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These streets
are home to countless rodents
emerging but for a moment
to feed
or breed
or just to breathe the sun

One by one lining up
for the chance to
make something
out of nothing

Who are they and
where do they go
while the city refuses to

Doors to endless lands
line the avenue
each its own portal to the

A family of four
with the little yapping mutt
or a lonely cat lady
whose entryway wreaks of *****,
a drug dealer
door slamming
every hour on the hour
or an empty snowbird's nest

On the surface
everyone pretends
they don't have a hole to
crawl back to
or walls that know
every secret

But below the sewer grate
a world filled with
the stench
of what could have been a
good day

Many a barkeep can
shed some life
on these drunkards'
rat king
or at least a story of those who
made it out

Once or twice it'd be grand
to see the bottom of a martini glass
left with a sip or two
instead of the casually tipped
lipstick-clad cocktail,
drained of doubt and despair
until morning warms the
frozen dreams
of those retired to
a paradise unknown
New York City streets
Nylee Nov 2018
It is seasonal
limited time period
Your smile, his frown
My car, her scar
A small episode by far.

Tiny twinkles
Cloudy atmosphere
Pull push
Open and close the door
Then sit on the floor.

And rest
Blooming rose
And the bleeding thorns
Leaving the pieces torn.

All it begins
And ends
We live and die
Nothing remains
No entertainment.

Replaced fractions
Divided notions
Agreed and discarded
Lies filled in truth
Because life gives no proof.

Ten steps, eleven jumps
Crawling there
After a huge fall
In between few moments
A sad sentiment.

A vacant headspace
It came and went away
Nothing stays
Good bad ****
All too early
A thought left

Rough days
Cold nights
replaces warmth
tight shoulders
Stiff movements
Aching muscles.

The bitter taste
Sweetened in spring
And the autumn leaves
Winter is coming
The ages pass
Just like that
The uniVerse Oct 2018
Her name was autumn
her hair a colour auburn
like a fallen leaf
drifting on the breeze
spiraling spiraling
out of control
a free spirit
with a wild soul
for she had no master
a limitless beauty
all I heard was her laughter
as she danced for me.
Marci Mareburger Feb 2015

Caught in the storm of the century, metaphorically speaking.
james m nordlund Nov 2018
Earthen formed, as clay, my bodhi,

Deeba, with inner wick always lite,

Oli, light of thee light, sits.
Belated Good Diwali, Deepavalli, Deeba Oli to All   :)   reality
Pagan Paul Dec 2018
Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat
and is getting strange looks from the family cat,
cleaning its claws and making them sharper,
if I were the goose then I would scarper.

Pagan Paul (24/12/18)
Just something silly for xmas eve.
Winter is a fraud to me
I had no right to love her
Yet when we come together she incites me
As a child she kissed my frost nipped cheeks
Made igloo tears and iced up fuzzes

Then I caught sight of her with make up on her cheeks
She warmed me through and was awe-inspiring
Unbreakable and reassuring like an old friend
We said our farewell for this day  

It seemed as though time scampered away
She distressed me we had a quick chatter then we where on our way

Chilled to my marrow she stayed in the air
Becoming senseless at great lengths  
Beginning to distort my state of mind
I'm brain sick
The sun never seems to shine
Any suggestions it seems undone to me.
John Niederbuhl Sep 2017
The leaves had fallen in the grove,
Red, pale yellow, copper and mauve;
I raked them up in a heaping pile,
Then leaned upon the rake a while
To contemplate my work--
Joy and sorrow, pleasure and strife--
A pile of leaves, the days of my life.

I thought I might not last 'til spring:
If only I could sleep the season
Curled up like a leaf;
When the snow had melted down
I'd come back like a flower,
Bright and joyous, ready to live,
Fresh and new again.  

But now was the time to face the months
That buried things under the snow.
In February just a little ****
Was all you'd see on the floor of the grove:
The leaves would be resting there
While I struggled in the biting air
And snowflakes stung the skin left bare.

But the winter I survived
To find the wild flowers that bloom
Under hardwoods not yet green.
I've had  another spring to roam,
Watched the leaves turn green again
And written down this poem.
That time of year
lucav Sep 2018
Dear diary,
god do you have any pity for that of the sinner?
For I know how small my existence is and it hurts me lord.
All I wish is to be free from the isolation of my mind.
Diary,is it wrong to wish that those who hate me to have enough power to destroy me?
Truly I do wish for my demons inside to be defeated but unfortunately god I seem to have become them.
Diary,can I truthfully be stopped from throwing my life away?

