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Jordan Frances Jan 2014
I wish I could break
Shatter into a million pieces
Of sharded glass, waiting to be stepped on.
Causing you to bleed wouldn't hurt me
Because I would already be broken.

This universe doesn't give a ****
Whether we're moving
Or camping out on life's sidelines.
The doers, in the end
Meet the same fate as the dreamers.

I want you to break me.
Work me until I fall apart
Until I can't take it anymore.
At least then
I will overdose on my need for perfection
Before I die of it.
You can take my needle from me
Before my heart stops beating.
Before it turns my blue vein black.

Then maybe I can stop craving
Everything that hopes to **** me off.
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2012
My love, my love these shaky Isles
Abandoned in the vast blue seas,
Born in Mesozoic times
When sedimentary oozes ease.
From far Antarctic mountainsides
To windblown dust from Austral plain
They lay in layers thick and deep
Beneath the Tasman Sea's domain.

A thousand million years of ******
Of plate tectonic shear and drift,
Mid oceanic larva seep
Determines continental shift.
Deep magmatic plumes arise
From down within the planet's core
To burst asunder from the crust
As mountain God's volcanic lore.

Ash and larva from the vent
In pyroclastic feirce display,
Obliterate the cold blue sky
Explosively in massive way.
Rooster tails of feiry ash
And bread crust bombs cascade about
Vulcan roars his rage to all
In violent, vast, volcanic route.

Ignimbrite flows from the vent
In sheets a hundred meters deep
The incandescence, from on high,
Would, watching Angels, cause to weep.
Like quicksilver, it cloaks the land
To cover all in burning flow,
To last a million years as sheets
Of sharded rock where 'ere you go.

So the land was born of fire
And bent and twisted by the force
Of upthrust from the great, beneath
And earthquakes felt throughout, of course.
Earthquakes of unearthly fear
Wrack foundation's very base,
Sudden as the artic gale
Unpredictable to face.

So the shaky Isles were born
Here to lie in ocean's vast,
Clad in forest lush and green
Snowclad mountains, rivers fast.
Well kept cities, well kept towns
Population proud and clean,
Beauty all around is felt
Perched atop creation's dream.

So the Shaky Isles exist
Perfect in their place in time,
Perched atop subducting plates
Perched in ignorance sublime.
What's around the corner now?
Who's concerned, who really cares
For Kiwis make the best of now...
The rest remains as chance declares.

Marshalg
Celebrating a love affair with my beautiful New Zealand.
31 August 2012
betterdays Dec 2014
she bleeds,
hard and dark, bitterwords
and angry scowls,
from the depths of her lazyboy chair.

age has stolen
her laughter, wit and compassion....
pain is her worldy possesion,
it blinds her to all else.


she used to laugh and smile and i miss that, so much,
and i wish that, my boy
would have those memories
but we have become,
the whipping boy,
to her frailty,
her scroogelike attitudes,
her impatience to,
be done with it all....


this is my sacrifice,
my burden,
willingly, lovingly,
shared by my lover and child...

but, oh! somedays,
it is like,
carrying a bag,
overfull,
of sharded glass,
that pierces my back
and stabs at my heart.
Zoe Irvine Nov 2012
At approximately the first stroke of sunshine,
on the first day of this year,
I asked for Love.
I cried for it.
Silently prayed and wished and screamed
and sighed for it.

Beneath the glow of a golden golf-ball,
I sat and sniffed
and hoped the wish-granters were listening,
could catch a whiff of my wants
through the throng of a thousand million minds
making meaningful resolutions.

Were they?

Oh,
they were listening.

Love came calling,
crowding and mauling,
pounding at the doors of my heart
until the bell broke.

The warning signal in tatters,
it clattered in
uninvited,
unexpected,
bags in hand and
bursting with energy,
brimful of bridge-building advice.

It dumped its belongings
unceremoniously
in my chest
and went out on the town,
leaving me down on my knees,
clearing up the mess it had made
of a once-orderly woman.

It shone and danced,
spoke of joy and sorrow,
promised better tomorrows and,
like a fool,
I confused better
with ease.

There were days
when the world seemed manufactured for magnificence;
when wants were none,
hands were held,
affections yelled
and smiles seemed never-ending.
Suspending belief, I saw,
with Relief,
that Love was
heavenly.

Well.

If we are to flirt with Heaven....
what of Hell?

