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Megan Hundley Jul 2012
I began to notice the
Fade.
Blotched ink, frayed seams
yet those who can't see
can't care

It was most familiar to a weary box
Which spent weekdays and nights
Traveling
To warm faces and comfort Sundays

I struggled when the
torch of permanent portions was passed to
me. Each word felt unworthy and full of
stain
I always strived for
realism

I used to clutch the cloth
carefully folding and unfolding
fearing the sendoff, knowing the return
would become rare
If at all.
it was a pricked finger and
remembrance

It was right to hideaway
At the time
I crumbled under the stage lights
The audience was expecting
More
All I could provide was
Myself

And like a spoiled child
I still pout
Demanding fame under my demanded
Street Lamps

Faded
Donated

What is, is

But. I do remember. Even if you figure the pants don't fit
Jay Oct 2016
i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
afraid to peep inside
of who it might be
staring back
into my hazel eyes
could my innocent youth be harsh-fully swept away
if it was my mother whose eyes id have to face?

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
where my ears start to ring with echoes of heavy sobs that soon shred into weeps
whose funeral might this be?
was it possible that my late night bawling to god, to place that husband of hers under the rug, had finally been done?

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
when my mind immediately hits the ***
might this be the ceremony
to sendoff ,the person with whom i shared my soul?
might the bag of deceased bones
belong to the person
death was too afraid to take,
because of the ecstasy we both did generate?
would this ceremony actually be, my worst nightmare to come true?  

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
i am suddenly held hostage inside my own brain, forced to see all the nights id been swept away,
under the wings of insomnia
where id been dipped into a deception
making the sky seem like perfect company, in a romantic way
and the moon my dearest friend, in the best of ways

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
im fed up of being at this ceremony
i now want to leave
the place however
starts to fill with mobs
and never ending sobs
i see my parents greeting guests
and i see my best friend trying hardest to not break
for gods sake whose loss is being grieved in this hollow place
i stumble as i walk upon the open grave
filled with angry puzzles to piece
tears of all these eyes are by now enough, to create an ocean inside this place
an ocean however that i can not cleanse myself in to be saved

i am standing beside a hole where my soulless body lays
and soon i start to realize
ive been a tourist in my own grave
matt bates Oct 2013
Imagine,
A slippery, charcoal, behemoth of a rock

Lying dormant, as if sleeping, 

Under the comfort of a seabed. 
Waves are crashing onto

The shoreline,

Rippling across the weightless,

Unblemished sand

As though it were hair

Gently being pushed across your face

The almost unnoticeable,
Yet constant breeze

Of the in and outs of your breath

Are the only constant left.

Small indents,

The size of dimples

Are the only remains visible

A last and final reminiscent memory

Of the grace that was once there.

An almost tranquil sendoff

As the water gets pulled back into the expanse

An expanse as deep and as beautiful

As the locks of your hair.
Unconscious thoughts dart through my mind

As quickly as the most nervous fish

Conjuring pictures and images

As vivid as Van Gogh’s

Streaked with lost and quickly forgotten words

Like a smoothed out seashell

Pulled under and out into the sea

To a place more wondrous than the eye will ever see 

The shells float away,

Making one last attempt to stay above the water’s surface

To stay conscious.

But the smell of the air,

Mixed with the comfort of the water

Coaxes it back

Like a siren’s song.

Under those waves,

Beautiful waves,

The same everlasting and flowing haven I have fallen into
,
The endless,
unexplored, untouched,

Flawless shelter of your locks.

The ones that gently touch against my sand-colored skin

Lulling me and inviting me to drift away,

Away, back into the expanse of a dreamland

One almost as endless

As the ocean of us.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
as promised, a tip for and to nolly



•<>•

“Everybody is identical in their secret unspoken belief that way deep down they are different from everyone else.”
David Foster Wallace

•<>•

it is as if I've been stripped bare and their is no air or
barrel handy,
bankrupted by exposure of my less-than-clean ***** secret,
scrapped from under my tongue, my genuine creativity,
it is no different than yours or hers or anybody else, but

"
I need to believe," he screeches, "say it ain't so!"

time again to tally up the wins and losses,
check the standings, the numerical columns,
nope, wasn't selected to be MVP or even loved by the
algorithmic ridiculous secret sauce
"poem of the day" blah blah blah

bottom line: "You’re Pretty Normal"

comfort or consternation, exhalations of relief,
or just another nail in the shutting of
your depression coffin calculation

this no longer unspoken arrogance undressed
brings me to a quiet place,
where you are welcome to sit beside,
this puzzle together, nuzzled,
perhaps more soluble

they don't make Advil for the mind,
so read the good ones,
and be reminded of this

your published spoken courageous poetry need satisfy
only you, and no one more

in there lies the rub, the vive la difference, we identically different,
no longer a secret,
every poem is the difference you make

August 2017
in the sunroom,
Shelter Island
<•>

BONUS POEM!!!

