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CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and empty barns
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak of the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
(the holder of those pigs)
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
Francis Duggan Apr 2010
Perhaps the greatest tennis player the World has ever seen
She had won nine Grand Slam tournaments before she was nineteen
Till her marvellous tennis career was prematurely ended in such a tragic way
Thrown from her horse her foot was crushed that's life as some might say.

The marvellous Maureen Connolly the greatest tennis player of her time
Her great career had ended long before she had reached her prime
Nine grand slams as a teenager her record may never be beat
She won every grand slam tournament in which she did compete.

The greats of present day tennis we hear so much about
Though 'tis not on their greatness we ever cast a doubt
But of nine Grand Slams as a teenager none of them can boast
To the late Maureen Connolly we ought to drink a toast.

Great tennis players like the Seasons they come and then they go
But there was only one Maureen Connolly the legendary 'Little Mo'
Nine Grand Slams as a teenager believe it if you may
The champion amongst champions her record stands today.
Redshift Jun 2014
is when they mess with your head
light fires in your mouth
and make you hide in your bed

put stones in your heart
to drag you deep down under
they fight and they fight
their screams predictable as thunder

the rain is the part that gathers in mom's eyes
when she keeps you up late
to tell you lies
lying on the couch
her arm over her face
foundation in streaks
like old dry erase

it's when she lets you stay up late
to read to her specially
just to give her departure
more brevity

when she kisses you on the cheek
and holds you tight
then calls the cops on dad
that same night

when she only gives you presents
to make you feel bad
when she feels better
by making you sad

emotional abuse
is when she calls on a restricted number
tells you she loves you
but won't let you see your little brother
when she slaps you in the face
slams your arm in a door
maybe that's not
emotional abuse anymore...

when she tells you she loves you
but leaves anyway...
abuse is abuse,
it all feels the same.
first step

when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic


when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness


he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go


he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go


she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista ******* 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a ****** mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings


i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away


she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico


the Americans came through here last night crossing border illegally climbing over our fences digging tunnels beneath our barrier walls littering along their trail they travel in packs of every skin color carry guns knives explosives wear leather boots some are shirtless tattoos dyed hair mischievously smiling conceitedly stealing when in question murdering they rob our homes slaughter our chickens ransack gardens loot our harvest you can still smell the stink of their fast food breaths


she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Tucson square dance

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner female 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won female 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Rodeo Drive Tucson

matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gasoline mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves

Quinta Waltz de Tucson

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******


her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall


she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” ****** "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie


tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it


she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her ******* are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck ******* arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my ******* are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole ide
BellonasBride Jun 2016
People say that teenagers are angry
Rebellious and they think that’s
And they say we’ll grow up

People can’t comprehend why
Teenagers don’t care about their education
They don’t understand why
young people
choose to die.

People say we’re too young to know what
REAL problems are
Yes. Too young by far
But what does a politician know
About what the media
has done
To my brain.

Little does the mother know
Why her child comes home and
Slams the door
She asks him ‘why?’
But he tries to ignore her
because it’s hard to explain
What the kids in school say

And you’re right if you think
That if the child would speak up
They’d get noticed.
But awareness is not everything

Little do you know that I am angry
Because I think I have an open mind
But I just don’t get why the
Humankind is blind
To what’s going on.

I love to learn but not to educate
Because that concept
When they added a dress code
A behavior code
an exam

Education turned into
And hatred towards school.
People say things like
kids are cruel
But what do they know
What that girl who hung herself
Last week
Because she was too afraid to speak

And now we have to change the word from
cruel to ruthless
Because they make you feel ******* useless
And you’re really clueless

You still can’t see that
When she killed herself
She had in mind that she could
Never be that
Person who can light up somebody else’s day
Because she was always sad inside

And she thought she had to die
Because she knew that her teachers
Were clipping her wings
And she didn’t want to live because she was destined to fly

**It’s not the kids who don’t understand that die
It’s the kids that do
JayceeJellies Dec 2014
When you look in the mirror,
You see a girl with a fear,
A girl with a mask,
and a task to take you down,
whenever she gets the chance,
Cause she knows you'd be a nail,
and she'd be the hammer,
she slams you down,
and makes you cry,
She's hurting your feelings,
and you expect to make it through the night!?

Lost in your mind,
you have thoughts that make you cry,
but when I sing this lullaby,
your heart slows down and your tears go dry,
you're lost in time,
you never meant to lie,
you're tears go dry,
when I sing this lullaby...

Lay down your fate,
Set that ***** into her place,
she's going out of line,
and she does it all the time,
but you're done,
you're sick of it,
and you wanna break it up,
but she opens her mouth and toughins up!
and just as you're ready,
to knock her to the floor,
Your feet break lose and you run for the door!