It was not as I expected it to be.
The visions,
in a head of romance,
see fires and demons
and dances with death, but
it’s the dance of Life
that’s desperate and mortifying if,
defying Reason and Opportunity,
you sit stiff
on the sidelines
and watch.

There were times,
of course,
when no amount of suppression
could contain the need for ecstatic expression
and the feet were flying,
arms announcing each new beat;
heated faces
framed by stars
formed moments of fantasy,
never before or since
would the world see this spectacle:
so simple.
So stunning.

Then...
that done,
everything I expected
was where I went wandering alone.

Imagination may be the key in artistry
and, in so much as life is art,
it may even set you free, but
to plant such a seed in the needs of relationship
is to skip reality,
lose the opportunity,
a head so far ahead
that what’s actually said is missed,
misconstrued and, eventually,
manipulated,
by a misguided wannabe Mrs,
into marriage and babies
and maybe more than a steady supply
of smiles and happiness.

Oh yes: I went there.
Too many times:
the temptation was always too exempt
from everything I’d tried to teach myself.

So.
A healthy dose of heartache later,
I arrived at pen and paper,
where I prepared to bare it all,
hoping to have a happy epiphany
or three
before committing it to computer screen
for all to see
and sigh about.

HA HA, ** ** and HEE HEE.

Poetic justice,
as always,
prevailed.
Thank prose for plying my punctured personality
with Reason and Rhyme.

They came so clear, so quickly,
that they caught Pain by its private parts,
spun it around,
turned it upside down
and emptied its pockets out
onto the patio floor.

As Hurt skulked and sulked by the door,
elbowing Ego
who was pacing
in a panic,
more than a little engrossed
with guessing when the game would be up
and it would be out on its ear......

As Pain -
poised and preparing to pounce
on its adversary,
ripping it to pieces
with words of sharded glass
and showing little mercy
- realised that Respect had it
by its respective receptacles
and was rearing its head in a way
no lesser emotion could hope to convey,
let alone disobey......

As Thought,
regarding the situation at hand and,
seeing that all was going quite as planned,
continued to concentrate on forming conclusions
about that most worthy opponent,
Life......

As the world whirled
and the cue queued,
almost at bursting point
and ready to take a stand......

Love tipped its hat,
took two paces
and gestured
in the direction of
my hand.

****** and ready to fight,
I saw
for the first time
a faint glow within and,
unfurling my fatigued fingers,
I found my fortune:
a gold coin,
shining and shimmering,
showering light
and understanding
into searching eyes.

Sisters,
it whispered,
with a smile.
Your wish was always granted,
you’d just planted the seed
of your affection
too deep to allow detection.

A grin crept into my gut
and kept on growing.
Sisters,
I repeated,
and defeated Disappointment
with a gentle tickle;
it fought at first
but couldn’t contain the calming caress of Release:
it curled up,
cat-like,
and purred contentedly.

The Love you wanted for
was with you all along,
in the women you walked with
(barefoot, do you remember?);
washed with,
wished with;
cooked with, sang with, smiled with:
all the while,
Love was there.

The women who watched
as tears sprang
un-bid;
who let them fall,
held your hand
in their hearts,
and un-did your despair.

The women who graced you
a permanent place in their thoughts;
who took you for tea
and took time
to be there.

Who cared for your fever,
fed you
and fastened you in,
that you might have a little security,
mid-spin.

The women who,
without warning,
could cause laughter
so heartfelt
it melted the moment
and, in minutes,
could mould misery
back into Joy.

It was never about a boy,
my Love.


And as Love shook
its magnificent, smiling head,
I got ready
to re-think the relationships;
re-examine my readiness
to relinquish Hope;
rest my pen and prepare
to put something to bed,
including myself.

But before I could act,
a deep growl grew
from the gut of the beast:
it stacked all its weight
on my door,
whacked it open,
unhinged it and me,
the coin fell to the floor....
...and I saw
what I’d almost left
undiscovered:
the other side.

Brothers! it cried.
Not the lovers you’d sought,
or the masters you imagined
you ought to bow down to!
Not the dramas
of passing pretenders;
not the lenders of hearts,
who drown you in lust
and then leave you
lost and unclear,
but dear, dear Brothers.

Who ask nothing from you
but affection;
perfection in one sweet-heart smile;
kisses that make no Mrs of you,
but instead grant your skin
the warmth of a day
in their company.

Men of honesty,
nature and pride,
who hide nothing,
having learnt long ago
that the meaning of self
is to be what’s inside,
and to sleep at night
is to face fears in the light of day,
so as to avoid the more frightening prospect
of dust-ridden dreams.

