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moke Jun 28
i like making patterns in the words that i write
when i am planning on sending them your way
i suppose i hope you find comfort in the symmetry
that the pictures i paint are calming
and the sea of ideas i let flood in
are warm waves of "yes, i am sure"
and "it has always been okay."
i want to be a sun-kissed plot of sand
on a day where the air feels cool but doesn't move
a warm fire on a cool night

i want to be the feeling i get when i am drunk
and surrounded by everyone i love
staring at blurry stars in the sky
a collection of poems i am only just now making public
karin naude May 2014
you shower me with affection and rose water words
ever so subtle blind siding me
yesterday you threatened me
today you grabbed my wrist, hard enough
tomorrow, i am not waiting to find out
true no visible bruise
baby i was just playing, covered by a boyish smile
that devilish smile i struggle to resist
but i was not having fun, enough for a wake up call
the love you planted and carefully watered in my heart
are slowly suffocating under the weight of fear for you
trust died the moment the pain signal from my wrist reached my brain
what a pity for us both
this had the potential of a great love affair
the kind legends are made of
Kara Jean May 2016
The world is not complex
People just say it is to hide their *******, excuses for self justification
Let us give them our admiration for their condescending inspiration
Lonely is fun when your enticingly crazy
Never entirely board when your consumed in self argumentative rambling
A gesture I call exciting
I don't deny the chaos erupting from my skulls siding
Nor should anybody
I have a tendency of getting delighted the moment I put my animosity on display
It's kind of like my you have a "blessed day"
Yes I'm ok
I have daily meetings with the counselor in my head and he
said this is progress
I added more
Wk kortas Nov 2017
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.

Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location*.

You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
elle Sep 2018
Turn your need up!

plastic bags slide cross the floor of this ***** bus
pavement swimming down below
as we ride through new snow
(churning now to gray)

“Turn the heat up!
my feet are frozen"

and my dreams too.
into pictures that frame the world outside this bus
hypnotizing,
colored-dread.

A fevered sleep
so far away and weeping-

cold woke us today and from now on

(but for now I’m on this bus)
starved for more,
more waiting in your hot car

icicle clinging to your siding, wood in your fire burning,
a fixture of the season

since the innocent incentive to stick around has died
I’m sorry,
I keep waking you up all night.

..start a journey in my head
to find myself plastered to your skin in bed
and these ******* squeaky floors..

I can’t let go of you
How do you say goodbye so softly?
How do you say goodbye with half-closed eyes?

Turn your need up!
Cling to me!
acacia Aug 9
[The Scene: She is sitting ahead of him in the dark with an amethyst hanging on a silver chain around her neck]

In the dark a loop siding from one end of the chain to the other
Eyes above the chain, pressed against, iris low in the eye, lids curtaining
Ineffable timbre-smoke plumes the atmos(tofall)sphere of us
The magnets drop
Amethyst colors the spaces between and outside of your eyes like a splash
Silver chain you're caught in, silver web I'm found in: you're the spider I'm eating
I pretend to follow you closely, though, you're following me, round in range into your crevices into the whites
We could find a well that'd be deep enough for our love, but you don't want me
We could lasso a meteor onto this Earth, crater a hole deep enough to fill with the bodies we'd(we've) ruin(ed) with our forces and heightened sense of being, but alas, you don't want me
At least, not in this form
For you have completed your karma, you've cut our attachments
Yet, I'm waiting for your return
Patiently waiting with the other Citta lost, wanting to return to their mothers
All I want is my mother: this is my karma, and this is my ball
This is my laundry to fold

[End scene: She gives him a kiss on the cheek and leaves him with the amethyst necklace]
Written in your perspective, this is how you view me
Written in his perspective, this is how he views her
Written in her perspective, this is how she views him
This is the real story
Jeremy Betts Feb 2018
******' hell, I'm still here, in the throes of terror for ever but that was close.
I don't know how many more of those devistating blows from life's twisted episodes I can take before I get exposed and everybody knows that this smile's a fake
Adorned like over warn costumes on Broadway shows
A mangled backdrop set prop to keep from view that I got behind the seens woes.
With each smile the lie grows, gotta live with this Pinocchio nose.
Black out curtains dress the windows so the only parts of me I expose are silhouette shadows.
Like house siding, I stack the facade till a barrier grows.
It adds curb appeal and social value I suppose, but for me it's a false face to hide the lows
To get me through this reality that blows,
Alife time of running into doors with a sign reading closed hanging next to the mandatory posted notice of demolition proposed
Life's ultimate plan to bulldoze any happy settlement till all that's left are foreclosed burrows, unwelcoming ghettoes, a real to life Gotham City narrows.
Every one knows **** flows down stream and my life's the delta where it all goes.
Rainbows casually replaced by psychos, sorrows flicker by like sickening slideshows
Arms and legs strewn all around, separated from torsoes
From heros to zeros, no back again as I decompose into the shallows