Nolly's Haiku #17/#70

with good knowing that
distress and forethought,
are its mother and father
that this poetic output but a derivative
of your unique self,
see,
maybe, you be
maybe
just wise enough

to curse the birth of poem at age seventeen

but just wait Nolly,
till you are seven tens, and poetry's folly,
make you even more practiced in cursing,
still asking, why
and getting the sendoff, kiss off,
of the one true answer,
nobody knows
so scribble a life time when you start at 17
and when the ripe and wizened answers in your old age
have yet to arrive

then you can call yourself an accursed
wizened but wise'ed old poet
SY: who more than anyone loves my poetry, so much so, he aint afraid
to kick my **** (hope u stumble on this) and reminds me ;that
greatness is
yours for  the taking and good enough is oft, ;pretty great too
Babu kandula Apr 2012
ప్రకాశం  లో  sri prakash మల్లే  
ప్రశాంతమైన   వాతావరణం లోనే  
ప్రదీపాల్లా  వెలిగామే.
నాలుగు  వర్షాలు  వనవాసాలే  
నలు  వైపులా  పుర్తయ్యాయే  
నవ  లోకానికే  ఇది  శ్రీకారమే .
మాటలు  వేరైనా. . .ప్రాంతాలు  వేరైనా. . .అలవాట్లు  వేరైనా. . .  
విహంగాలుగా   విహరించామే   ఇన్నాళ్ళు  ఈ  చోటా . .
తర  తరాలా  కదల  మళ్లీ  ముందుకే  వచ్చింది  రా  
వీడ్కోలు   అంటూ  walkout చేయాలే . .
అనుభవాలనే  పంచేస్తూ  జ్ఞానాన్నే  అందించిన  పండితులనుంచి  sendoff­ తీసుకోవాలా. .
పూర్తైన  పాఠం  లా  చివరాకరికే  వచ్చేసాము  
labs అంటూ  తిరిగమే  project అంటూ  వెలుతున్నామే  . .
కలిసుండే  కలం  అంతా  కరిగిపోయింది  
కష్టం  ఉన్నా  సరే  ఇష్టం  గా  స్వికరించాలే .
I am missing my college
SRI PRAKASH COLLEGE OF ENGINEERING
missing my college a lot
Neon Robinson Nov 2016
We have all lived these lies before.
But fortunately for you
The ungodly mystics
Have come to blur the logistics.

~Jamais vu reducing you to presque vu~
Normal adults with abnormal hearts
Bodley sensations
Perceived as memories.
Is this all consciousness seems to be?

Accept it
& venture on.
Nature lover wildflower

I am mine.
Before I am anyone else's.

Sendoff the catharsis of psychopomps
Abandon ship
Engage in privet talks with Psychonautes
Denounce the war in my mind
Between who I am and want to be.
For it’s a privlige to be a kaleidoscope
Forever changing color
Ambitious zeal
Misguided hope
Artistic creation
Misanthrope

Elegance in a nonfigurative sense,
Perceptual flashes of internal concepts
Decomposition on the Hawaiian Island
Lose of whits somewhere past the horizon.
Island fever.
jamais vu -  "never seen", involves a sense of eeriness and the observer's impression of seeing the situation for the first time, despite rationally knowing that he or she has been in the situation before.

Presque vu - is the tip of the tongue phenomenon, in which you know that you know something, but can't quite recall it.

Psychopomps - are creatures, spirits, angels, or deities in many religions whose responsibility is to escort newly deceased souls from Earth to the afterlife.
HearseTraffic Sep 2019
Clinging to the edges
of a moving platform
that just refuses
a desperate diplomacy
Losing a grip I may have never once had

Retracing my steps
into familiar footpaths.
I'm constantly letting go
and always holding on.
Maintaining affection through the graze of rope.

Stepping onto my stage
of curtain call acceptance,
A grand finale,
a bittersweet sendoff.
Trepidation by the kick of a stool.

Salvation at the forfeiture of stability.

Gravity my only influence,
the one in which I'll always believe.
Written in September of 2019
Cy Aug 2017
This feeling that I always get
A feeling of nausea
And a feeling of regret

Sentiments of which falter within
Inside the thoughts of the weary
Pining for your love and for no one to break in

Alas, 'twas a drastic moment
Meeting you indubiously
Unsought to be yours at that hour, 'till this minute

A sendoff is what our fates should entail
With no loving memories to cling on to
Free of worries, and clear thoughts that prevail
Kiprotich vinny Nov 2017
The Oracle of change is roaring,
A new page is opening
Indeed I am in war with myself
Fighting my instincts to pave way
A shift in life and perhaps lifestyle
Call it night shift.

Love of oneself is paramount
Can't paralyzed myself loving  a "nun"
Who knows I am not a "saint "
My heart belongs to the peasants world
Love those who love you is my rule,
Hate not those who despise you  but do not give your soul to be heartbroken,

When our creator comes for us,
For truth be told eschatology is here,
When we depart our spouses and children should give us a  decent  sendoff,
If only we had a perfect combination,
Search a perfect route,
The journey is not  easy but  I will get there.....

— The End —