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L B Jul 2017
Could the sun be
    just
    a hole up there—
    that if I could leap
    would enter that breach of light

Someone!
   Throw me a line!
   Give me a reason
   There’s never enough
   in this life of breathing!

Someone!
   Explain why dreams roll a soul
   toward the cliffs of day
   Wakes to ache
   then stuffs its mouth
   with necessary same
  
Inhale—
   button shirt—brush hair
Exhale—
   necessary glance in the mirror
   (yes, still there)    

A lifetime!
   in a shallow instant’s stiff clear water
   (Yeah— still there)  
   in endless caverns of tired eyes
   above mouth still trying
   to say SOMETHING!  
   from ever smaller eternities
   in the glass-flat empty....

Please! Someone explain!
   this draw of breath
   one forcing itself upon another's
   life
   of beating —
   Violence in my chest!

Why hearts don’t sleep—

and I wind up watching
again and again—till
I am the ******...

...Morning lies
   in the mists of a humid *****
   who moans and sweats
   and boils her hips—
   and I wind up watching!?

“Will someone please…!"

   ...and I wind up watching
   bedspread, bed sore, death bed
   till you’re breathing easy
   when she sits and picks
   her collapsed bouffant
   damning the makeup
   that got crushed in the sheets

…Morning
Lies--

   with no expectancy
   both tired of knowing...

   ...The Devil lost his balance
   in my presence one night


...tired of knowing—

THE WILL!  
THAT WILL!

  ...walk away
   or continue to play

   I could open this screen!
   watch the world STEP BACK!
                                 SLAP FLAT!
   as trees and dwellings flush like quail
   to prop their tottering panic
   against the blue—

You—assume composure...
   compose assumptions
   Await my next—

Move like a spy
1990
Why I don’t play chess or any other game
for that matter.    
    
“...and when you're really out there
the windows all have opened onto nothing...
Death having long since-- left the scene.
When you get really out there
it's all--
and nothing…”
L B Jul 2018
Can I tell you how seriously I take this poem!
_
Could the sun be
    just
    a hole up there—
    that if I could leap
    would enter that breach of light

Someone!
   Throw me a line!
   Give me a reason
   There’s never enough
   in this life of breathing!

Someone!
   Explain why dreams roll a soul
   toward the cliffs of day
   Wakes to ache
   then stuffs its mouth
   with necessary same
  
Inhale—
   button shirt—brush hair
Exhale—
   necessary glance in the mirror
   (yes, still there)    

A lifetime!
   in a shallow instant’s stiff clear water
   (Yeah— still there)  
   in endless caverns of tired eyes
   above mouth still trying
   to say SOMETHING!  
   from ever smaller eternities
   in the glass-flat empty....

Please! Someone explain!
   this draw of breath
   one forcing itself upon another's
   life
   of beating —
   Violence in my chest!

Why hearts don’t sleep—

and I wind up watching
again and again—till
I am the ******...

...Morning lies
   in the mists of a humid *****
   who moans and sweats
   and boils her hips—
   and I wind up watching!?

“Will someone please…!"

   ...and I wind up watching
   bedspread, bed sore, death bed
   till you’re breathing easy
   when she sits and picks
   her collapsed bouffant
   damning the makeup
   that got crushed in the sheets

…Morning
Lies--

   with no expectancy
   both tired of knowing...

   ...The Devil lost his balance
   in my presence one night


...tired of knowing—

THE WILL!  
THAT WILL!

  ...walk away
   or continue to play

   I could open this screen!
   watch the world STEP BACK!
                                 SLAP FLAT!
   as trees and dwellings flush like quail
   to prop their tottering panic
   against the blue—

You—assume composure...
   compose assumptions
   Await my next—

Move like a spy


1990


Take careful note:  

Why I don’t play chess or any other game
for that matter.
    
    
“...and when you're really out there
the windows all have opened onto nothing...
Death having long since-- left the scene.
When you get really out there
it's all--
and nothing…”
Monika Layke May 31
Isolated,

d e e p  in  s p a c e,

Scrawling swim Strokes

To the inner core.

Spillways,

breach the shallows.

Surface flood

Appearances

Kept up;

below the basins

d

r

i

p.
With this pen, I paint an image of you.
Not a portrait, but a true portrayal of you.
The ink flows into words that dance across your hair.
The end of each sentence marking a cross that you bear.

A painting would be suitable for some.
With beautiful colors, cascading down on you from above.
But, those colors mearly hide the truth behind your smile.
With the right shade of light and a light smear, it becomes a cosmetic fix for a while.

My words flow through every crack and fill every shadow.
They bring all light to the surface, for the reader to see within the shallows.

The image of you that I create can be vivid and great.
But with this pen, my words can also design your fate.

You see the truth here is that my words hold all truth.
They leave no place for lies to hide, with each word holding proof.

In the readers eyes, my words are you…
With this pen, I can create you…
With this pen, I can finish you...