It's basically not a place anybody would actually choose to be
But when it's your own psyche it's hard to see any way out of the intensity that will always accompany insanity
And no one can hear your inner voice plea for much needed mercy
Beging to be set free but this inescapable captivity is your eternity.
So wait
Is this outcome then a certainty?
A destiny unremarkably average and already planned out for me?
It certainly seems to be now that I see clearly that comedy lies within my tragedy
But only because hindsight is 20/20, in the moment nothing's funny.
A well lit path is not part of my journey, mines miles walked through a dark ally.
The thoughts that emerge from the shadows come in a hurry
A savage flurry of the eire, physically consumed with how badly this could turn out for me
Any second I could come face to face with an enemy sent by a deity with the soul purpose to immedietly end this agony
But I can guarantee I'm not that lucky

It's a shame this evil never left after it came
The residual, dry back shot residue stain and remain after every time I'm ******, but those rinse off in the rain that came all the same
Causing me never to see life the same, now docile and tame
A king slain by his own sword, self inflicted pain
My shelf life would be considered inhumane
A body originally set to be a temple now unlivable domain even for an animal, but for an insane cannibal it's the opposite I hear 'em saying.
What I can't figure out is what's there to gain keeping me here on this plane.
An existence broken and lame
No highs, no fame. No title bout, no championship game.
I'd like to say it's done in vain but the fact is maybe this is where I'VE chosen to remain
But if there is no one to blame, to frame, to claim did this to me then the chain that holds me here I should be able to explain away so I don't know how to explain why I stay

And I always find myself stubernly staying in this mindset like I'm developing the onset of stalk home syndrome
Eventually the environment seems normal but it's a Truman show dome.
Entertainment at the expense of a grown man condoned
And the freedom shown is an illusion cause there's only so far you are able to rome.
It never occurred to me that it was strange to be in this place alone.
At first, while trying to escape, I wore my finger tips to the bone
But now I've got it so bad that I call this catacomb home.
No land line phone, no WiFi hotspot zone
Cut off from the outside inside this prison of cobblestone
Or is that skull bone?
It's getting harder to tell as the problems begin to become overgrown
My flaws get shown as they engulf my preset headstone.
It seems so obvious that I shouldn't be here, I deserve a permanent place in a corner alone with a dunce cap cone
Or next to the rest labled drone.
And I'm pretty sure I've waited to long to atone
So the best I can hope for now are some ruby slippers or the larger piece of the wishbone
Devon Brock Sep 7
We got 6 bars and 6 churches,
each with similar congregations.
You might say we got that perfect
balance between grace and humiliation.

It doesn't end there, though.
We're run by a council of six,
if you include the mayor, Orin,
who lost the state election
because he couldn't represent
a cow if he had
crayons and construction paper.
He's got some creds,
if you take into account
he built a tractor museum
in a train depot
moved a half mile down
a minimum maintenance,
travel at your own risk road,
frequented by the hormonal.

But I digress. Oh yes,
we have a council of six,
each from one of the six
similar congregations,
each from one of the six
houses of libations.

However, every first Saturday,
they meet, informally so to speak,
under the torn tarp at Ernie's,
next to the beach volleyball pit
nobody uses, between the dumpsters
and the railroad tracks,
to discuss matters too urgent
for the formal published minutes.

They crinkle their Grain Bin cans
like phrenologists picking
out small crimes that paint
this town true, rural,
downwardly mobile,
cordoned off at the rim.

Few years back, they annexed
Bob Olson's back forty
for one helluva football complex
for our losing team. GO DRAGONS!
But we gotta have it.
Pay itself off in five years they said.
Rentals, events and all that claptrap.
Gloria walks her dogs on the track
everyday. Return on investment.
R O I.
At least she picks up the ****.

Third and Main got ripped up
a year ago last April.
Ain't been paved yet.
I suppose we're waiting
for those more appropriate
appropriations to accrue.

But that's alright,
we saved a fortune firing
our Andy and Barney PD
while Andy was in Afghanistan.
Don't know how they got away with it.
We get two hours of laws a day,
Deputy Dawgs, and meanwhile,
somebody's siphoning gas.
Pretty much sure it's that Keiser kid,
can't hold a job anyway.