Lost in your mind,
you have thoughts that make you cry,
but when I sing this lullaby,
your heart slows down and your tears go dry,
you're lost in time,
you never meant to lie,
you're tears go dry,
when I sing this lullaby...

Then you're walking down the hall,
when you feel your feet stop,
as her hand meets the touch,
on your shoulder,
her hand pulls you closer,
you shover her,
you kick her,
you run away after,
she lays on the floor a total disaster,
and you sing!

I'm lost in my mind,
I have thoughts that make me cry,
but when you sing this lullaby,
my heart slows down and my tears go dry,
I'm lost in time,
I never meant to lie,
My tears go dry,
when you sing this lullaby..
Djs Jul 2013
With your legs quivering
Hands and arms shaking
Voice cracking
Look up to see the light
The only light
Focused on you
Only you
Look back down
To your audience
No, observing
Right at you
And only you
And as you speak
One more word
Nothing else comes out
But a trace of
Grasping breath
The lights turn of
Or so you think
The people disappear
Or so you imagine
Losing yourself
Somewhere between the stage
Or your thoughts
Thoughts you could've said
Or performed
Either way taking over you
Leaving you in an unconscious state
Lost, confused, and frightened.

Not much of a poem, just a really quick write or rant. ANYHOW, what do y'all think of poetry slams? Thought of going to one next month (or next year) but I have no experience, left alone ideas, to even prepare. Any advice or suggestions surely appreciated. Thanks heaps!
Osiria Melody Mar 2019
I. The Neighbor
Eyes, two immaculate, circular egg-whites
Donning uncanny egg yolks,
Captures a commotion like a camera from afar

II. The Parents
Indecipherable words blurred with alcohol’s embrace
Battered, ****** knuckles striking “I hate you”
against her–helpless
She strikes him back like a match set ablaze
Bird-like screeches pierce the air from the depths of his cruelty

III. The Parents’ Child
Tomato-red ball bounces like a rabbit, gliding across the grainy pavement
Young child, innocent and carefree, bolts toward the ball with thunderous feet
Suddenly, a shock of lightning, blinding like the sun,
Obscures the child's vision (a car)
Ear-splitting burst of impact interrupts the neighborhood
Time took off from the ground, sending the child forward like an airplane, limbs airborne
Not an emergency landing, but an imminent one
Her severed head rolls down the road like a bowling ball
Body splatters across the neighbor's yard, sprinkler watery guts

IV. The Father
His mash potato knuckles, battered, raises into the air as if in protest
A visage ridden with contrition, contorts
Tears stream down his face like missiles (his daughter just died)
An explosion of resentment overcomes him (shock, pure shock)

V. The Mother
She, bloodied by his knuckles
Yelps in determination (she blames her daughter’s death on him)
She slams him with all of her will, ensuring his impending death (he’s a goner for sure)

IV. The Father
Now in supine position, mutters an inaudible “sorry” to his wife with an imploring gaze, asking forgiveness
As she watches him expire, grotesquely smiles (he deserved this)

V. The Mother
Sprinting from the scene, red and blue sirens, whirl and whistle endlessly, audible torture
She loses touch with balance, falling head-first to the selfish ground, forcefully embracing her
Crown splits open like a watermelon, its juicy contents ingratiate
itself onto the neighbor's yard (the grass looks green and red like a watermelon now)

I. The Neighbor
Processing this ghastly ghastly scene, succumbs to Death’s embrace from shock

VI. The Family
A fatal and unforeseen tragedy
Broke the silence in this town of tranquility

I drew my inspiration from witnessing a happy family taking a stroll in a park.

Woke this morning, I argued with my mother
Hating the snow days, stay under the covers

Gathered up my backpack, headed to the car
Did not do my homework, schools not too far

Dreading the normal bullies, homeroom fights
Walking in a hallway, standing in the lunch line

Friends text behind your back, liars of all types
Money is stolen, cheerleaders get more hyped

Ordinary day, ******* waste of my **** time
Pencils sharpening, I'm out of my **** mind!

I watch these girls, sick of stupid *** fashion!
Wish something new or exciting would happen!

Sitting in first period, Having my first period
Feeling like Carrie, blood stains get very wet

Listening to the teacher talk about due things
While hiding the fact that my ****** is puking

Then all of a sudden, a loud bang was heard
Followed by a females scream, kinda absurd

Who is now screaming and for what reason?
Is this a joke? Is someone out there teasing?

But then this loud bang is heard again closer
Students start running toward the commotion

The metal door slams open, a figure appears
He's holding a shotgun, he looks like a queer

His eyes hold fire of intense pain and anguish
Hands grip the gun, this is some insane ****

Nobody is moving as he breathes in and out
Then he unloads the gun into a friends mouth

Then as if in slow motion, her face erupted
I had to get out of this classroom, **** this!

