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diaphanous Nov 2019
i was the sea
i shuddered and raged
i could not be tamed
and you were lost in me
trying to find your way back home
but i could never stand to be alone

                               i pulled you under
Terry O'Leary Jul 2015
The dawn unfolds beyond my fractured windowpane
and breezes tease while drapes, like serpents, slip aside
exposing worlds that race and run aground, insane,
displaying scenes obscene that savants strive to mask and hide.

Outside, the streets are stark (last night they seemed so cruel
when demons danced as lanterns 'lumed the lynching tree -
its shadow shuddered, lurking in my vestibule -
within the night, I sense these things I sometimes cannot see).

Perdu in darkened doorways (those which watch the ones that weep)
men hide their shame in crevices in search of cloaked relief.
The ladies of the evening leave (their time to sleep!)
the alleyways, retaining bitter tastes of untold grief.

Soon drifters (distraught dregs that stray from street to street)
abandon benches, squat on curbstones some call home,
appeal to strangers for a coin or simple bite to eat -
refused… gaze down… left empty-handed in the morning gloam.

Observe with me, beyond my fractured windowpane,
the boy with crooked smile - the one who's seen the  beast -
with tears, he stoops and clasps the cross while wiping off the stain -
the abbey door along the lane conceals a pious priest.

While at the mall, Mike sees some cigs, and stealth'ly steals a pack;
the Man, observing, thinks ‘Hey Boy, this caper calls for blood’,
takes aim, then shoots the fated stripling eight times in the back.
Come, mourn for Mike and brother Justice, facedown in the mud.

Fatigued and bored, some kids harass the alley now -
to pass the time, Joe smokes a joint and Lizzy snorts a line;
computer games (which quake with doom) can help somehow,
so Eric plays with Dylan on the road to Columbine.

The shanty towns have hunkered down as if in mortal sport
while broken bodies' shattered bones repose supine,
and mamas (now bereft of child) in anguished pain contort,
their eyes drip drops of wrath which wither on a twisted vine.

Now Mr Baxter, private bankster (cruising down the road,
pursuing profit pushers, waving magic mushroom wands),
adores addiction to the bailout (coffers overflowed)
and jests with all the junkies, while he's dealing with the bonds.

Marauders man the marketplace (with billions guaranteed)  
while kids with swollen bellies beg neath hollow sunken eyes,
and (cut to naught) the down-and-out (like trodden beet roots) bleed.
Life's carousel invites us all, though few can ring the prize.

A washerwoman, timeworn, totters from the tram -
she shuffles to her hovel on a lonesome distant hill,
despondent, shuts the shutters, downs her final dram -
a magpie quickly picks at crumbs forsaken on the sill.

Jihadist and Crusader warders faithfully guard the gates,
behead impious infidels, else burn them at the stake
(yes, God incites each side for good, the other side He hates),
with saintly satisfaction gained provoking pagan ache.

The watchers pry behind our fractured windowpanes
inspect us all, tear down the walls of privacy
controlling every point of view opinion entertains,
forbidding thoughts one mustn't think, with which they don’t agree.

Come, cast a furtive glance… there's something in the far…
from towns to dunes in deserts dry, the welkin belches sudden death
by dint of soulless drones that stalk beneath a straying star
erasing life in random ways in freedom’s final breath.

But closer lies an island, where the keepers keep the wards.
No sense, no charges nor defense - a verdict? Yes! … grotesque -
the guiltless gush confessions, born and bred on waterboards.
Impartial trials? A travesty instead, indeed quite Kafkaesque.

Now dusk draws near beyond my fractured windowpane
while mankind drowns like burnt-out suns in fading lurid light;
and scarlet clots of grim deceit and ebon beads of bane
flow, deified, within the rotting corpse of human night.
Hannah Christina May 2018
A shuddered sigh, then some hope inhaled.
A wince of distrust, yet a heart unveiled.
A cautious smile leaves a little too late.
And a hopeful look rises to the bait.
A tensed up brow begins to relax,
For peace and joy have been too long taxed.
Sorrow still lurks in the back of the mind,
But reluctantly it is left behind.
A cautious faith is restored anew
And I open myself
back up
to you.
Skyla Dec 2018
I hear the same, bitter word on repeat
And it still shakes me to my very core
  “I loved you once, but nevermore”
His veneer of love had fallen apart
And now I am left with a knife in my heart
    Do you know how much I ache?
I’m shattered and cold, and now I quake
“Beyond the sunrise, ‘tis you that I adore,
     But our love shall go on, nevermore”