Brothers.

I cried.

My heart sang through the sobbing,
robbing my lungs of breath;
I hung my hopes out
to dry in the sun
and rested my head
in the hands of Relief:
it stroked my hair.
It winked at me
and I smiled with it,
and as I lay there
I thought of you all...

and I thought of you all...

and I thought of you all...

...with Love.
Naomi Hartnell Jul 2012
Facing an eternity without you
dispairingly weeping at every moment alone
heart sharded a thousand painful jaggered pieces
forever loving you to the bone.


Frozen in a collage of ghastly images
your final suffering my head disallows me to forget
I feel so guilty for the choices i made
So much love entwined with so many regrets.


I Hold on tightly to the final remnants of you
as heavily hearted i try to climb this thorny hill
the memory of you eternally engraved in me
living with an agonizing hole which will never fill .
This is dedicated to my beautiful loyal dog Betty who recently passed away in an awful way. I love her and will never forget how she helped me through all the hard times. I regret not putting  her to sleep before she suffered as she died of a really nasty fit as i stood there unable to help her. Her fit was caused by diabetes.  She was my best friend and I am lost without her. Rip My Betty xxxxxxxxxxxx
Brad Lambert Dec 2013
Such is the sound–
These hearts are a'breakin'.

Snap.

Only I know that crink in my neck–
that sprainin' a'joints grinding 'gainst disks.
I know how the cold creeks do get in October,
sheets and slabs, it's wet in October.
Listen to those frost-ridden reams underfoot!

Snap.

Cold conversing, I said, "A'hush off. . . Now, now. . . smirk'd, yea-sayin' open an ear–"
Listen to that shard, to them shimmerin' sheets of ice underfoot: Snap.
You'd think them finger-snappin's was some jazz! Jam! Jubilate! Just do it again.
I want an iced, ambient encore; chilled to the bone-core, I grab that glarin' a'glistenin' glass.
The median is near the middle, give that shard a shove, I want to hear it again–

Snap.

That's my kick, my wake-me-not whistle borne of creekwater:
That single soundin' o'shatterin' of sharded sheets,
two halves of a once-whole gripped,
glistenin' a glass singin' as it snaps:

I, ice, do hiss!
Listen: it's in the hiss, man!
And my snaps sound ballistic
when I break, balletic, in two!


'Twas a hiss indeed.
that ice does as electricity:

O' it does cry when it cracks,
it does fizzle as it fragments,
it does spark as it splits,
it does bend light between bubbles,
it does melt in my midst,
things do get wet in October.
O' it was by the creek that I told her:

"Such is the sound of two hearts a'breakin'–
'Tis only ice underfoot."
ohNoe Oct 2014
the voodoo doll I have for You
  I speak to every night
with babble beg plead please
  and then a wish for Yur sweet dreams

the tattoo I have of You
  I stare at every night
with a sentimental smile singing please
  and then a wish for You in sweet dreams

I Love You Shannon Hickman (S.H.)
  Stud Hero (S.H.) Inspiration
I was put on this planet
  to be the being who whispers to you
Let's hold hands as we journey even further
  let's Love where we are
    & then Love the journey however far

I'm supposed to bring You Happy Fun Joy
  I'm supposed to be Yur Happy ***** Poet Boy
I should show You the You of You
  Incredible Wonderful Awesome Amazing True
That's the only possible reason I exist,
  unless you'll kiss me inside a dream mist
    which You share with me
      WHICH YOU SHARE WITH ME

Every time we were together
  didn't You feel the Forever?
Didn't You hear the tremble in my voice
  which mirrored the Miracle of Yur choice?

I grieve **** shall always believe...
Please never grieve!!
  **** Please Believe!!
Shannon,
  Please Believe!!!!

Oh Shannon,
  when You listen to a song whose emotions You feel saying You are amazing & Yur touch is the
  primordial nova, do You ever remember that was My touch and that EVERY SINGLE TOUCH OF
  MY EYES WAS PURE LOVE

Ohhhhhh,
  Shannon,
    how the **** did I not lift You with me onto clouds where WE could watch Z-O-E climb trees as WE
    giggled at our giddiness?!

My words made You want me
  **** you bored of the real me
HOW is that OUR Reality?

