hand," tooling my ribs - reactors are passing for colonist fibs

My funeral follows a prudent position: infinite drama recounted in visions

Muddles reality into insanity - imagine the ways I'm bewitching my vanity

Woke up in feverish pools of deception - recalling this snaking tale of repression

Saddled apocalypse summons the storm - carnival prince and the reptile are born

II

Yesterday, I was saved frozen at sea drowning in confidence - pulsating excellence

Sudafed, opiates, amphetamines - sifting like gold diggers scratching at screens

This fabric has hieroglyphs witches and ornaments barely, she begs us to win sacred tournaments

He reached for her arms as she swam in the pyre, true to the caring that she had inspired

He's standing there drunkenly highly confused, gasping at semblance of what he could do

I don't know - I don't care somebody must
Fleeting ambrosia - burnt naval husk

Honestly, looking back nothing seems real
Surrealist and spooky is all I could feel

Scrapping sweet memory fertile new bones
A concert of cannibals worship this tome:

III

Psoriasis fingertips - silvery hair - eyes so cartoonish, "I can't help but stare".

Drawing strange images into the dirt - ghoulish imposter, "Flames on his shirt".

Crouching in testament - cutting herself - steadfast and jolly, "Infusing with health".

Leaving a trail of blood left in her wake,  as she stumbles and crumbles, "And tumbles in place".

Bastions of light usher scoffing demands - spears made of aloe, "Leave wounds on my hands".

Anxiety begged her to hide in the sheets - praying she'd come to bed, "Thrashing her feet".

Mysterious words from some fiction have bled into parasites,"Parasites play in my head".

"Hold me", she told me, eternally wed under deadly exposure, "More nightshade," she said.

IV

Exquisite demonics implanted inside - articulate, "Just let me hold him", she cried.

Feeble as Latin words - etched down his spine - congregate, estimate, "Counting in rhyme".

We offer up sacraments, sacrifice innocence, whispering terrorists, "Following genesis".

Accordingly heathens with blasphemous hearts, "Whimsical orphans - atropine darts".

I keep you immortalized - captured in song, standing in pentagrams, "Naked as sin".

Dwindling starlight and twinkling frost - honored to share in this, "Paradise lost".

Arc of the covenant, star in the earth - hands held together - they're chanting this verse:

"I love how the world has the need to expire," and, "Look in my eyes as we bask in the fire".

V

Chefs lack the candor of regular pith in this kernel of sorrow we're journeying with

Beating her sternly - he's scaly and ****** - caging her bones under fertilized loam

Estrogen forests are trampled by scythe, sickle and saber, reaping the wife

Frisky in nocturne this sensual bride finds contextual meaning in meaningless rhyme

Standard and righteous - I prance in your skull - are we fated for cancer and ready to fall?

Tumors, abortions and cellophane wombs, consecrate gargoyles - guarding your tomb

Weeding out chilling improvements she sings, "Are the best of us lonely or left without wings?"

"I don't know anything - not anymore". He's begging to stay with her - holding the floor

VI

'Flowery words', she rhetorically mused
Rawest emotion, endangered, refused

Lost and impossibly caught in the heat of the endless embrace of embarrassing need

Hopeful and starry-eyed, pushed to the side, doubted by scornful inclusion and lies

Twisted by jokes, wishes and visions, and tempting tornadoes of desperate decisions

Head in the clouds like the lady deserves, not the tinge of exclusion, repulsion, the nerve

Standing beneath as the waves crash above and the whip grips her knuckles - the crack of the glove

She falls on ground with an earnest composure while hippies and poets all **** on her floor

Promises, bonds and a zone full of friends that all predate her lovers - impaled on the fence

VII

The pair of them rumble in harmonious glee, to wrestle and grumble in palpable need

Tanning distraction this action proceeds under cover of capture the flag as we leave

Beady and auburn, I gaze in your throat as you're speaking in languages nobody knows

Follow you as they do barking at wounds  - howling at insects - gnawing harpoons

Tenacious, relentless and yawning at doors as this screeching is creaking and echoing violently

Mischievous prankster - he sleeps on the floor - god of destruction, you unsullied *****

"Enough," is enough to command that he store all those awfully snide instincts that cause him to roar

"Maybe she just wants frontiers to explore?" In this city of carnivores no one is poor

VIII

The extent to which anyone really should mind is a farcry from anything I would have tried

How do you look at yourself in the mirror? Caring for no one, "Can I please steer?"