- Brandon K. Stephenson
The underestimated writer and the power within his pen.
L B Jul 2018
Writing,
for you
--is a river
a revelation
a sleepless constant gift-- so out-to-see
in a flimsy boat
you built by mathematic rote and laced with ivy
to hold together ******* boards of crazy
with the ease of breathing
Your giant storehouse
wealth-of-words
Your granary of data
the grist of
Music
You imagine wine
from mind
almost without limits
You command it all!
Dancing
in the grapes of moonlight
with tides of words
Their endless-- almost blind
come-ons and gone
in waves!

(my sullen heart)....
still stays

I am digging here
in a low spot
seeking water
with robins and a sparrow
in the puddles
Awaiting rain
Flipping-off the muddy shallows with our wings
I suppose their songs
will count for something
Tasting happenstance
of bugs in flight
maybe catch a firefly or two
at the edge of day
Tearing half a worm
from weeds...the brown of drying grass
near the small lagoon
collecting
'neath my car
Hiding
in an afternoon
too warm for flight
resorting to a place of shade
to smell the fresh-mown
sweet grass

Riding with my training-wheels
in the parade
Like a fool between those bikers' “Hogs”
Turning down my street
by mistake
laughing at the dead-end
of it all

Pulling poetry out my ***
_
This was not meant to make fun of you.
I so admire your writing (you know who).
I appreciate all you do for us, poets here.  
It was only meant to contrast
all our differences, and point out that anything can be
a poem, given a moment of insight and time.
This one took a morning into afternoon.


Items for a high school test:

1. Compare and contrast the two poets in this.

2. Find and explain two allusions/metonymies in this piece.
WL Schuett Mar 2018
The stars try to shine
Down through indifferent clouds.
Her tears mix with rain
and water her path
defining the moments
Of forever.
Love is the fiercest part
of her being.
Though she struggles to
find it’s authenticity
Hiding her codes
behind barbwire and thorns.
Her hands are bloodstained
in the hours of time.
She is mysterious
With many latitudes
Calling from a different
Kind of universe.
Yet she walks that path of stones
Believing she is a different
Person than the one she leaves
on the trail .

Walking away from that
Hushed comfort of
understated majesty.
Hearing music amid
The squalor of verse
With strangers who love
among the poetic’s
of language.

I grow tired of the
Deep waters
I’m learning to navigate
the shallows
Where purring oratory
Captures me and leaves
Me spellbound beyond
All measures and time .
i will write simply
like a snow melt in the spring
water brings music
and our feet are washed clean
remind the stars that we named them
even if they take our souls
we will forge them again in the fireplace
and breathe life back into them
soon we can rest in the music
but first let us use them
just like we were meant to
now is the space
to give your heart its grace
so we feed the lakes
their icy beverage
and make the songs that melt the frost

i arrived like fire
when rain was your only hope
our souls washed in the burning sun
the conundrums of love
somebody escaped with our watermelons
sundrops upon the lake
feelings we can never shake
our ecstasy is awake
and we have outgrown our shallows
swallowed by the hand of fate
our lives we did partake in
yes we have reached further
into the thick of it
into the blackest night
i walked into my own dismay
and displayed upon the sky
was the light that caught your eye
like threads of shredded rope
as darkness could never
cope with the worst of it
i sold all of our hope
for you should never
have to ***** for emptiness
send me the wisdom
to unleash you from this prison
so please give me another kiss
and fill me with your stories
for now we will forever know
that dreams are only allegories
Vierra Aug 2016
There is a woman in the distance. She is a vague silhouette but she is real. She is staring into the vast heavens, waiting.
I'll see you in the shallows she claims. Her long brown hair moves in the flurries of wind gusts.

She is real.

I can see her.

Which of your five senses will you give up or hold on to for her to notice you?

She is real.

She is not a mirage to be thrown away because of temperature. She demands respect, for she is a mystery still. Will you approach and engage her? Will you touch her in a way to tickle her fancy? What will you do?

She is real.

She is my hopes, she is my dreams, she is my reality and she is real.

She will always be a she.
For the she in me.
trf Jul 2018
Does your darkness forecast shadows,
Lies arise like heat lighting statues,
Are the sharks circling our shallows,
Cause I'm bleeding, must be the answer.

Peripheral landscapes drape your gilded chatter,
Purple & pink horizons, summon laughter,
Your eyes are lightning speed patterns,
My clouds that follow, five miles per hour.

What in this wide world changes,
Can we live high on mountainsides,
Open our door to the strangers,
Exist surrendering to the ocean tides.