Stud Hero (S.H.),
  Clint shall now strive for excellent,
    far better than merely partying
      with some misc poeting

I will be everything I can be of me w/out You
  even though the only thing I'll ever want
is Yur life, mind, voice, curves, caress, kiss
  and the Soul in Yur eyes

**** how shall it ever compare
  to when You were forever there
when I was suddenly infinitely hotter
  and am pretty sure I could breathe underwater

Oh, Once Upon A Time Lover
  Forever Fantasy Dream Lover
******* with You
  or into You
    or Both
was the most Man I've ever been
  the realest my lips & tongue & **** have ever been
**** besides beyond the ******
  was the sensual
    & You made my heart's soul whirlpool
      with even the hint of a touch
        (a whisper from Yur look was almost too much)

Yet You were able to eliminate Yur Love for me,
  while for me it is the only Forever I'll ever be.
One day You could suddenly unsay NEED,
  **** Yur the only breath I'll ever bleed

Dumped Discarded
  thrown tossed away
Broken Sharded
  so easily tossed away

How?
  WOW to OW
How?
  HOW!?!?

Not just someone,
  not just fun,
    The One,
Not some ******* Stupid Movie “Neo”,
  SHE IS THE ONE

**** she decided i'm noone
  i am none

every belief i've ever held is unbelieved
  wrong wrong wrong wrong un-believed
                                         (i'm not me)

now mostly Yur a memory
  that personality which spoke words with that voice which sang sighed from that face, oh, that that
  face, through that mouth, sweet mother of the universe, that mouth, with those lips (ohhhh, so unfair
  to have those lips AND those eyes)
now mostly a memory

**** I do remember,
  I remember Every time we touched
                      Every time we talked
and when the nerves of my body
  forget Yur Lips, Yur Fingertips
    & the sweet squeezes between Yur thighs
I will still feel Yur eyes

You thought I saw inside You
  **** it was really inside You seeing me

Oh S.H.,
  the silly sweet stunned smile in my eyes
    is because of You
and Yur what makes them Blue
  (even blind I would see You)

My only philosophy
  is You should BE with Me
tell me to touch You deep inside
  that that's how You NEED Clint,
    in every possible way that can be meant

Other than that
  i'm just the shadow of a shell
and i don't understand
  how you aren't as well
You said I was awesome
  Yur that & then some

In some ways
  I'll be that way always
and even prove
  I can improve

My moonlight is as ever silver nova bright
My soul is still a sibling sister to the sun
I am as always an ocean
  my hand the waves upon the sand

I've decided to be healthy
  and so I shall be
I've embraced positivity
  so I'm as pleasant as can be

Active athletic
  no longer amateur alcoholic
I push to make me
  the Me knowing You
    made me want to Be
Goals for body & soul
  and the Noe I want you to know

And I'm reaching them
  & teaching me
Although other than that
  i'm just a shallow shadow of a shell

And Always
  And All Ways
S.H., S.H., S.H.
  my every realization
  my only information
    is Yur my Inspiration

Maybe Yur future music muse will Someday as a guitar sing my name

Maybe someday as You ride mtb miles
  or rule the road Hickman style
a song will echo in You our smiles
  for miles & miles & miles & miles
Maybe Yur memory music muse
  shall moan laugh sigh
    as a guitar sings my name

Then as You ride on by,
  will You call my name?

I'll be biking or hiking
  or swimming or gyming
    or running or writing
as I'm hoping & wishing
  & wanting & waiting
ben a while, sorry, have a few looong ones to catch up typing, been focusing on physical, triathlon training and miles of riding thinking...
Leila Valencia Sep 2016
Each breathe, momentary thoughts.... tumble like sand
Beating breathlessly, all the while, in a moment, the dream - shatters!
A bottle of sand. A bottle of sharded pieces beside granules of sand.
The ocean tugs, again, once more, then in a flicker of moments the shard vanished from earth's surface
Pulled out by the oceans current, further, eventually the singular piece of glass sinks below, quietly below - quieter than darkness.

The abyss' dark shadows thicken, envelope the single shard of glass - the only piece left.
As it aimlessly sinks quickly beneath, unable to swim, gravity's weight forcefully leaves the piece no options but to fall into a further kind of darkness.

All the sudden, a swing, a single bounce, and drums beat and their bass of the underworld stings of sorrow and empty screams, the sea bottom was swirling touches of unwelcoming creatures and carnivorous eaters - a whirlwind of fright.
Suddenly the glass is swallowed, gulped up, it wasn't what it expected - it wanted to find its missing pieces and piece back again, but the swalling creature would not allow that dream to happen, ever again.
All it felt was the chomp of heaviness and it didnt move.