Monopolize - colonize - fall to your knees,  derangement of outfits and gloveless disease

"Them," he thought, fraught in sharp needles, "They knit," sought it out seeking some table to sit

Sickened and tarnished, they're grafting his skin, Alice keeps asking him, "Please let me in".

Swift as the sultry ones - swagger for days - aloof and untouchable - "Just go away".

Subtle forgiveness was penciled in rot -abstaining from quicksilver lessons he thought

"Apple shaped targets?" this weird maidens heart is a factory of gears that all grind with a start

IX

Quintessence, purses strings and cardinal demands, weaving his fingers through crucified hands

Fondling smoldering kingdoms of glass - "Sand in my eyesight,"  she sinfully asked

Cathartic - imparting this wisdom upon as the mask on his face does gives way to the pawn

Comforting cripples with zippers for lips all while shards of perfection steal barbershop tips

Companionship - sunken eyes - drown in the lake as the greatness of bodies of water intake

Angry as clamouring mountain folk groan, "Cavernous hillside. Some call it home".

Clamping considerate grips on her wings as they sell her for rubies and loose diamond rings

Foulest intentions from bittersweet ghosts, repenting for eagles with talons for toes

X

Painstaking chimps have their skulls opened up under practical willows with creatine tusks

Tedious dysentery fractures the press of impoverished illusions, "Why aren't you dressed?"

Trapped under flint rock - collapsing in filth - avalanche scoring and soaring from hills

Breathing out fire from chemical lungs, fringed with discomfort - flensing her thumbs  

Hot as fresh crystal - clanging like gongs,
cost of the gambit is mounting to some

"I'm not sure you'd go - if anyone knows," as your icy composure forcloses your glow

I'm content to think that anyone cares - it's a panicked delusion and I wouldn't dare

That's why you wake up just shaking in fear, sleepwalking in public,
the horsemen are near

XI

Waterweight - ******* - no one is home - send up the lizard - "I might as well go".

Jello shots - taking the bus to the tower - sticky and tenuous - eloquence strenuous

Pent up and sent up the labyrinth spire - elevate thusly, cables and wire

Incarcerate me as they douse you in ***,  sloppy and ****** - bloodied with ***

Warned of a fortune so spacial it ****** at the cosmic imprisonment laden and fixed

Misogynist epitomes launder transfixed on a native reserve burning nicotine sticks

Steeping a boiling *** - struggles display - "Are you gonna keep letting him talk?" Go away

Tearing her eyes up with digital pins - asunder they tore me with calico wings

XII

Vainglorious stitches - monogamy dead, shuffle to school without sutures or bread

Starving so beautifully no one is there emptying halls of his putrid despair

Wallow as germophobes glean to react, "I was hoping to bounce as the luster refracts".

Hookworms are evident dazzling tone - shoddy as hues on this luminous phone

Lioness named for the flame of our youth - rather you gargle my pain in vermouth

Flimsy as benzene - it seeps in my ***** - bartering spirits for paper and coin

Seltzer and alcohol, oh how I trust that you'll ****** me right into this shallow new husk

Casket misshapen - diving beneath the surface of every mistake I can see

XIII

There's more darkness in consciousness than you could know - pesticides rest inside nightmarish dreams

Tantamount, visceral -  mountainous screams, "Colossal magnetics start firing beams".

Floating upon rings of onyx and lime - the city was swept under soundwaves of time

The first night I met them, they washed me in light - fifty foot gypsies - lasers in sight

Demonized, ostracized - gaudy as hell -
trampling heavily - rotating noisily

Show boats with no hope to wake up and yell, quoted retraction - lucid reaction

Shadowy faces contorted and towering -  flinching and wincing, cringing and cowering

Flowering stupidly - running away - asking, "Can anyone help us today?"