The gun goes off again with disgusting results
Another female student lies dead with a hole

Make a run for a door, while his back's turned
The gun is so loud, every one here has heard

Students running every which way in the hall
Tripping over two dead kids, first two to fall

I run over to see if I recognize the deceased
Yes! I know one well! Her nickname was Beast

She was a goth kid, known for being so silent
She kept to herself, now killed due to violence

No time for sorrow, as I go through her purse
The students are screaming as they disperse

Lip stick and the works! This ***** was a fake
Toss the **** aside, hope all her stuff breaks!

I look in the hall, a gunman's coming this way
Now running down the hall, death in his wake

I get back up trying to make sense of this ****
Two gun shots ring out, another student is hit

My eyes make contact with the killer at large
Cold stares meets mine, he remains in charge

I look away, back up the hall towards safety
The teachers board room will still open daily

Maybe I could hide under a table or chair?
It would pass but would he know I was there?

He doesn't know me! Right? I'm too scared
As ***** flows freely down my legs, now bare

Kids panicking as the blood stains the doors
Dead bodies now litter this once clean floor

I take to these stairs and I continue up flights
Should I go down to the garage for the night?

That couldn’t be right! I need to get to the top
But my name's is called, I turn back and stop

The man with the gun is standing behind me
Wants me to lay down, I don’t plan on fighting

I am humbly abiding by his every command
He simply asks me this single question then

He proceeds to ask if I believe in God or not
Most likely, no matter what, I'n gonna be shot

This is the last chance I’ve got to be someone
Go out with a bang, a literal one from his gun

I hear students cry, I watch the carnage unfold
Tears of the ungrateful, the sad rotting of souls

Flesh falls from the mold, the world has failed
Me in the moment, a stupid girl once labeled

Known for lack of faith and love of blasphemy
Now face to face, asked one more task of me

Should I deny a God I hated to acknowledge?
Or continue strong to the end? End of all this

Never going to college never felt so disgusting
I didn't know this kid! Did he know something?

Just then he turns the gun, shooting kids dead
Turns back to me, he is so serious, he says

I look to see a kids head now blown to pieces
God forgive this sad *******, help him Jesus!

I scream out so that the world can hear me!
The Lord is my savior! He is forever near me!

That's my last moment as the trigger is pulled
As my hopes and dreams are fully annulled

Just an ordinary day in a quiet Colorado town
Death won as the gunman took himself down

Just an ordinary day for the parents of teens
Just ordinary funerals and ordinary screams

Common place or out of place? Who knows
From schools to movie theaters, gun control?

Hug children, keep them happy and laughing
Never know when “ordinary days” will happen

Adam Koss/ January 5, 2014
A powerful reminder that school shootings are very real.
Akemi Oct 2013
Chapter 1

There was a woman. The cost to love her was your life. No other payment but a sending off, a revolver cocked to your temple’s side.
There was no spite in your death, just business.
Hell of a business to run.

I was protecting someone. Never been one to stick around, but this drag had carried for the past year. That gang-owned joint lay but two doors and a cold alley away. Popular place, maybe not the classiest but it had its patrons. Packed with your essentials: pool tables, dirt-licked walls and chairs, mean folk mixed in with the nice. Old fashioned joint with a history. You could almost feel it when you walked in. That small pressure when it’s about to rain? Felt like that had been building up for a decade there.
Some Madonna owned it. Names elude me, but she was just another front; as was the barkeep, the hired bouncers and those mean-eyed slingers that spoke loud in company, silent alone. Heh, almost like an old-fashioned saloon. Who the hell am I in this tale of cowboys and crooks?
I was holed up in that apartment block for the winter. Stiff drapes covering a stiff cold that seeped through the cracks anyway. Cold chills to wake to, and the whiskey don’t warm a **** thing. Maybe it was the ache of a past flame that led me to her. That old touch had languished and misted away in the night of some long dead memory, leaving an old kiss from a young lover on my shivering body. It grew faint with every year’s passing. I struggle to remember this keepsake.
Every night.
I was a no name protector protecting a no name ghost of a man. Yeah we knew each other. I’m no stranger to keep past talking terms . . . but, hell if I remember his name, how we got into this **** situation and why. Mind’s a little off. Been like that for years.