I thought better of mowing the lawn today.
I looked at it a bit. Betty, across the street,
is giving me the side-eye as she sweeps
harvest dust from her shingles.
Well Bets, you fussbudget,
I'm working two jobs,
six days a week,
to live in this runt of a town,
so back the hell down.
You may be eighty and spry,
but you got five, count 'em five
courters with John Deere riders tending.

You see, here in the heartland,
where politic is a game played
with cheap beer and hard glances,
where the clapboard houses lose their paint,
where the new, polished surrounds
of seamless siding dictate appearance,
priority and expenditure,
where the churches and bars conspire
to define reputation and aspiration,
the manure-booted men
are denied the dignity of manure
for a sham - for a show
that barely covers the crust and wrinkles
of a town dying slow.
Mary McCray Apr 3
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 3, 2019)

“Not all those who wander are lost.” -- J. R. R. Tolkien

I was an office temp for many years when I was young. All the companies: Kelly girls, Manpower, Adecco. I took innumerable tests in typing, word processing, spreadsheets.

The worst job was at a sales office for home siding. I logged complaints all day on the phone about faulty siding.

I worked at a construction site in Los Angeles, a new middle-class ghetto they were building on the Howard Hughes air strip. I worked in a trailer and had to wait until lunch break to walk a block to the bathroom in the new library.

There was one warehouse I worked in that had mice so employed a full-time cat to work alongside us. The cat left dead mice everywhere. I was always cold there.

A lot of places I was replacing someone on vacation, someone the office assumed was indispensable but there was never anything for me to do there but read. I wrote a lot of letters to pen pals and friends. Email hadn’t been invented yet. Sometimes I’d walk memos around the office. Nobody ever invited me to meetings. Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes it comes true and you end up sitting in endless meetings.

In one swanky office I prepared orders in triplicate on a typewriter. I kept messing up and having to start over. Eventually I started to enjoy this. It was a medical lab and was convinced they were doing animal testing so I left after a week.

One of my early jobs was as a receptionist in a war machine company. My contact there asked me to do “computer work” (as it was called then) but I didn’t know how to use a mac or a mouse. My contact called my agency to complain about sending out “girls without basic skills.” My agency told me not to worry about it, the war company was just trying to scam us all by paying for a receptionist to do “computer work.” So they stuck me at the switchboard up front where I found bomb-threat instructions taped under the desk.

I worked at a design store and learned a program called Word Perfect. I started typing and printing the letters to my friends. The St. Louis owner was trying to sell the company to a rich Los Angeles couple. Once, a young *** designer I admired called and referred to me as “the girl up front with the glasses.” I immediately went out and got contact lenses. Before I left, I bought a desk and a chair they were selling. Years later, I sold the desk to an Amish couple in Lititz, PA, but I still have the chair.

I once worked for a cheap couple running a plastic mold factory. The man was paranoid, cheap and houvering and I said I wouldn’t stay past two weeks. They asked me to train a new temp and I said okay. The new temp also found the owner to be paranoid, cheap and houvering and so declared to me she wouldn’t stay past the week either. She confided in me she had gotten drunk and slept with someone and was worried she was pregnant. She was freaking out because she was going through a divorce and already had two kids. I told her about the day-after-pill which she had never heard of. I don’t know if it worked because I never used it myself and I never saw her again after that to follow up.

At another office I did nothing at the front desk for three weeks, bored and reading all the Thomas Covenant novels. I would take my lunch break under a big tree to continue reading the Thomas Covenant novels.

I worked for months at a credit card company reading books and letting in visitors through the locked glass door. Week after week, the receptionist would call in sick. One young blonde woman would give me filing work. She was telling me all about her wedding she was planning which sounded pretty fun and it made me want to plan a wedding too. After a few weeks she asked me what my father did. I said he was a computer programmer. She replied that my dad sounded like somebody her dad would beat up. I was too shocked by the rudeness to say dismissively, “I seriously doubt that.” (For one, my dad wasn’t always a computer programmer.) When it became clear the woman I was replacing had abandoned her job, they asked me if I wanted to stay on. I said no, that I was moving to New York City. I wasn’t  (but I did eventually).

Some places “kept me on” like the mortgage underwriters in St. Louis. That office had permanent wood partitions between the desks, waist-high and a pretty, slight woman training to join the FBI. She fainted one day by the copier. It was there that I told my first successful joke ever. Our boss was a part-time Baptist minister and we loved him because he was able to inspire us during times of low morale. One day we saw a bug buzzing above us in a light fixture.  Before I even thought about it I said, “I guess you could say he finally saw the light.” Everybody laughed a lot and I turned bright red. I wrote my essay to Sarah Lawrence College there after hours at the one desk with a typewriter. My boss and I got laid off the same day. He helped me carry my things out to my car.