I wept for a love that is beyond repair
I wept for my heart, shaking in despair
I wept for a man with a smile so rare
Who destroyed the heart of a maiden fair
So faithful was I, for I would never forswear
A man with a love that left me gasping for air
Wouldst thou ****** me? wouldst thou dare?
You left my love bleeding, raw, naked, and bare
I said that I’d die for you, or go to war!
But once again, you said “Nevermore”
My wounds gush blood, and my soul is sore
But thine eyes and lips said “Nevermore”
Thy words are scattered, running hither and thither
But filled with such compassion, leaving my lips aquiver
Was I just an object of lust that your body outwore?
But still, you shuddered and said “Nevermore”
I will give you money and gold and diamonds galore!
But still, you scoffed and said “Nevermore”
Now, I sit here forlorn, and feeling heartsore
“You make me melancholy, darling”
And then he left, without another word, and I sat there and quoted “Nevermore” ~
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”
Francie Lynch Feb 2019
I don't recall year one of life,
But I'm here now,
So they got it right.
Yet I remember being one,
On a mattress, in the sun,
The smell of bacon and farm odors,
Were part of me as I grew older.

But I never asked to grow up.

I walked first steps
In my father's shoes,
Blathered blissfully when I was two.

By the time I turned three,
I was sure youth suited me.

I could reach the outside door,
When I grew to the age of four.
Now the world's mine to explore.

But I never asked to grow older.

Then by five I tried to hide
From the travails of an older child;
The digging, weeding, painting, work:
My escape to school was my re-birth.

But I never asked to grow older.

I didn't ask to turn six,
Seven, eight, nine or ten;
I shuddered at our  portends,
I didn't like how my world ends,
I finished fishing with Amens.

But I never asked to grow older.

I made twenty years ago,
When decades moved ever so slow;
Thirty came, forty gone,
And fifty didn't last that long.

But I never asked to grow older.

Since I must,
Please remember,
Dip my soother in Irish whiskey,
Include me if you solve the mystery,
And reference me and my life's history.
zebra Jun 2016
she came to me one day
the *****
beautiful like a girls choir
singing Latina L'Amour
moving her bottom
like a metronome

her ******* a cascade of kindness
that break the hearts of men
they die
for those
blouse muffins
her smooth legs and feet
made for *** art
lickity splits and ****** contortions
while her wiggly *** and ****
tell you
what heaven would be like
hips that sway  traffic
causing pile ups
and fender benders
and make good boys
hopeful about being chosen
perhaps anointed
and judged worthy
but alas  
turn good boys into
chronic *******-rs
in dim midnight closets
or trawling *** criminals

at the very sight of her
my soul buckled
i wanted her
like darkness
needs a lantern
like blood
needs cells

she looked at me
with ****** in her eyes
it would make my **** wet to hurt you
she said with a soft tremor
ill **** yours for hours
tongue toy
losange
gullets prey
girl food

will you earn your suffering
adore my goddess ***
and lick it **** and span
kiss my beautiful feet
with tender devotion
pray for cruel ***** abuse
be consumed
by ******* jaws
thrill me
love me
flood me
with blood
and ****
die for me
my love

as i looked into
her hollowed
desperate soul
so eager
and felt deeply her need
and loved her to tears
to broken hearts mend

to struggle with
the dark angle
unrequited love
to expunge
years of vacant stares
of nameless women
and empty beds
to forget foreboding
bath cabinets bereft
of girly things
like
lolly pop pink lipstick
cherry sherbet nail polish
lacquered hardened coats  
aerated perfumed clouds
of vanilla candies
and fashionable
demonic party masks
over black brooding mascara
on almond eyes
hiding hot embers
cool and staring hungry

while wrenched obsessive
for the feminine
that drag my soul
through long coffin
hollow gullies
that drive me
to invocations
of Hecate
sacrificial blood rituals
voodoo trances
god forms
and black art astrologers
who have the power
to move planets
through space
and change fates

oh so wrong
yet i must
for loves sake
say yes to her
yes to her for pleasures sake
even if in the end
i am left to moan
to howl at a blood moon
with in the confines
of her dark edged
appetite
ascending in sin
as she ***** me
like she hates me

yes my beloved
to vanquish numbness

she consoles
my willingness  
excites
i felt her adoration

be brave for me
she murmured
sadists are cowards
teach me surrender
you are glorious
in my clutches

i made my self ready
positioned my self
as per her instructions
face down
legs apart
on a bed of nails
happy in my pit
as she played
a whole lotta love
by led zeppelin
blood swollen ****
oozy
for her tender kisses
and brutal schemes

the masochists tao

to denigrate oneself
to kiss your goddess feet
to lick your perfect ****
to adore your prim rose ****
to taste your lips of fire
to tangle in your silky locks
to see your eyes a blaze
to drink your saliva nectar
to eat your crumbs
to lick your *** clean
to be beaten
to your satisfaction
to drown in your *******
to hold you close
to take pleasure
in your cruelty
to suffer for your delight
to be
the sacrificial lamb
to be a victim
in an ****** dream
with jaws and teeth

she took me inside
smiled  like a feral
lust twisted child
took out a
scalped handled knife
brushed it across
my tummy and *****
terror brewed
excitement struck
my **** got so hard
she grinned
and salivated
like a Satanic Cheshire
in bloom