XIV

Justify heartless precision you take on this rectified burials thirst to replace

Cresting some green fixtures spiraling waste - photonic windmill - sneezing with haste

Alkaline infants are tastefully conned into terrible matrons with hypnotic yawns

Grifting the shoulders our blades rest upon into sorry excuses for stabilized arms

Braced for the chance of a kick in face - "They offered me poppers with lemons in place",

Of some sort of wandering thievery race, gracing the shape of the nails in her face

Abstract absurdist - this faction is severed - luridly campy and hopeful he let's her in

Demonstrates how it all works when you die, "Your body keeps heaving perpetual sighs".

XV

"How would you like to experience death?" The smoke in his broken heart lovingly said

Typing cryptography under his breath - "Shade of a pyramid's awkward," it says

Scabs weld their fools on the tracks to the rails - locks crimson black as they whimper and flail  

Sabotage robots who walk on the ceiling - gibberish, ******* "Roaches are dealing".

Larynx absconded with starlings and doves - swallowing nestlings while fledglings make love

"Time to stop fighting," it bellowed and mourned - spongy testosterone - exercised horns

"Sodomites," - come to me - "Gumption eschews". Hilarious pictures that serenade you

"Unruly, infesting," - bowels of a God - evoking the pantheist's haggard facade

XVI

Catacombs yielded pretentious as mines - lines in the quake of awakening vines

Higher than killers with thrills who conspire to bask in our innocence, "Lakes made of fire".

Needlessly sending for doctors and kings - soldiers of vitreous letters know things

Nobody else could have possibly guessed, sauntering safely into our regrets

Twisting odd verbs in a blunder he spoke, "I wonder when they'll ******* thunder". She wrote:

"No one wants you to fly more than me".
Red as her blood was. Blue like the sea.

Operate casually - amateur alchemist
Practicing chemistry  - new occult balcony

Reaching a point of unparalleled strife -
Precedent slit - heralding the knife

XVII

Allergens checker an angelic frown - grinning to save face - numbing her crown

No one wants you to fly more than I - correcting her grammar... "I'd rather die".

System reset - she said, "Need to expire?" Curling so cowardly, "You're such a liar".

"Philandering suckerpunch," arteries whine - encumbered, sporadic - they plough through my spine

Clinching the gashes that poke in his sides - entryway clutter is littered with pride

"Heuristic Columbus," hypocrisy boons, "Exiling marrow," he passively croons

Fitful hounds - kerosene sheets - "Leave", - fueling the sparks of satanic relief

"Pastor, what have you got up your sleeve?" He actually thought he would get a reprieve

XVIII

Climbing down sideways - expanding deplores,  "dastardly hooligan - hands on the floor!"

"Stout absolution?","Storybook gates?"
"Novacaine icebox?" Hoodlum debates

****** as rangers with rifles and glocks, they're flocking like animals down at the docks

Fifty-six mannequins crouch in a row all while tantric eccentrics converge toe-to-toe

They're bowing in tandem and chanting in sync, "I swear to you mother, it's not what you think".

Ancestral wigs often shed temple spawn,
"Honestly kid, what the hell are on?"

"I don't know anyone higher than you".
Hairdresser puns are a noxious perfume  

Gripping strange stalks of white tight in his claws, "Bring me a lighter", he silently gawks

XIX

Ubiquitous - which is his festering moan, conspicuous stealth in the place of this poem

Tolerate surrogate - lecher bemoans - fostering pestering questions alone

Delegate consciously - losers go home - victory pasteurize hearts made of stone

Revving in dangerous jungles, you know, "I'm confusing the past with a future foretold".

Approved as a commune of toxic cartoons, the queen suffers no more than idle abuse

Deep in the pockets and dunes made screws we are trenched in this utter bereavement of you

Alice in wonderland  - Alice in chains -
Alice likes cannibals, torture and pain

I don't remember if that was her name -  cats in black dresses - are scratching in vain

**

Cross-legged in triangles, shells billow smoke, after everyone's lymphatic system is choked  

Sanctum synthetics - these viral fiends **** - oh how I loathe silken knights laced in cloak

Vitriolic and fatal - she's spiteful and mean - relinquish your insides, "I want you between".

Riding on horseback their sheaths slip behind, hypotenuse daggers have poisoned my mind

Isosceles vertices equal - they feast - growling in lateral scalene it creaks:

"Love all my friends," now the beast has a plan, "Triangulate all the new ravens I can".