The mouth held the glass into shape, other pieces of sand mixed and moved.
What a feeling. Heavy in darkness, quiet, calm, and steady; the piece of the broken bottle was forming inside the mouth of an oyster.
Each day the glass would wait, more sand appeared and  it worked away, waiting to be released.
Working to form, making its shape, toiling and forming, years in darkness, all waiting to see the sun once again.

Years in darkness, ousted from others, yet it grew and grew; bigger by the day.
Then mercy came! The day came, that shone in a brilliant manner, blinding and glorious.
The latched closure opened, years later for the single shard, but it was no longer a shard.
A single pearl among the desert of shards, the desert no one could distinguish amongst many shards, but a pearl laying amongst the desert of shards.
Through his ribs
Nestled beside her lungs
There what's mine lies
My hand gently holds
This small scarred creature
War torn and timid
From its countless lashes and beatings
I take it and hold it out away from me
Though it's all that's left
All that's still me
My arms aren't mine not time more
My legs belong to some guy not here
And my skin is from everywhere
What once mine now belongs in the ground
Ransomed to shreds by compassion
Scattered on the breeze caring
The thread that holds my sharded form
Are woven from hate, anger and coals of kindled sadness
Strung with despair
I'm so dead but barely alive
Sadly alive and peacelessly dead
My innocence left hand in hand with my soul that fateful day
Along with one other
As Im dragged by my chains back to my cell of this body
I regretfully coax my pet back into its place
Sew it sadly and safely in place
With ignorance and craving
Then seeps back full of my fear and instinct
It's all I got left as I bite clean the thread
Drop it to never return soon
And continue on this grey and rainy night
With only the Quenching sound of my shoes to keep my sanity
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
The night was cool
the moon was full.
There was no hint
of what was to come.
A nearby asteroid
was perturbed
from its journey
around the Sun.
It hurtled down
toward the Earth.
A billion souls
it put at risk
none but the moon
stood in its path
It struck the moon
a silent blast
because in Space there
is no sound.
Luna shook
but gave no
ground.
A slice of moon was
sharded off
Fragments blasted
here and there
The tides went mad
The seas rose up
The waves raised
in a desperate prayer.
In time the dust would coalesce
into a ring
about our orb
Poets would write
about the ring
which girds our earth,
our Eden home.
The title is gratefully borrowed from an article written by Norman Mailer for Life Magazine about Apollo 11.
the ideas is inspired by a recently floated idea in astronomical circles (orbits?) about our present moon being the combination of two astral bodies joined in collision.  the denouement  of Earthy rings is my poetic whimsy.
Lake Jun 2015
here we are shaking
here we are

a slit to make your jawline,
i dig my fingers through
and find the blood dripping
down my hand to turn
my skin pink. the evening
i left you, the classroom
was cold and you said

at home my reflection is rainbow
spiked and glass sharded in the
bus windows. at home my hands
shake when i pass our streets.
at home i think of the way you'd
look dead and wish it'd happen
soon. your ink skin against paper
thin sheets is what i need.