she devoured ***** warm butter
as it poured in waves
into her black lipsticked
pink wet mouth temple

oh she said
i like it a lot
do you mind a small incision
my darling

mommy needs
a little taste of hell

her face shape shifted
into a warbled shadow
as she licked her lips
and tickled
her *******
with gooed fingers

cut me i implore
im in the mood
you sweet savage

she opened me slow
o o o o ooow
ooh the sting
don't stop i begged
loving her
voluptuous greed
as she covered me
with heavens kisses
eyes desperate
devouring
drenched through ******
and bestowed
upon me
eager  licks
that swoon
and savage wounds

she took charge
with curvilinear cutlery
she gave it to me hard
oooofff
then good again
aaahhh
then deep and threw
like a spoon through Crisco
a surgeon from hell house
oh so fun she said
she licked my ****
fingered my ***
****** my *****
frenetic
then stuck me with a fork
giggling
not done yet she mused
and then
required of me
that my tongue
obediently pay homage
to her naked mouth ****

i was the pig for slaughter
needles and knives
burned *******
bruised ****
a bleeding torn
pin cushion
eyes teared
back arched
torso writhing
cherry cheeks
blood gusher
her *******
and belly ****
soaked in my blood
commanded me to lick
my own pools
of red plush
for her amusement

a couple at play
in Satan's temple of lust
her face turned to mischief
in a demons trance
her soul
like hyenas
and clawed weasels
all trapped villeins

im done ****** around
with you she quipped
her **** on fire
like a burning house
she plunged a blade deep in my gut
her eyes wide and glaring
like blazing head lights
possessed by hell bats

oh my goddess
for you
over the summit
as i shuddered
arching in torment
curling into a ball
squirming
like a severed worm

her face contorted
with horrors fun
her **** pored forth
tremulous quivers
and hells
brimstone gasms
ecstatic

oh she drank my blood
****** my ****
with kaleidoscopic tongue
like a devils bride banshee
licked my *** clean
filthy *****
defaced me with a drooling ****
and brooding ****
strangled me with nylons
until my lips ran numb
until my tongue dragged
like a corpse in a car wreck
she  whimpered and cooed
suffocated me with her **** ***

stepped on my face
with feet i adore
chewed off my *****
a black mambas kisses
filled my mouth
with hot rocks
that melted my skull
oh cry to heaven
wheres Jesus
as i scummed
up-leaping

the  last words
i ever heard
*** you sure to kick a lot
im cu cu cu cu cu cu *******
for you blood boy
dead dead dead
floppy floppy head
**** like cherry pie
Michael Solc Jan 2013
In the black of night,
one winter long ago,
the bones spoke to me
from their perch upon
a tomb.
Creaking in the cold,
and shining brightly by
the light of the moon.

“Come and speak,”
they called, but the voice
was only an echo.

I stepped forward
in the crackling snow, and
the bones leaned forth.

“It’s grown cold, and
we are lonely,” they said.

“Who are you?”

“We are the Dead,”
they replied.

Silence stretched out
across the graveyard
and snow began to wander lazily
from the heavens.

It gathered on the bones,
who did not move.
They peered down to me,
empty sockets where eyes once sat,
then dried to dust.

“What need do the dead have of visitors?”
I asked.

The skull cocked to one side,
and the gathered snow slid
from its gleaming dome.

“The Dead need and want
all those things which have
long lost meaning to the Living.
We have as much right to company,
and twice the need.  
The cold earth is also
dark, and silent.
It is there the Dead go mad.”

The snow tumbled down,
another layer upon another,
and neither of us stirred.

I watched a trickle of blood
flow from a socket of the skull,
sliding down to color its teeth
a dark crimson.

A single drop fell
from its mouth,
impacting upon the snow
at the foot of the tomb.

The dark red stain
spread across the snow
of the yard,
turning it to
a tundra of blood.

The gravestones stood high
above the bloodied freeze,
and high above them all
stood the tomb.
Sitting there,
the gleaming, bleeding,
grinning bones.

“It is there the Dead go mad,”
they repeated.

The insane screams of a thousand dead souls
pierced the silence of the night,
and the tombstones crumbled
into the snow.

The ground swelled
as if turned to a vengeful red sea,
and spat the bodies below to the surface.
A mass of bone, flesh
and dirt replaced the
snow around me.

The bones above gazed out
upon the carnage,
jaw agape.

Screaming.

Louder than ever,
unmuffled by the earth,
the bodies of the dead shrieked to the heavens.

The gray winter clouds above
turned to soot
and fell from the sky.
The full moon burst into view,
casting its cold glare
upon the horror.

The Dead writhed and shrieked,
bony fingers and heels digging
at the ground around them.
Rotting flesh fell from muscle,
muscle fell from bone.