The physical and mental burdens I carry,will they finally **** me?
Surely im not overthinking my pain,rather underselling it?
I crave for my body to be torn to shreds,made into a completely new being,one worth no mans lips uttering the name of.
Am I worth such desolate power?
Is it evil to wish to be alone,is it evil to wish for others to feel the same as me?
Is it wrong to hate this flesh I live in?
My greatest fantasy is to be in the comradery of death.
Diary,am I becoming the devil?
Or do I rather shadow the agony of hell I seek to bring.
this was a bizarre speech i wrote a long time ago that i turned into a poem
WNDL Jul 2
You are the seasons of weather
You were sunny where the sun is bright
You were winter where the fields are white
You were fall where the leaves fall

I know something is missing and it's because I was the spring
Jamie Oct 2018
Hello, world
It's me again
And I know I'm pretty insignificant
But I'm feeling numb again

And I was wondering if you could
Just stop spinning so fast
Because a girl has to catch her breath

The seas are crashing
My head is exploding
The grass is still growing

But my fingertips are cold
I feel absolutely nothing
Alyssa Underwood Feb 2016
I'm kin to the caterpillar
hidden within seasonal sac
awaiting destined identity
tucked tightly into darkness
this secret, inscrutable place

Does it know it will become
a delicate creature of beauty?
Does it know it will soon fly?

I wonder...

do I?
MarieAnna Jun 17
Hand in hand you lead me down your path,
Floral vintage dress flowing
Loose curls falling
Average beauty
Unique features
Not high maintenance
Quirky aura
Well rounded
Summer breeze
Scented daisies lining

Lets start the start of this cliche excuse of as story.

Boy meets girl
Mediocre everything, life and story.

Quoting the likes Shakespeare to you philosophically
Whilst listening to some obscure tune.
That leads you to secretly tap into nostalgic themes of your childhood.

In the midst of this you talk about, your lacklustre life, the same friends you've had since school and your mother.

My name doesn't matter,
Wherever we go, I am yours.
Trust me...this story is yours every question I am asked is about you.
Or if it is about me I say something kindly in your favour.
Everything that people know will be through your perception.
Not solid blocks of information.

Thus I refrain from talking too much.
I am just the ethereal dream...

Your hand tightens mine for reassurance
That we both will be led to the "real you"
Gambling every strand of integrity left
They all sense a change in your demeanour
By the end of our "love story"
An epiphany will conclude the chapter between us..
Vanish, I go.

However, I don't want to be just that girl,
Although you are just a boy.
Yearning to become just another man
Yearning to accomplish your dreams,

I am the one whose sole purpose is, is to just encourage you to take that leap.
I float around waiting for you to do so.

Into the unknown abyss we walk

Dark chapters of your life come reeling...
You drown in feeling
Your friends begin to question my influence
Your mother says I'm impulsive
Your mundane job becomes a burden
In the box you pencilled yourself in
Alone you erase the walls
Part of me clears away as you are almost there..

This story is nearly complete


Past angst causes you to collapse
In my clasp you keep walking
Further breaking down the walls you built
Since my lack of presence is "getting under your skin"

I give you innovative ways to begin the art of living
Which doesn't include me anymore, dear.
It’s a fear of mine
Always has been
Since you’ve known me anyway
The very idea of
Being there
Being there… For what?

I laugh hatefully at your lack of comprehension and your surplus of *******

I shiver at the thought of such reality
Being there for you,
Around you,
Near you.
Underneath your breath to kiss you
Dominate my current existence by word, mouth and word of mouth
Or what’s left of it really
In other words, How am I supposed to complete you?
When you’re perpetually at a loss
How a string of pearls adds the final touch.