here i am shaking
here i am
Torin May 2016
We never spoke the language of soil
These poison loving tears
These seeds are growing nightmares
This cruel green cause
Its only a pain within a writhing mind
Sharpened knives and sharded glass
Even if its my blood that's hoping to fall
I'll bleed forward
The angry road the watching street
The stranger beneath the lamp post
This killing highway
She dies into the future
Its always a war of sleeping stones
And breathing hidden storms
The fires of hell
And a bottle of honey
Nissim Apr 2020
I reminisced of a time long ago when I was only twenty years old.
I was studying English 101 at the University Of British Columbia in the summer of Eighty-Four.
It was at a summer session because I had failed English 101 two years before.
A failure due more to my citizenship in a different realm than to the failings of my intellect, aptitude or the magnanimity of my core.
“You have such a poignant and evocative writing style,” wrote my teacher on the short-story I had submitted the week before.
I had written about a lonely sojourn on a desolate beach in the pregnant moment,
When sunset injures day's abandon and grants night the freedom to roam.
I had written about the mighty North Shore mountains,
Hoary with age and reverberating with an energy ineffable to the mind,
But savored by the soul.
I remembered how exhausting of mind, but above all of the soul, writing that short-story had been.
I tried to reveal my spirit bare and exposed.
I tried to destroy the ramparts and blow open the heavy gates shielding my secretive core.
But through my exhausting efforts I had only succeeded in weakening the facade between me and the world,
Usually held at arm's length,
But through my story then, only slightly nearer yet still remote.
There is an essence within everyone hidden in a chamber far beneath the veneer that encrusts our core.
We seldom allow it expression beyond just its fractured shadows dancing on an external wall.
But if we all dig deep and reach into this secretive chamber,
We will, to our astonishment, discover we are all reaching into the same chamber,
Not a separate one for each within the all.
And then we will grasp each other's same-hand.
We all share the same soul.
I knew that in the novel of my compulsion I would have to expose this chamber,
Ramparts and heavy gates destroyed once and for all.
And my novel would then cry out from this collective chamber,
And speak for my left and for my right with one voice for all.
It would be the ineffable ground of being reaching out to humanity from the navel of Creation,
Proclaiming the dawn of a Third Age.
It would announce the sunset of the Second Age before this coming dawn.
A moment pregnant with change that will forever be remembered in the annals of the Civilization of Man.
It would herald a paradigm shift far greater than the Renaissance,
Not just an age of reason, but of reason and divinity intertwined as an inseparable whole.
I envision the Third Age to be promoting the two primordial dancers,
The abstract magical and the other its complementary whole.
To engage in the Dance and thence unshard into the Eternal Garden from whence we all came forth.
They are in Eternity entwined, but sharded into the realms of space and time.
They are shards of the divine.
Would composing such a novel be an arduous journey,
Exhausting my body and above all my core?
Would I be as a drowning man,
Gasping for breath,
Kicking and screaming while with futility grasping for shore?
But would every paragraph and page exhaust me,
Yet also leave me yearning for more?
It would I am sure.
This arduous compulsion will also uplift and invigorate me with waves of catharsis and frisson.
And I pray dearly for the same in my reader,
of soul-piercing joy.
If I fail to evoke the same in my audience then I would have failed to breach the ramparts and the gates shielding my innermost chamber,
Our collective soul.
Only within this innermost shared sanctum can I truly touch someone's soul.
And by touching one, I will be touching them all.
xmxrgxncy Apr 2016
I killed a man with my bare fingers
his blood like satin
seeping through my jeweled nails

I bit the beating heart of a diamond
whose only wish was
to be loved like her mother never was

I cut open the heart strings
of a forlorn cello
battle worn from the field of shining lights

I made love to the curtains hanging over
your ice sharded chandelier
hoping the heat would cool my soul
Misfired Apr 2018
yes I’m broken
As are you
But my broken is the type of infection that doctors look at and simply say I don’t know
My broken is not able to be fixed
I’m fine to be broken
Broken mirrors have a simplistic beauty to them
As you are my mirror and I am your broken
Trying to fix myself so I don’t take away from your reflection
We are all broken
We are waiting to be told that are cracks are beautiful
And if no one will tell you that your cracks are beautiful
Then tell yourself
Because in this world you must take your broken side and exclaim that it’s your best side
A mirror can’t fix its cracks
And you the knights will never put humor back
So give up on your cracks and accept that art is held in extravagant messes
We are all broken
We are all art
We are all never going to be fixed
Because when you try to fix glass it cracks more
Just ask me
I’m in shards
In shards I lay laughing at the fact that when I was little my family called shards ****-farts
So just thinking that I’m in shards and so broken I can’t get fixed brings some happy memories back
Their happy until I realized one time in the first  grade I sharded and had to run to the office for new pants and on the way their I saw my crush
She questioned the smell and I darted for the office
Ironically the next day we started dating
She was my first crush
I say crush cause she left the first crack when she called me out in front of the class “you’re stupid you can’t speak or spell”
You see I had a speech impediment and was ruled out as stupid
Our cracks can run deep
But or words can always run deeper
I think it’s too long kinda went on a rant sooo yeah hoped you got something from it
Nissim Apr 2020
Ever since I was a child I've listened to the whispers,
Those whispers reverberating within me.
And I've submitted to those whispers during timeless moments of
my life.
And I became a citizen of the Eternal Realm.

And during my forays in the Eternal Kingdom,
I saw a new age soon to dawn upon humanity.
It is the age prophesied so long ago by all religions.
It is the Age Of Aquarius.
It is the Age of Messiah.
It is the the Second Coming for those who believe there was a first.
It is the age I call the Third.

And I saw Jerusalem,
The shining city of Zion atop a hill.
But in the Eternal Kingdom it is not a city of brick and mortar,
It is a city of the spirit's yearning and of effervescent light.
And the whispers lingered within me.
And they proclaimed, with the final trumpeting of a ram's horn,
The coming Third Age,
When all of the Earth will become the city of Zion,
A Jerusalem spread from pole to pole,
And around the great circles of our world.