From atop the tomb,
the bones turned back
to me, screaming
“IT IS THERE THE DEAD GO MAAAAAAD!”

The skeleton burst into dust
and rained down upon me.

And the screaming ceased.

Slowly, slowly,
the writhing bodies
grew still.

Their eyes,
cold and bright,
stared wide at the sky above.
My ears rang with their screams.
I shuddered.

The bodies recessed
back into the earth.

Soot rose back to the heavens
to cover their watchful eye.

Looking back to the tomb,
I saw the bones returned
to their perch.

But now they gazed upon me
with my own eyes.

“It is here,” they said.

And I could not look away.

“The Dead go mad,”
I answered.
N Oct 2017
Tonight is one of those nights.
You know, the ones where you fall apart.
You close the door and numbly lock it.

You stare at your hands for the longest time before finally breaking.
You gasp for breath, silently sobbing about everything all at once.
About everything that is wrong with you and the world.

Then you deal with it the only way you know how.
You take deep, exhausted, shuddered breaths as you quietly cry yourself to sleep.

The next morning you wake up huddled in the corner of your bed, with a sore body and pounding headache.
So you get out of bed just like any other morning.
Ormond Oct 2018
.
Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.
.
From Wikipedia:
Samhain Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year. Traditionally, it is celebrated from 31 October to 1 November, as the Celtic day began and ended at sunset. This is about halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. It is one of the four Gaelic seasonal festivals, along with Imbolc, Bealtaine and Lughnasadh. Historically, it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. Similar festivals are held at the same time of year in other Celtic lands.
.
Tatiana Jan 2019
For the next two weeks he digs a grave.

He deftly wields a shovel
with hands that have forgotten
what it's like to hold the tools of life
He only knows what life is like
when he digs a hole for holy men
who have cheated others into strife
who have hurt their children, brothers, and sisters
who have made damaged wives
So for two weeks, he digs the hole deeper
than regulation states
for men who were mistakes.

The more time he spends digging
The more time the dead spend climbing

And they're always climbing
the ranks to be on top.
Falling again, bones breaking on impact
they just shake it off and start again.

He met one dead man who climbed to the top
with a light glowing where his eyes should be.
The dead man shuddered, bones rattling a song
of all the people he had wronged.
He was more bone than skin
More ghost than human
But he came back with sorrow on dried, discolored lips
and the grave digger wondered if
he could have redemption

For the next two weeks he digs a grave.
©Tatiana
Victor D López Dec 2018
Your husband died at 40, leaving you to raise seven children alone.
But not before your eldest, hardest working son, Juan, had
Drowned at sea in his late teens while working as a fisherman to help
You and your husband put food on the table.

You lost a daughter, too,
Toñita, also in her early teens, to illness.
Their kind, pure souls found
Their way back home much too soon.

Later in life you would lose two more sons to tragedy, Paco (Francisco),
An honest, hard working man whose purposeful penchant for shocking
Language belied a most gentle nature and a generous heart. He was electrocuted by
A faulty portable light while working around his pool.

And the apple of your eye, Sito (José), your last born and most loving son, who
Had inherited his father’s exceptional looks, social conscience, left of center
Politics, imposing presence, silver tongue, and bad, bad luck, died, falling
Under the wheels of a moving train, perhaps accidentally.

In a time of hopelessness and poverty, you would not be broken.
You rose every day hours before the dawn to sell fish at a stand.
And every afternoon you placed a huge wicker basket on your head and
Walked many, many miles to sell even more fish in other towns.

Money was tight, so you often took bartered goods in
Exchange for your fish, giving some to those most in need,
Who could trade nothing in return but their
Blessings and their gratitude.

You walked back home, late at night, through darkness or
Moonlit roads, carrying vegetables, eggs, and perhaps a
Rabbit or chicken in a large wicker basket on your strong head,
Walking straight, on varicose-veined legs, driven on by a sense of purpose.

During the worst famine during and after the Civil War, the chimney of your
Rented home overlooking the Port of Fontan, spewed forth black smoke every day.
Your hearth fire burned to to feed not just your children, but also your less
Fortunate neighbors, nourishing their bodies and their need for hope.

You were criticized by some when the worst had passed, after the war.
“Why work so hard, Remedios, and allow your young children to go to work
At too young an age? You sacrifice them and yourself for stupid pride when
Franco and foreign food aid provide free meals for the needy.”

“My children will never live off charity as long as my back is strong” was your Reply.
You resented your husband for putting politics above family and
Dragging you and your two daughters, from your safe, comfortable home at
Number 10 Perry Street near the Village to a Galicia without hope.

He chose to tilt at windmills, to the eternal glory of other foolish men,
And left you to silently fight the real, inglorious daily battle for survival alone.
Struggling with a bad heart, he worked diligently to promote a better, more just
Future while largely ignoring the practical reality of your painful present.