Colonic intoxicants signal the fan of the chronic conception of too many hands

Again we're in triangles primed for the farce, exit the scheduled-impressionists art

XXI

Fantastic, predestined - the sickness is seen as the top hats and wizards make scientists gleam

He comments, "we all love you carry my breed to the temple of torment, I offer the seed".

Tally marks scoring with scarabs and ticks which impregnate the fleece of these humanoid tricks

Triangles, Triangles, "Beg me to stay,"
Parasite, Parasite, "Don't go away".

...
compilation
Ottis Blades Dec 2009
Solitude helps me find shelter in pain
the inspiration comes as a form of retaliation
against the incertitudes of the heart
interludes of interwinding moments.
Words only write themselves
if there's suffering to be had;
ageless solitude is immortal
like ghosts of loves past.

Love in the time of cholera
love in the time of aids
uncertain loves in the times I live
I roam the Earth without being part of it
only certain of my own existence
in any given moment, time or place
I live where I don't belong
and yet I don't belong where I live.

Solitude has bonded
with what is left of me
scrapping together the remains of my soul
becoming one with my bones.

Like a mortal disease
and yet its bitterness
taste better than any sweets
I wouldn't trade it for anything that breathes,
anything that touches the Earth
anything that sees the Sun.

My notepad becomes
engulfed with it's aroma
and it's aura escapes through my pores
turning this pen into a sword
stained with my revenge
there is nothing I wouldn't dare to say
if my heart is ravaged with pain
painted with disdain
repossessing my very being
that it wouldn't dare to lose;
Solitude feeds my spirit
better than any muse.

Anything that ever needed
to be said or written
has seen the light of day
Solitude finds a way
to re-arrange the alphabet
when words are scarce,
when nothing comes my way
I will take these scribes
when my flesh only knows darkness
not seen by the sun,
but in one with the Earth.
Megan Hundley Sep 2012
I used to carry two buckets
It was easy, each swing weightless
I filled them with thoughts of the day and put them on the shelf at night
People began to fill them with their favorite things
At first I liked the kick knacks

Bibles, shards of scrapping paper, handicap stickers, elephants and stars, kids menus, empty party bottles, movie reels and a wadded up half finished confession on the back of a napkin.
The weight began to grow

I enjoyed it, the build of muscle, the struggle of hard work. I could feel the sweat on the sides of my forehead and I was proud. These buckets were a sign of success
they were my trophies
and I polished them every night

the sweat began to pour
into my buckets
I hated the sloppy stains left behind, legs bored with the gain
no longer willing to put in the time
my buckets. my little spits of treasure
I wanted to tip them over the bridge like a butcher chucks his slimed waste into the dump

I let things go

Into the river. let the buckets settle into the slush at the bottom of a cool drink.
If I want to hold something, I'll use my hands
and if over my palm all things drop- I'll know I'm only human
Trevor Gates Jan 2014
These storybooks woven with leathery imbrication
Filling my palms with vile indication
Detailing such wickedness and strife
What ethereal threads cling to life?

Such labyrinthine desires scrapping in my mind
My soul from body; that body which isn’t kind
To delve deeper within the wounds that sever
To fellow wolves, demons and toothless beggars

Unholy martyrs preach from a podium underground
Ablaze in hellfire, monsters of the ravenous mound
Black tongues and cheeks full of worms and leeches
Coals flung and burning over deafening speeches

Sumptuous in eloquence, these tossers and man-boys
Evocative displays of violence, hushed by silence and toys
Beseeched, reprimanded in city squares with common folk
Feeding dogs in heat slop with a pail and tote

Children waving hi to people in cages, smiling indifferently
Don’t they know what this is? Yes and no, forever in shame
Don’t they know there be wickedness afoot?
There be shadows of molestation
And whips of industry
Eyes removed and replaced with bar-codes
There be devils amongst the valiant
And dark angels amongst us
The few and proud
Recite aloud:

        “Darkness brings uninvited guests
        And our bodies are bare
        Give us a blessing, a crumb or drop
        Of life that we all can share.”