I worked at a large food company in White Plains, NY. I often came home with boxes of giveaway Capri Sun in damaged boxes. I helped a blind woman fill out her checks. She was really grouchy and I wasn’t allowed to pet her service dog. She had dusty junk all over her desk but she couldn’t see it to make it tidy. I realized then that she would never be able to use a stack of desk junk as a to-do list...because she couldn’t see it. You can’t to-do what you can’t see and how we all probably take this fact for granted with our piles of desk junk. Years later I had the same thought about to-do lists burned in phones or computer files.

They also “kept me on” at the Yonkers construction company. I was there for years. The British woman next to me was not my boss but she ordered me around a lot. She told me I looked like an old 1940s actress I had never heard of who always wore her hair in her face. I was annoyed by this compliment because when I looked the actress up on the Internet I could see it wasn’t true. At the time, everyone was just getting on the Internet and I was already addicted to eBay. I would leave meetings in the middle for three minute at a time to ****** items with my competitive late-second bids. It was my first job with email too, and I emailed many letters to all my friends all day long. One elderly man there thought it was funny to give me cigars (which I smoked socially at the time) and told me unsavory ****** facts to shock me. I thought he was harmless and funny and his attempts to unsettle me misguided because I had already grown up with two older brothers who were smelly and hellbent on unsettling me. Later the man started dating and seemed happier and I met his very nice older girlfriend at one of the laborious, day-long Christmas parties our Italian owners threw every year. Months later his girlfriend was murdered in her garage by her estranged husband. Most of the office left to go to her funeral and I felt very bad for him.

And they kept me on at the Indian arts school in Santa Fe. I loved every day I spent there, walking the halls looking at student art. I had never seen so many beautiful faces in one place. One teacher there confided in me about her troubles and I tried to be Oprah. She ended up having to take out a restraining order against a man she met online. At the trial, the man tried to attack the female judge and she awarded the teacher the longest restraining order ever awarded in Santa Fe: 100 years. He broke the restraining order one day on campus and we were all scared about where he was and if he had a gun. All around the school were rolling hills and yellow blooming chamisa and we found tarantulas in the parking lot. I was there almost a full school year until I moved away.

I was once a temp in a nursing temp office that had large oak desks and big leather chairs. The office was empty except for one other woman. The boss was on vacation and she spent all our time complaining about what an *** he was and how mistreated the nurses were. I remember feeling uncomfortable in the leather chair. The boss, who I never met, called me one day to tell me he had fired her and that I should know she was threatening to come back with a gun. When I called the agency they laughed it off. I told them I wouldn’t go back.

My favorite temp job was at a firefighting academy in rural Massachusetts. I edited training manuals along with two other temps. It was very interesting work. The academy was in the middle of the woods, down beautiful winding roads with old rock walls. Driving to work I would listen to TLC and Luther Vandross. And whenever I hear Vandross sing I still think of the Massachusetts woods. When I left, they let me have a t-shirt and I wore it for years. One of the trainers had a son who was a firefighter who asked me out on a date. I said I was moving to New York City (this time it was true) and not interested in a relationship. He insisted the date would be just as friends. He took me to Boston’s North End and we ate gnocchi while he told me how he didn’t believe it was right to hit women. This comment alarmed me. He then took me to a highrise, skyview bar downtown where he proceeded to **** my fingers. I thought about Gregg Allman and Cher’s first date where Gregg Allman ****** Cher’s fingers and how now Cher and I had something in common: the disappointment of having one’s fingers ******. My scary date didn’t want to take me home and I was living with my brother at the time, so I told him my brother was crazy and if I didn’t get back by ten o’clock my brother would freak out like a motherf&#$er. That part wasn’t true...but it worked. I made it home.

I used to be deathly afraid of talking to strangers on the phone. I used to be bored out of my mind watching the clock. I used to wish I were friends with many of the interesting people walking past my desk.

When I look back on all this and where I’ve been, it seems so random, meandering through offices in so many different cities. But it wasn’t entropy or arbitrary. I was always working on the same thing.