But before the Third Age can dawn,
Jerusalem, that shining city of Zion atop a hill,
must be gifted to the world,
So that no one nation shall exercise dominion over it,
Only humanity's shared Soul.

Before the messianic age dawns the third temple must be rebuilt,
But all of Jerusalem is that third temple,
And the rebuilding is its gifting to the world.
In the Eternal Kingdom it is not a temple of brick and mortar,
That is just its shadow on the cave's wall.
And once that rebuild comes to pass,
Then the Third Age will explode in all directions,
From out of Jerusalem, ground zero,
And it will ripple across the lands and the waters,
And it will reach every kingdom and every nation.
It will become sharded into our shared soul,
And the Third Age will then dawn.
1
I am blinded by stupidity
as though drunk on it
stupidity made to look normal
to me
teetering on toes
unbalanced and moving along
this rough road
I am trying to find a way through to
myself
by the seat of my pants

a hand stretches to me
large and meaty, strong and gentle
yet I hesitate to take
it in mine
what woozy stupidity sees
is always wrong and never true

                    2
my heart is breakened
the way a wave breaks on a wall
shatters into tatters and shards
releases into the outstretched hand
all the hard surface it was
all the soft torn sheets
of love saved in hardness
all the gentled pieces of me sharpened
by betrayal
into shards
and the floods of salted tears
from verbal slaps and punches, stored
like holy water

my heart becomes a cabinet with locks
stuffed with
broken
sharded
pieces of me
in need of kintsugi

                         3
I float
am buoyed by the salted tears
in the Sea of Forgetfulness
the sea where sins are thrown
never to resurface
a riptide of Love
drowns me
tumbles me about
washes me clean
rounds and smooths
my edges
puts me back together
ashore - safe, sound of body
and mind

                       4
I find my way through
with help from
the Eternal Force
warm as heated, crystalline air
soft as a spring breeze
safe as breath on skin
secure as the spirit of a mountain


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Terra Day Apr 2021
Poem: Freebirds
Can you
Can you
Catch me
Vibe along
In tune
In time
With me?!?
The question is rhetorical
The subject
No longer
Is it moot
Put your unwanted
Opinions on mute
Throat grabbing
Verbal chokehold
Like clenched fists
On the clutch
Downshift
Upshift
Time to
Upgrade
Loosen up
You’re too **** uptight
Take a breath
Slow it up
Relax and loosen up
Let that old **** go
Too much wishful thinking
And naïve foolish
Dreaming they keep telling me
But they don’t know
This new me
Throwin judgments
Unbacked
And dumb
Unfounded
Assumptions
With no base
With no realistic
Knowledge
So how they think
They know even
A little bit
What it is
So foolish
For me to do
Now look
What it be
What they do
Who’s complacent now?!?
Not me!!
Must be you!!
Chase now!
It’s on!
I’m on the move
Sone been
Switching
My **** on up
Still they always
Be ta talking
Tryin always
To tell me
What it be
I ought ta do
Keep it movin
On along
That first
Foot out the door
Faded
Flash out
In a haze
Left in a daze
This is real ****
Half them
Shallow ****** *******
They don’t know
What it is
How ta do
Be a real one
Over their head
Don’t got the heart
Ain’t got the nerve
Gutless mouths
Ghost walking
Dumb as rocks
With mouths always
Just runnin
But they can’t
Back that ****
Playin chicken
Hopinp that
The real thing
Ain’t gonna
Come along
And call their Bluff
‘cause all they do
Be
Front
Front
Front
I was down
Crawling cross
Sharp
Painful
*******
Hard to swallow truths
All sharped
And ppJagged
Like bits of glass
Sharded
And pointed
Flesh up
But if you can’t take
Reality’s truths
Sharp as they be
You don’t need ta speak so0
Keep on
Keep on
Moving on
We crawled on
For the sanity
And sanctity
Of our nearly
Exsanguinatedp
Near beat down
Broken bodies
We rose
On a high Eve
One Sunday
Late afternoon
Saviors of
The fallen maimed
Nearly vanquished
Beat down
Hard broke
Population
Of men
Real as they come
Warriors
Home from warring
On our own flesh
Mad minds
Seeking insane truths
From those willing to sit
And sip
Daily on disillusions
And self deception
But we dug 6 feet deep up
Those war fields
In our heads
In our chests
Seeking always
Honor
Justice
Reality
AAunttRuth
We are the real ones
Dug deep in
And healed our own wounds
We won’t drink
The kool aid poison
Of ignorance
And simple
Deplorable excuses
For appalling
Grotesque
Stupid *** ****
Behaviors
of the weak
And brittle minded
Sheep
Choose ta be
Choose ta do
We’re healed
We’re real
We dream
Of popping
The lid off this *****
And flyin the coop
We’re birds
We’ve escaped our death cycle cage
Healed
Our once clipped
And bent wings
Jokes on them stupid 0 sheep
Sipping on their menticide and
In coercive persuasion
Flavored kool aid
Us real ones
Done
Healed you
Repaired you
Those wounds have been long done inflicted
But are Scarred
We observed
And we learned
From your actions
Taught us
What not to be
We won’t seek out
Revenge
For forgiveness
Does truly heal
And liberate
Once wounded souls
It’s the most powerful weapon
We choose to raise
And use
Moving forward
We won’t turn
To repay
Convict
Or condemn you
We
Who are
The real ones
Know truth
We move
And lead
In
By
And with
Love
By example
We Will show you
How it is
You should do
You should choose ta be
We’re rising up
Above all ththat
Low vibrational *******
Forgiveness
And love
Both
Our weapons
And our gifts
The most powerful we can use
We broke free
Popped the lid
Off this *****
And with healed wings stretched
Caught the breeze
Flying free
Escaping our bird cages
So long
Farewell
Giving our best
To those sheep
We fulfilled our dreams
Us real ones
Now free
And that Sunday evening
We rode love’s breeze
And flew that
****** coop
Eternally
Free birds
We will
Always be.