My palette craves color,
Your canvas seeks attention,
My callused fingers are covered,
When your callous words are mentioned.
Therese Jul 2017
there is a tree in my stomach

the roots run deep in my skin

nestled in the warmth and life

a familiar foreigner

it sprouts from my ******

and lodges in my throat

anxiety drips from its leaves like rainwater
a cruel photosynthesis

my breath shallows as it crushes my lungs
my veins pump with poison of my own creation

or is this invasive

sown and watered and by others’ words

i know that it is growing and unfurling
twisting through my organs

reaching for the sunlight filtering from my mind

leaving behind a dark ocean of doubt

im up to my teeth 
and there is no drain
Ilia Talalai Nov 2018
Ere I ne'er saw such wonderous beauty that rests before me now:

Bathing in the calm cool shallows of a raging waterfall
Her essence is divine surrender

With hair as black as night
And eyes of gleaming moonlight

A set of pearls match her milky skin-
A gift from days spent basking
Under the gray day sky

Though naught shrouds her delicate curves
She is gracefully clad
by the moss and rocks

The misty trees nourish her vibrantly hued lips
As the wind feeds her breath


Dear Love,
          ...All the world is thine
               And from thee all its magic shine...
Vierra Feb 2017
There's a reverie that still haunts me,
and the capability to be free from it makes me pay a fee,
I have a son and he is healthy,
I have a job, but not wealthy,
I have no wife, which makes me a bachelor with a bloodline,
I have no family, which makes me feel fine.

I am a rolling stone in the shallows of the sea,
I am the shudders of air on a the wingtips of a bee,
I am not expecting you to carry my load,
I'll play the queen then fold.

I miss my fiancé to no end,
she is the one that of whom letters should be send,
she will never speak to me again,
she is a lady who is, now and again, foreign.

I miss the mountains of a different land,
from a country of which I am a fan,
I will see you again Ha'aheo,
for I have, for you, a kaheo.

This is the end of my dream,
of which I explained and deem,
worthy of your critique,
for I am doing this to release and not to be unique.
kaheo - a vision or beckoning
Ha'aheo - to be proud *used as a name*
Butch Decatoria Dec 2018
In the land of the wasteful

The flesh is bound to despairing

Unmovable feasts

All dreams dreamt away

In the shallows of sleep

As transient as blood

Orange shades of clarity

In the mind blindly

seeking sun

sincerity and kindnesses

Not those in the land

Of the wasted…

Pain is as hollow and as full as

The hearts of mannequins

When already the broken who pose

Now lets go, passed long ago

Since childhood's end

Not having known

To recognize

Or find oneself

In the beauty of a world

We played pretend.

In the land of waiting

For our sadnesses to end

Waking up alone

After all

In the land of ungrateful men.


(The kind have gone extinct

once again.

The End.)
Time travel is forbidden. So speaks the mind.
SK Oct 2018
Inky pools
Cradling the shadow
Of the starlit moon

Perfection fetched
From the crevices of eternity
Unbounded and unexplored

Ensconced, warmth
Solitude but more
Peaceful tides

In even the shallows
Of the unknown
I was entranced by him
Until his riptide brought me in
Into an ocean of infatuation
Where I was left stranded

His waves came and left
To me, like mixed signs
Struggling with my emotions
Robbed me of clarity and sight

I was then pulled under
Falling further from the light
As my heart weighed heavier
From this growing feeling inside

His eyes resemble the ocean's trenches
I was captivated by curiosity
Of what lies beneath the shallows of him
The depths of his soul intrigues me
Ilia Talalai Apr 2016
Let me meet you in a marbled
                                                 field of
                                                           sand...
                                      
                                                               Though
you bewitch me with clifftops hooded in emerald grass ...
                                                 Though
your sheep bleat loudly the marvel of your serenity...
                                   Though
you wait patiently beyond your lonely precipice,

             I cannot endure the eons
                                         raging against the cliffs of your security.

Every
passing year, the thunder of my broken waves
gouges deeper into your wounded coastline.
Every
rock torn from your embrace, resounds the pain of our growing rift
Every
crumbling cliffs edge dissolves the beauty I held in reverie...

                      I wound us in this way.


Let me meet you in a secluded
                                                     gentle
                                                          ­      cove...

There,
    upon quieted sands, my waves will softly stroke your skin.
There,
    the lions will laugh in cacophonous delight at our simple joy.
There,
    our worlds will dance as pebbles tumble into diamond crystals.

There, a child will listen woefully,
                                 the sea song of our love.

With eyes in contented darkness,
         With a soul filled, overflowing
                     With the power of bearing witness
                                                         ­      to this daily wonder.

Each
     breath brings her deeper into the burning core of her mind,
Each
     thought sparks the flame brighter
Each
     billowing blaze will enliven her roots, and
                                                             ­                     she will bloom.
    
      Then,
her eyes will open to a shimmering world,
glistening through tears of quiet understanding.
                     Then,
breath will guide the salt of our dance into her veins
                                  Then,
         she will dance to the song of our world.

With arms wide as eyes,
               she will embrace
                      this treasured moment  
                                 With the divinity of her mortality.

When the moment calms, she will walk solemnly through our shallows.
When my waves pull home at her ankles,
When the crystalline pebble shines brightly in her visage

she will reach with focused surrender through my water for a memento
of the love she feels so presently.

In our slow dance,
of Land and Sea,
               our love bears its fruits in tiny treasures.
In her little pocket,
                             the diamond of our love
will travel further into your heart than my waves ever could.

In this way...
                  you and I grow fonder
                                                             with every passing day.
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