I was a writer.
Prompt:Write a meandering poem that takes its time to get to its point.
stephanie Jan 11
step into the cold night
my boots crunching in the snow
to the spot behind my house
where i can smoke without feeling
completely judged.
listening to soft beats in my ears
my hands are cracked and cold
lifting the fire to my teeth.
the stars are out, though
and i can see the moon above the trees.
i’m by myself in this corner of
siding and snow
my feet are starting to freeze to the ground
but somehow it’s worth it
when i can see the faint snowfall
in the light of the midnight street lamp.
6 minutes of crisp freedom and solitude
i think i might have another one.
jack Jan 27
it’s really late and you look annoyed at being awoken at such an early late hour but you also look so soft and small? and yeah, i’m freezing but i’m suddenly warm at the sight of you?

god. i’m sorry. honestly. scoot over, give me some space. don’t turn around, or we’ll be siding face-to-face. is it okay if i wrap my arms around your waist?

yes. thanks. but now i’m wide awake. your minty shampoo is loud i can almost smell its taste. if i nuzzle my face against your neck, does your breath hitches because my nose is cold or because of something else?

oh. you twist in my arms and turn around. the moonlight brings out the chocolates in your eyes and the soft tilt of your mouth; a sleepy smile. your hands are cold, but i don’t mind when your fingertips trace my face, down to my neck, down to my chest. a trail of what, i don’t know, but you leave it behind. a trail of petals? goosebumps? burns?

and then your mouth is on mine, and it doesn’t taste as devine as i thought it would. it tastes like mint, like your shampoo or toothpaste. your hands are on my face. you’ve got me breathless.

but you’re kissing me goodnight, isn’t that right? you part away with a sigh then turn to face the other side. we’re giggling for a minute, louder than the moonlight, but then you start to fall asleep, and i start to fall in love.
i’m not cold anymore
KM Hanslik Aug 2018
I wanna over-withdraw you like
the figures in my bank account,
numbers dropping like the autumn temps
me falling twice as fast
I want to glaze you over like the perfect picture
a remedy for broken panes & broken bones;
your fingers are just warm enough to
hold me through the winter
your eyes are just enough to
keep me once the spring comes
(keep me in this summer forever)
keep my spine alive with
sticky pretty half dark things,
keep it growing out of the top
of my head like lightning
coming and going and never staying
but if what we are is half as much (half as much as this feels)
I think I'd like to keep this
I think we are a time bomb
but we've enough time left on our clocks to figure out how to
reverse detonate,
we've enough time to
fill the cavities in our chests,
rest yourself against my collarbones and
plant flowers in my hair,
we are building up for
a big one, we are around 2 feet tall when we lay down
& we are another train wreck behind
the bullets that rattle rusted siding,
shake our homes clean from this disaster
shake us clean from ourselves;
we are
a slow one, slipping our hands around
barbed wire to loosen its grip,
I am another thing busted, dusty in the dark but
together we are reverse engineering
the blueprints that set our hearts in stone
we are chiseling away at it
tomorrow it will be
two and two together writing
a different set of scripts.
We've fallen so far apart
Our family like bond shattered by our stubborn hearts...
We were like twins also glued to each others side...
Never once regretting the decisions we made...
Best friends turned to hollow strangers...
Our love for each other buried deep within to stop the pain...
Forgetting the perfect memories and nicknames...
You left because I protected him instead of siding with you...
He needed me more then you did...
You took our friends with you...
Leaving me alone and crying...
They say people change over time...
I moved and we talked everyday until the fight...
We gave up after that... Them all following you when you couldn't face me...
I defended myself and you made me the bad guy...
You lost your respect for me and so did they...
I lost my respect for you and cried the pain away...
I miss them and you...
You were my best friends...
My family and you left me like I was nothing...
I tried to fix it all but you refused to help...
I want my friends back...
The friends I would die for...
The people I supported through it all...
I wouldn't change my mind if I had to redo the fight...
I would pick the person who needed me and wouldn't turn on me...
I would pick him over you every time because you don't deserve my respect or love or support...
One of our friends stayed by me but I doubt they really care...
I've known you for years and I've known him for months...
But you were cruel and uncaring...
Attacking him and me and anyone that disagrees...
I never told my side of the story...
I was never there to have a chance to share...
You took control and told your twisted version...
Some asked for my input but not the ones who really needed to hear it...
They picked you like I picked him...
You picked them when you once swore you would pick me...
You turned your back and I turned mine...
You stabbed mine but I still protected yours after everything...
I still care about you and them...
You nor they care about me...
I'm the traitor in there eyes...
I broke "our family" in their eyes...
If it was safe to fix us then I would...
But I wouldn't be the victim in their eyes, You would be...
You destroyed our friendship and blamed me...
I love him and you and them...
But it's clear he wants me around when you just wanted to get rid of me...
I meant nothing to you nor did our friendship...
Broke we shall stay until we forget each other...
A torn family and friendship group...
Oh wow this is big.... Sorry for it being so long but it's based on something that really happened and this is how I feel about what happened....

— The End —