t.day

Em May 2021
I may stand straight and proud,
Unwelcome,
A prickling threat to those who venture near;
Reserved and self-contained, the sharded sum
Of childhood spent attaining a veneer.
Yet look beyond the surface, to a heart
That I have cut out night and night afore;
To ease the choke of reminiscence’ smart
And yet, by morning, it is full once more.
Dark wields the blade of fear and of regret,
Despondency and bleakness to excise;
But come the day, my dawning sense is met
With love’s sweet surging, burgeoning sunrise.
Have patience, and my cactus heart will bear
Life-giving sap that heals the cuts we share.
KorbydAngyle Jul 2020
The Zombie apocryphal that though there is no glitch to
presume a monger of disease, the play on terms for
shield and sword have arcing facts that drugs and
slipshod characters are applied.
Avalon your saints have soup of slanderous
punishment beset for the assuming deformity of these
******* rugs.
We've walked upon the shallow grave; but none so concerned
as the mighty caress of defiled weathered Zombie fleshes.
Angst a pitiless flaunting that bore filthy teeth,
as sharded deathly axes, make grinding with defacto skivy
of a clawing weapon.
And the prosperous call to human tears in the plump
juicy prey, shams on the syntax of writ, for a Zombie
lunch and evening snack from a romping day.
A ***** in the fence of those disastrous metaphors for
making death, a chemical attribute the nuclear winter
isn't uncharming of shores with sluffs, that as death
barges, can take to the sea.
These Demons, begotten, our Zombie creators; infuriate
a place for safety not to hold away the needs of the
greater monetary disarming.
The path is a child's free road, and friends and fiends
soon can only make it a passage to Hell's domain.
How destructive we shall consume of our ways; the blood
dribulets floating as hazy morning complimented pond
lilies until,... scratch the rebirth houses, of which we can
do no other than, be the undead who live.
Flooding sun prancing awakening miracles are these
killing field's seductions for executions that only the
unholy fighter Zombies dare to defy, for the
transformation calamity warning at us does not apply.
Aching rotting foul intrepid... what subtle needs the
cosmic school of thought; that Idju of the corpses
shanked about, for a slaughterhouse, is thunderous yet
almost not, a good feeling.
The tracing slashes go skitch skatch and felons of the
theory of life's rivers of blood: they are that
aforementioned not that of which was once which there
they stood.
Amidst a plastered riot, screaming dove tails.
Femmes with fancy attractions and ingots.
The shoulders are a girth of armies that should break
down any visage of hope as humans counter the terror
neither nor... the one time patterns of flesh are Zombie
thoughts now of a canvas painted with; as death's own
mutiny; the prey afore!
wrote this before i was kicked into sense and quit chems etc but for the exchange of thoughts one might of thought naught of these past trifles

— The End —