He filled you with children and built himself the cross upon which he was
Crucified, one word at a time, leaving you to pick up the pieces of his shattered
Idealism. But you survived, and thrived, without sacrificing your own strong
Principles or allowing your children to know hardships other than those of honest work.

And you never lost your sense of humor. You never took anything or
Anyone too seriously. When faced with the absurdity of life,
You chose to smile or laugh out loud. I saw you shed many tears of laughter,
But not once tears of pain, sorrow or regret. You would never be a victim.

You loved people. Yours was an irreverent sense of humor, full of gentle irony,
And wisdom. You loved to laugh at yourself and at others, especially pompous fools
Who often missed your great amusement at their expense, failing to understand your Dismissal, delivered always with a smile, a gentle voice and sparkling eyes.

Your cataracts and near sightedness made it difficult for you to read,
But you read voraciously nonetheless, and loved to write long letters to loved ones and friends. You were a wise old woman, the wisest and strongest I will ever know,
But one with the heart of a child and the soul of an angel.

You were the most sane, most rational, most well adjusted human being
I have ever known. You were mischievous, but incapable of malice.
You were adventurous, never afraid to try or to learn anything new.
You were fun-loving, interesting, kind, rambunctious, funny and smart as hell.

You would have been an early adopter of all modern technology, had you lived long
Enough, and would have loved playing—and working—with all of my electronic
Toys. You would have been a terror with a word processor, email, and social media
And would have loved my video games—and beaten me at every one of them.

We were great friends and playmates throughout most of my life.  You followed
Us here soon after we immigrated in 1967, leaving behind 20 other Grandchildren.
I never understood the full measure of that sacrifice, or the love that made it
Bearable for you. I do now. Too late. It is one of the greatest regrets of my life.

We played board games, cowboys and Indians, raced electric cars, flipped
Baseball cards and played thousands of hands of cards together. It never
Occurred to me that you were the least bit unusual in any way. I loved you
Dearly but never went far out of my way to show it. That too, I learned too late.

After moving to Buenos Aires, when mom had earned enough money to take
You and her younger brothers there, the quota system then in place made it
Impossible to send for your two youngest children, whose care you entrusted
Temporarily to your eldest married daughter, Maria.  

You wanted them with you. Knowing no better, you went to see Evita Peron for help.
Unsurprisingly, you could not get through her gatekeepers.  But you were
Nothing if not persistent. You knew she left early every morning for her office.
And you parked yourself there at 6:00 a.m., for many, many days by her driveway.  

Eventually, she had her driver stop and motioned for you to approach.
“Grandmother, why do you wave at me every morning when I leave for work?”
She asked. You explained about your children in Spain. She took pity and scribbled a
Pass on her card to admit you to her office the next day.

You met her there  and she assured you that a visa would be forthcoming;
When she learned that you made a living by cleaning homes and washing clothing,
She offered you a sewing machine and training to become a seamstress.
You thanked her but declined the offer.

“Give the sewing machine to another mother with no trade. My strong back and hands
Serve me well enough and I do just fine, as I have always done.”
Evita must have been impressed for she asked you to see her yet again when the
Children had arrived in Buenos Aires, giving you another pass. You said you would.

You kept your word, as always. And Evita granted you another brief audience,
Met your two youngest sons (José and Emilio) and shared hot chocolate and
Biscuits with the three of you. You disliked and always criticized Peron and the Peronistas,
But you never forgot Evita’s kindness and defended her all your life.

You were gone too quickly. I had not said “I love” you in years. I was too busy,
With school and other equally meaningless things to keep in touch. You
Passed away without my being there. Mom had to travel by herself to your
Bedside for an extended stay. The last time I wrote you I had sent you a picture.

It was from my law school graduation.
You carried it in your coat pocket before the stroke.
As always, you loved me, with all of my faults that made me
Unworthy of your love.

I knew the moment that you died. I awoke from a deep sleep to see a huge
White bird of human size atop my desk across from my bed. It opened huge
Wings and flew towards me and passed through me as I shuddered.
I knew then that you were gone. I cried, and prayed for you.

Mom called early the next day with the news that you had passed. She also
Told me much, much later that you had been in a coma for some time but that
You awoke, turned to her without recognizing her, and told her that you were going to
Visit your grandson in New York. Then you fell asleep for one last time.

I miss you every day.

[   To hear a YouTube reading of this poem in its entirety, you can visit the following URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OX6w1Pwe7gI   ]
from Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems 2011, 2018
I watch the yellow grasslands growing slow,
safe inside my window frame where heartbreak can not reach.
I'll remain the captured queen silently content with my small space.
My conscious clean, no blood to stain.

The golden beast of the sahara soaks in the open fields.
Afraid of no one and nothing but hunger.
Crowned long ago, his reign will outlast the wars, the floods, the drought.
Hands enormous enough to ****, gentle enough to love.