Veins full of rubies and auburn sapphires
Creepers laced in the cowls of cadavers
Red water thicker than mud and spit
The fatherland sicker than a rotten ****

There be dark angels amongst us, telling tales deep-seated
They be grave and weary, their lives left defeated
Now in the wilderness they give slothful lectures
But it’s only fools who listen to these rambling specters

And soon no one listens
Save for the moon that glistens
Xiomara Hussein Feb 2014
Tiresome he choked
Scuffling on the cold wood floor
Waxed thoroughly, his eyes meets the cracks of another him
An alternate view adjacent and new
Conquering the present with its futuristic view
Wounds appear, slapping, scrapping, and screeching
He doesn’t want this life
It’s not his for the keeping
Gliding across, fingers numb and broken
His tears fall too loudly, rudely outspoken
Another him gleaming and cunning
Wraps his wrist with grips unreal
Forcefully pulled, head first into another him
Unwillingly christened, knees bandaged and bruised
New, He stands up tall, forgetfully leaves behind
The now scuffed, raw *****, cold, wood floor
Jay Jimenez Dec 2010
skater kids doing flip tricks
motion of a jelly fish
they glide
they move faster then space and time
in thier minds
there rulers of this city
and how they make it look so pretty
they tremble with excitment
carvin there names into history
twish twish the sound of there shoe laces rubbin the pavement
they roll front and center
spray paint cans in hand
tag there names across the land
bandanas cover there faces
they leap the staircases
they are merely a imagination
swoop in grab a few cases
drink while they ride
taking pictures of the night sky
with no camera
but plenty of eyes
oh how they move
the wind carries them in a silent groove
how do we understand this nature
of kids kicking and pushing into a future
full of trial and error
they have there own flavor
a taste of danger
aromas of marijuana lingure
in the crisp air
the wind flows through thier hair
they have not one care
they have there own melody
metal clinking
wheels scrapping
car horns screaming
as they come flying into traffic
because that gap could've been tragic
when they land it
they know that it was some kid of magic
they kick on pushing
wheels creaking like floor boards in the attic
tired they ride till the sun brings its shine
when all there wonders can be seen by any traveling eye
suggestions welcomed
Someone left a black leather briefcase
at the bus station sometime earlier this week.
They called in a bomb squad
from over in Springfield
after the thing sat there for hours
emitting an aura of chilled sweat;
it took them just as long to get their
from what I've been hearing.
They blew the thing up.
Right there in the bus station,
they blew that ****** briefcase
to Hell and back after an X-ray
found wires and a circuitry board.
This is not a big city,
it's not a small town either,
but here we have a place
that I arrive at twice daily
getting pseudo-bombed
and I can hardly scrape up
the dollar for bus fare at times.
A warehouse over on Jasper street
caught on fire a few days later;
an inferno in close quarters,
so they knocked the old Bess over
so the flames didn't spread.
There is still a giant pile of rubble
at the site; bricks with masonry companies
imprint on the sides, rusty bars that were either
too heavy, or too stuck for scrapping fiends,
and a hell of a lot of odorous char.  
This is a winter of fire in Decatur,
but the bones still chill.

The starter is going out
in the 91' Cutlass
that sits in my driveway
braving the winds.
I can hear that grinding noise;
the expensive one.
The one that says,
"Your savings is low!"
every time you think
you're going to have
a stable ride to work.
The bus is reliable,
the route is what will drive
a sane man off the edge.
You start to get sick
of seeing the same ****** places,
the same ****** turns,
the same ****** bumps, and
the same ****** passengers.
Plus, the radio makes Monday
just a little more tolerable
when you get the option
of stopping for breakfast.
I like that car.

Friday seems like a back brace right now,
and I've had just enough caffeine
to where I don't think I can stand a nap.
I'm just glad to have my shoes off, and
the reassuring calm of an uncashed check.
I'm starving.
Mark Lecuona Feb 2012
I saw her on the side of the road
Her thumb was scrapping the sky
I couldn't believe what I was seeing
She was standing where love goes to die

I asked, "Where you headed hon?"
She just smiled and climbed on in
I put my love life back into gear
But she was just lookin' for sin

"This is as far as my heart will go"
She made it clear to me
"I just like the honeymoon
And that's all it's gonna be"

She was ready to double-down on love
Even though she had no idea what came next
It didn't matter if she won or lost
Her heart was used to writing that check