Or the icing on the cake.
Cherry on top.
Broken promises and placentas
Too much? Not enough
Welcome to my world
I am the girlfriend tightly held by the waist.
I am the spouse with tears streaming for everything
Everything that’s you
Nowadays I’m the widow who never knew the meaning to ‘80s love ballads

And that can’t do for an 80-something shrew
Temporary fragments,
I hope will wither away after a lifetime
Your cheap catchphrases pay me no mind
This may be why I never found you?
I love you

Or maybe I loved the fear of you
As you loved the idea of me..
Co-write daniel archila
shaun Dec 2018
my cards are on the table
don’t call my bluff, i’m already baring all
no tease
i want you to know -

my stomach drops along with the temperature
the weight of winter is unbearable
my heart hurts now yours cannot
i feel for you
i care like you

i have lived, felt, experienced
i don’t wish to hurt
Any More

help me feel bliss
the wind through my hair
a snowflake on my tongue
not a dagger through my heart
or another hit at the happiness i have
another left; another lost

if not on my sleeve
where would i wear my heart
messy and needs refining but I am tired and worn and things are hard and scary and I just want to feel okay
Wk kortas Jul 2018
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the *******-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
f Sep 2018
i need you to understand that you didn’t make sense when you went from loving me, to hurting me, to wanting me; to be your firsts, to be yours, to forgetting i was ever that.

all in the span of a short-lived friendship. how am i supposed to wrap my mind around anything? around how distant you are now, and how nothing will make you want me?

how am i not supposed to reminisce, when everything that has happened was only a month ago? or two weeks ago, when you told me i was beautiful, and don’t you ever forget that, or when you spent a whole summer in europe texting me?

talking to me about the most mundane things, those are the conversations etched in my memory; those are the conversations i still don’t want to look at, because that is a low point i can’t ever reach.

you spent a whole summer in europe telling me you wish you could see me and saying the nicest things to me. i spent a summer rooted in my spot, waiting for you to see me, waiting to see you beautiful as always, but happy, nonetheless, that i got to talk to this sweet summer boy.

you talked to me like i was your girlfriend; don’t ever tell me that there wasn’t a point where we were almost that, because i thought: this is what good love must feel like, that comes easy and doesn’t destroy you.

then you did.

the easy answer is you’re just as broken as i am, and just as confused. that could also explain the girl who has swiftly replaced me.

but please be mindful of the hole you left in my life, because you were my good mornings, and goodnights, and afternoons when we weren’t too busy, and on the forefront of my mind when we were.

this is a bandaid ripped way too fast, and i still can’t reconcile the person i fell in love with over the summer, and the boy who won’t even look at me; the cold boy who has it in him to do awful things to me. you are not the same person, but even that doesn’t make it easy to fall out of love.

i am in love with someone who doesn’t exist except in my memories and texts. and if sweet, summer you isn't dead, i need you to never love me again because each time you stop i am left with even less. i'm starting to read again, and smile on days on which we don't talk, and getting here wasn’t easy; so i need us both to stop.
I can bring you flowers in the Spring time
I can wrap you in the Winter
If you hold my hand in Autumn
we can fall together in the leaves
In the Summer you can navigate me
like a boat upon the sea

I’m just your seasonal me
I’m just your seasonal me

We can change together
In all the colors that may be
To a cool powdery dust
that leaves us blowin free
At humid dusk
We can smell the purple fragrant musk

I’m just your seasonal me
I’m just your seasonal me

In the starry dark sky
we can connect the dots and wonder why
As the sun floats her golden light
We can savor the birds that take their flight

I’m just your seasonal me
I’m just your seasonal me

Copyright © Marigold’s Fever 2019
jee Nov 4
she lies in the curve of the crescent moon,
breathing blue mist,
drunk from the falling summer sunlight.

her gaze is lidded and waxing.

her voice is a thousand crackling leaves,
all landing at once;
embers from a time-worn firework.

she tugs at the rope around the harvest
and drags him from the sun-baked soil;
his struggles shake apples from their trees.

the orange dawn light is hazy,
peeking through the ghosts
lingering on the horizon.

and all at once, the world falls into autumn’s grasp.
you may see her, winking at you through the equinox
Josh G Oct 2018
Can you hear the trees sing
In this October breeze?
Can you see the dance
Of the wooden giants
In their dance hall glade?
Come lay witness to
The shedding of the leaves
Under this blanket
Of overcast skies
Been awhile since I last wrote. I had a picture to go with this poem. I was at work walking through an area I maintain looking for fallen or dead trees to cut down when I noticed a leaf that perfectly looked like a heart.
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