I remain, eyes fixed on the beast as he belts a roar.
The sound vibrates my glassy outlook, coaxing a scream of my own.
Salty tears and shuddered cries, break the crusted lips.
Pain erupts, long lodged deep in the gut.
The broken wail of majesty, shakes lose the inner me.
Poetic T Feb 2019
The lumber jack, was on his way
             home.
Driving through a woodland of
                                creaking trees.

They found his car, the rooftop
                                    crushed..
         gusts of wind blew through
                                     the tree tops...

And the coroner and police officer
                                shuddered
      as
           they gazed at each other..

Is it me or does the wind blowing
             through the leaves sound like

                                                 laughter..

And with that another branch fell
upon the already mangled wreckage..

             They had to make sure he was
                                  really felled,
                            there was no warning.

And as the breeze continued the noise
                turned to screams, whistling
                                                 around the pair..

Both cars where found later on
                                               the next afternoon..
                 hundreds of meters from each other with..

                                         Buckled rooftops..

Even there was no wind, the rustling leaves
                               sounded like far away laughter..
                                and the group just looked in confusion.
They where outnumbered and didn't even realise it.
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
I am surprised I can remember
the smell of you
how sweet and fresh and neon
like the space that was filled by it
how close our faces stayed
how long did we last
how I didn't want to leave
how we could have stayed and grown filthy
like your floor
if we had remained
our mouths may have done too much
my teeth may have turned the color of your hair
your skin may have become
layered

your bones should have crushed mine
but instead we grew supple
I thawed like ice
you floated down me
mud mixed into the water
bears and elk bathed in us
and the surface became clouded
with dark fur and foam
you sunk your head and tasted
the blood of the elk and the ***** of the bear
I remember your hands were still smooth and soft
and I was not afraid but still shuddered
like a tiny animal

the east path cut out through
the blackberries and nettles leads back there
so does the trail of raisins from the south
and the thunder clapping coordinates from the north

I gathered my things and headed west
where I won't feel the porcupines on your chest
or see the dappled forest floor in your eyes
the river coursing through this place
has no elk or bears
the lips of the boys here taste of smoke and wet cement

now I remain
clean
alone
nestled in my own beauty
like a goldfinch preening
not one of the fat sparrows that
hopscotch on these sidewalks

I know what you're doing
I know her eyes are growing crusty
your hands make knots out of her hair
your bodies grow tired from the rhythm
of pressing together
her feet are bigger than mine
her smile glossier
you will not find otters living behind her ears

Perhaps I will see you anyway
in the winter I will wear a charcoal snowcoat
you will lift me from behind and I will squeal in surprise and delight

Outside my window people sing hymns on the street.
Luna Jan 2019
Did you know that she’s writing about you?
She writes with the ache from her soul,
about you.

Did you know that writing is the only way to bring the calmness back in her life, now that you are gone?

Did you know about the words she use to describe you? Like you were the moon and she was only a star, loving your light from thousands of years away,  adoring you in secret.

Did you know that she’s receiving praise for
what she writes? You’ve drowned her so bad that now she writes with pain, not only for her soul to be healed, but also for people’s pain to heal.

Did you know that she can’t sleep because the words shuddered in her head, her thoughts, back to the veins and right through the heart?

Did you miss her? Her laugh, or her serenity, her kindness?

Did you miss the hurricane from her thoughts, cause I see you now, with another one.
But tell me, did anybody ever wrote with so much passion about your eyes, how they shine so bright, how the brown turns into yellow once the sun is reflecting in them, about your voice singing ‘I love you’ like no other before, about your arms, your hugs, how they protected her from the bad angels that she was so afraid of , about your large smile, your small nose, your lovely figure, your angel figure.

Did you know that when I write ‘she’ it’s actually me?
piece from my soul
My chest hurts
Like daggers in every rib.
But even more than that
My soul
is crying.
My soul,
It’s d
        y
          i
           n
             g.
I know no other fate than to bleed
Though I am surrounded by people who filter my life
With love.
With grace
With hope.

They stand ready to fight my battles
Armed by my side
Hand in hand
Just a call away.

But it’s hard to see them
It’s hard to care
When I’m on the battleground
In the war that is defeating me.

It’s hard to reach out
When I’ve reached out a million times.
And I should be getting better
But is it fair to throw my pain on them every night?

My soul was on fire
Not with life
Not with joy
But with a slow burn
Of pain and despair
That widdled my heart to ash.

A battleground my mind once was,
Chaos that shot agony through my head
A thousand miles an hour.

It’s almost quiet now
But I can almost see the blackness,
Hear the silence,
Feel the void.

And when you feel so empty
And the smallest flutters of feelings appear,
But they come to crush you,
Not to save you...
The darkness,
The silence,
The void,
They become real.
And the blood drips down my arm.