I was maybe just the next ace
But gambling was her life
She just liked the excitment
She didn't care if she became my wife

This is as far as her heart will go
She made it clear to me
She just likes honeymoons
A beauty queen won't settle down for free

For a moment I thought I saw it
She was telling me she's been hurt before
Just when I thought she might settle down
She started looking at the door

This is as far as her heart will go
Just to the next stop
She'll ride with you for a while
But soon you'll be alone on that blacktop
Some more country lyrics....
Skye Marshmallow Jan 2018
We swim only in shallow waters
Breakable limbs scrapping the surface
Of the thousand mile deep oceans
The bottom layers are wordless
You never cared enough to explore

Sunlight shines so scarely
Only illuminating what we want to see
Somehow we keep up it's illusion
It's all we've ever tried to believe
You never dared enough to explore

Waves roll over the turquoise surface
Their familiar motion puts a mind at ease
Big ones crash down, calm is disturbed
This is when we choose to leave
You never loved enough to endure.
Mystery.
gd Aug 2014
Sometimes I feel like I'm the worst type of pessimist.
At heart I'm an optimist, looking past the highest mountains,
trying to reach the sky with the tips of my fingers and
catch the clouds at the base of my palms.

However, in head,
I'm the biggest pessimist
finding the dark spots on the sunniest days,
herding death between the cracks in the concrete.

And the head is like the heart's big sister,
telling her to take a step back and make sure of her actions,
bossing her around, burning out her spark,
leaving the dead of the night with nothing but doubt.

But you've got my lips coated in sugar and
my intentions wrapped in flames.
You've got my heart scrapping its knees and
my head spinning

Because who would've thought
it'd finally meet its match,
unable to hold something down
with two hands and keep it in place.

But both of them are undoubtedly worried,
darling.
They're running for the hills and
finding a place to set camp where you'd never find.

Empty handed and confused, they're still searching and
the only thing going through their thoughts remains to be

"there's still time to run
          there's still time to run
                  there's still time
                            just move your feet,
                                       don't look back
                                                 and run
                                                         as fast as you can."


gd
{you're making my stomach twist into butterfly knots, and it's oh so bittersweet}
Lei Hopwood Sep 2014
Get my point across
after all this is my loss
your in control you are my boss

I'm always here for you
but you are absent
can't arrange myself to fit around my
missing fragment

On giant eagles I did soar
burning I hit the floor
wild passions on charging boar
scrapping egos a filthy cure
after everything you want more

I gave my all
before the fall
on faithless call
locked behind your wall

Planets align
and your not mine
never again will we entwine
journey back a steep incline
soon here after I will be fine

I will be fine
fine

lying
You feel like there is an empty void inside you,
And every night you get depressed without a clue...

You start to lose track of time,
You feel a guilt but dont know your crime...

You'll sleep alot to escape the lies,
Still you'll find yourself always tired...

They'll ask you if you are okay,
You'll say "I'm fine" like you always say.

But deep down you know there is something wrong,
Life has no meaning and you are scrapping along...

All your emotions slowly fall apart,
Until you can only hear the beating of your heart...
And there is no blood shed just ice shards,
On the floor Splintering apart...

At that time I want you to know,
Live your life with a flow

I wont tell you that you are wrong,
Because we all have been there somewhere along...

Dont lose yourself in your fake smiles,
I'm able to notice those empty lies...

And when you want to let it all out,
Get up and call me out...

So we will stop time from dusk till dawn,
And I will be a shoulder for you to cry on...
Hurting yourself isn't the solution
Look around yourself you'll always find someone by your side...
Someone who can share your burdens
Someone who can wipe your tears
Someone who can put a smile on your face
Someone who can sit beside you in the dark
Someone who can light up your world
Someone who can make you whole again...
Kaya Jul 2020
I might seem a bit mystic but I’m good at heart

A small garden rakes over my eyes and a head digging in and scrapping away

She says,

My heart is like a cleft pomegranate
Bleeding crimson red,
And dripping every seed on the ground
It’s ripe and over-full,

My dissatisfied heart,
My heart it is more human than I,
More than life itself

Often
My heart cries but my eyes are dry,


And behold my friend
This is what I call my brief tragedy of flesh
Tragedy of life

My very demise

— The End —