I do not understand why I am like this
When I am getting help
When there is hope
When this “will not last forever.”
I made the decision to stay alive
So the pain would not disperse
But now I suppose
My choice may be overridden
If the pain that is trapped inside
Decides to **** me.
My body is already decaying on its own
But now I am helping it.
Why am I helping it?

I believed that talking would help
That hugs would help
That being honest would help
That showing my hurt would help.

That maybe my friends could carry me
And lighten my load
Just enough so I had strength to keep walking.

I do not understand
How it feels like a disaster is tearing me apart
But I am getting stronger
Not in healing
But in keeping it all inside.

I’m not that honest anymore.
I pretend that I’m healing
So they will still have hope in me.
But in reality
I can’t speak
Even though I want to scream for help.
But I don’t know what I would ask for
I don’t think there is anything I could ask for.

So I remain wondering
Why do I want help,
If I try to stay hidden?
Why do I want to speak,
If I always hold my tongue?
Why do I hold my tears,
If I just want them to see me cry?
Why do I tell them I’m better,
When sometimes I still feel like dying?

I want to ask
To please keep me in mind
But that never healed me
And I know you are busy.

So I count down the days
The number until I see you next
But it doesn’t matter much anyway
Because I will be faking a smile
And when you ask me “how are you?”
I will reply
“Good!”
Because I know you have things to do
And I know my sorrow takes time.
I understand it is annoying
To always hear I’m in darkness
So I tell you I’m in light
But God help me!
I am dying inside!
Don’t you know that?
Can’t you know without me saying so?
No.
Because even if I did
You still would not understand.
You still would not know.

This is not a joke.
This is not a game.
This is not an exaggeration.
But when I hide it so well
And speak it so darkly
I understand how it may seem so.
But trust me darling
You have not seen the sleepless nights
Shuddered awake with terror
Shaking like drunk cold chills
(Wishing I was drunk so I could feel less)
Tears pouring like a C5 hurricane
And the pain?
Well, I can’t describe it any other way
Than my body dying.

But tell me now,
Is the blood that exits my skin
That drips down to hell
Scars as a sticky note
To remind me forever,
Is that blood
Real enough?

I am supposed to help myself.
To help myself heal.
To help myself grow.
To help myself find joy
And life
And purpose
And hope.
But don’t you see,
I am helping myself?

I am hurting myself
But as my body dies
In the dark of the night
And I let it leave a little quicker
I am helping myself.
It’s the only way I know how to,
Even if it may not last forever.
Lae Mar 2019
It felt like a shuddered memory, a ghost from the past i tried so hard to remove. Your name as i heard them in the silence of my sleep. The half paged book i left scattered on the floor and that gold antique necklace left where you held it. We were supposed to be happy, yet it ended so quickly.



- = - = - = - = - = - =



"We were so happy. Why did it end?"



"We were so happy that the heavens punished us."
LR Thompson Aug 2018
Dammed,
The vault of his mind was laid bare
A barren stream with only fossils visible
At the mouth, buried under silt he found unspoken words
That he had left to the undercurrents of political correctness:
"You do not own my mind
It is mine and mine alone
And with it I shatter
Your rules and ties that bind"

As if in response to the unearthing
The dam began to crack
Releasing a tiny rivulet that began to push downstream
Splitting into two distinct eyes that have for too long been blind
Where one stretched long and far into the past
While the other ebbed and flowed in the whirlpool of the future
Where endless possibilities competed for dominance
Against any attempt to join the relative calm of memory

The dam shuddered again and the gates flew open
The river of life rushing back to fill the void
Deafening the ears
Which for so long had only heard the carefully curated lines
Repeated and indoctrinated since his birth
It was in this moment of flood that freedom came pouring forth
His eyes were opened
He saw the sight
His ears could hear
His tongue could fight
His raging river returned to him
Liberty in the light
Yenson Jan 2019
I drove it in with hard solid passion
her whole body shuddered and I felt her thighs
parting further, yet my hot sword again heaved internally
and filled out more in that velvet tunnel, making it even tighter

she moaned, oh she moaned and wrapped folded arms
round my shoulders firmly pulling me even closer.
I paused to savour my girth throbbing in wet hot tight jelly
a million nerves ending tingling to tingles from sugar walls
a warmth like no other enveloped our bodies rising to our brains
my length was hitting a yielding ending making her scream more

lifting my hip I started firing ions and sweet sensations
as she lifted her firm solid hips to meet my thrusts
a fire dance of immortals, a duo speak of raw energy
slickly intermingling in a fire pit of molten hot candy
she moaned and groaned, simpered, howled and groaned
and our bodies grind and booped, and again and again

taken over by a compulsion to push and pull and seek deeper
she drew me in and I lengthened with every push and trust
I reached soft ends only to push further and find a little
more yield and a sweet velvet glove is polishing my sword
while hot whispers fling out endearments, or moans quietly

my tiger, wild untamed, claimed my body and growled
loudly, bearing his teeth as sweat ran down my forehead
I was in my stride, the rhythm was in motion in the ocean
my fevered brain told me, make this a long ride
give it to her like she's never had it before.
I can go on for as long as it takes, I answered back

I bent my head and my full lips found a ******
I need a drink from that full circling soft balloon
she raised her face and slipped warm tongue in my mouth
her hand behind my neck held me firmly locked in sweet kisses
her hips moved in unison with mine and slippery sounds played
I was lost in ecstasy, my sword throbbed in full beaming glory

Suddenly her hip became stronger than mine
she slammed into mine and started screaming
she moved with faster tempo and i felt a pulsating grip below
that started attacking my hard sword, squeezing, pulling
I had to change gears, I drove even deeper, she was flaying
and threshing, her thighs trapping my thighs tightly
Oh..oh...its multiple she hissed wildly, come with me
come with me...oh..come together with me

My hips rose higher, and then higher some more.
your command is my wish.... sweet lady, I whispered
I put the engine in gear five, revved the pistons
and slammed on the tottle, I was motoring in Monaco now
I heard a banshee screaming somewhere. I heard myself howling
while the sweetest fire started scorching my sword
and sipped out a torrent of high octane molten hot honey
our naked bodies clashed, medged, disengage and reconnected
in an exotic freestyle wrestle, yet below we were glued in sync
a blast, the big bang with stars and glitters and a vice like grip
it seemed to last forever and I swear I heard celestial choirs then I slowly descended from cloud nine and then the rolling slowed down.

I hope this is just a pitstop my brain hissed at me, I am ready
to go again, please note, brain added.

Please let my lovely lady at least recover a little, I chided brain.

She clung on to me, we were drenched in sweat
she was shaking, shuddering and trembling all in one
then tears fell from her eyes mingling with sweat on her face
her cheeks were flushed, she glowed red. tousled hair fanned
her face in wet strands, she looked ever so beautiful

She gazed into my eyes, stroking my wet cheeks
she was still panting as I was too
You are amazing ...she said, I do love you so much, she added..her hazel eyes sparkling,..... You are simply the best!

Resting a palm on her full soft right breast, I blew her a kiss.

You are beautiful and you make me amazing.... I replied.
I love you too, my darling.........
Sweet memories, why all should be done to isolate this animal........
Our women are not safe when this monster is let loose.....hahaha
To the good times!!
Iska Jan 2019
There once was a girl
Sitting all alone
Beside a grave
She wished
Was her own.

And as she shuddered
And gasped for breath
She realized
all she longed for

Was death.

“Silly girl”
Death said to me
“How can you exist
So selfishly?”

“For her to die
And you to live
Is the curse that
You deserve”

And as I lay there
In a pool
of blood
And tears
I realize the truth

It’s not my place

Not to live
And not to die
Not to give up
And not to try

It’s not my air to breathe
And yet who am I to deny
It’s not my food to eat
Yet how can I not?

How can I waste
What was hers to claim?
And how can I die
When she lays in my grave?

She didn’t deserve it
But I...
I do
And so I am forced
To consume her food.

It’s not my air to breathe
It’s not my place to greave
It’s not my food to consume
It’s not my life to remove
I am to blame
kB 2 Sep 2018
Feet hang lazily
As I finish my stitching
Canvas skin limp limbs

Burnt leaves for a brain
A heavy hinged hollow box
Becomes a fresh heart

I’ve sewn me a boy
One that cannot run away
One that wants to stay

I program his mind
To connect only with mine
Lock love in the box

Run hands down the threads
Awaken him from his sleep
Eyes open in fear

Graze hands down soft throat
Stir his chords let him speak free
Fill lungs with a kiss

It’s my ragdoll boy
My best friend and my lover
And I have his key

He just looks at me
“Don’t be scared you are my love”
I tell him gently

“What am I doing?
I’m not supposed to be here
I don’t even know you”

Desperate staring
He looks scared and so confused
I don’t understand

“I stitched you gently
You are my perfect man now
Together in love

You will be happy
I can show you everything
I will be your muse”

I filled up his mind
Put all my love in his heart
What did I do wrong?

“My love cannot be
Forced by you or your stitches
Or locked in a box

My mind is my own
I don’t want you to change it
I want to be me

You cannot just make
The perfect boy to love you
Life doesn’t work that way”

I shuddered with chill
My own stitched up heart races swells
Tingles to the tips

I split the seams open
Rip out the tattered heart box
Watch him hit the floor

My hands are tremors
Shaking over the keyhole
I open the box

Nothingness and hollow
Dirt hinges and fine cracks
Have emptied my love

I had filled the box
With all of my own soul’s love
So now I’m empty too

I will lay down now
Next to my tattered doll boy
Together in heartlessness

Within my soul’s death
A black truth that I cannot
Make someone love me

Mind scurries with thoughts
That I cannot love myself
And that’s the worst part.

~kb
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