It was a stumble through the wrong door at the wrong time. Some spiteful voices in the back of the joint or the back of my mind telling me I’m headed for hell and ain’t coming back. See, every day is a crossroad, and I happened upon the worst one yet.
I remember that flaking paint; grime-covered white on a moulding door **** near off its hinges. That suited me, and I hated it. Maybe I grew sick of wandering the same way and turned my life on its spinning head. Spun me all the ways I couldn’t face. Saw a glimmer that fate had readied for me. Don’t think I’ve looked at anything with such eyes since; nor have they looked back at me.
The room was a cramped, dilapidated hellhole like every other room, but with her laying on that bed of hers . . . she was the only clean thing in the whole of this cursed city. Save, she wasn’t clean. No such thing exists; no such thing as clean since your adolescent innocence, and even that went up in flames. Hell, in a city like this I wouldn’t be surprised if the skeletons we kept so tightly locked in our closets outnumbered us ten to one.
Should have remembered that when I saw her, but my mind lay a blank canvas and I couldn’t help but fill it with all the details of this pretty bird. Even those that weren’t there.
No Name yanked me out quick. Never seen him so pale, ghosting further and further from a human being. He’d been running so long I don’t think he even knew what he was running from anymore. His past? Some cop chase from years back, ending with blood stains and shaky hands? A dead kid in the arms of a suicidal wife? Maybe he’s running from himself. Fear in the capacity we contain, and fear in the ways we unleash it around loved ones. I don’t blame him for running. If I was a worse man I’d run from him as well.
Now No Name has it all figured out, even if he won’t let on; and that bird in there ain’t part of the plan. Cash cash, first train out to some no name city for this no name man. In this together, he keeps repeating, like some broke down record player that only plays one song. Well I guess we share more similarities than I’d like to think so.

One night, about a month after settling in that old apartment, I hear raised voices. Not uncommon, but something about this still night woke some fear inside me. A fear I needed to meet with my eyes, a score to settle with myself. Sounded like some ******* outside was hoping to bring down the sky with volume alone. No type of gentleman, just a no ***** kid who doesn’t know the difference between command and screaming like a babe.
One gets you respect. Now, the other. . . .
I open those stiff drapes with stiffer fingers. Brush that layer of frozen breath and mist to find some mid-twenty good for nothing punk holding a struggling figure. The apartment ain’t exactly ground floor but even up here I can spot the difference between a gent and a sally. Some broad was in trouble.
Grab that six shooter, old man. The holster smooth from years of wear, small frays on the weathered jacket rubbing against goose-pricked skin. Comfort clothing that never really brings comfort. Not anymore. Guess I’m as bad as No Name. I’m just repeating routine.
Out the hall, no doors left in this apartment block. Stolen, broken, ain’t exactly your family fun lifestyle we’re living. No Name’s holed up in this fortress of upturned furniture and dresser-barred doorways. Lights flicker from between the cracks. The devil ain’t gonna bother with the door, I tell him. He doesn’t reply. Maybe he’s a religious man with one too many sins above his head.
There’s another yell and I feel my blood rise, hairs picking up static, a storm brewing inside that clenched stomach of mine. Take a tumble down the stairs in my haste. **** crooked balsa wood. Those stairs are gonna end me one day, I swear.
Ground floor. I slam that kitchen door and it cracks against the brick wall outside. ****. No Name’s gonna burst an artery. Call out for that ******* punk but he’s already eyeing me up. Only a few steps away and I can see the white in his eyes. No . . . those are his pupils. Wide, all cloud-like, he’s ******* dusted up. . . . Almost like looking into the past. Thrice-cursed ****. I’m in trouble.
This ain’t some lover’s quarrel, some twisted ****’s thought of a good way to end the night. This is a dusthead addict and I’m out of my league. His mid-snarl distorts and stretches past his cheeks and that devil grin sends an electric jolt from the wires of my brain to my heart.
This six shooter is as good as a pea gun against a Smiley.
He’s spouting some glossolalia drifts, layering it like an abominable duet. The coked-up boy in me yearns to understand again, but stiff joints and washed-out dreams have made me a cynic. Ain’t no beauty when you’re tearing things apart to see it. ******* Smiley’s on the edge and he’s ready to pounce right off. If that broad’s sobbing didn’t **** at those heart strings of mine I’d be running for my ******* life.
I lift that pea shooter and aim it straight at that devil smile.
He howls. Glass shatters from above. Some black monstrous thing comes speeding at me. I leap through that apartment doorway in time to see ******* Smiley consumed by it. All sharp, all solid that beast slams into Smiley, screaming loud enough to wake this dead city twice over. Smiley thrashes, he splays out to the ground, the beast’s seared flesh erupting in front of me. A piece slices past my cheek and I’m on the ground in tears. I hear No Name scream an incomprehensible curse above. I’m bawling now. Through my tears I spot that chunk of flesh. ******* balsa wood. Thrice-cursed balsa wood.
No Name had thrown a piano out that barricaded window of his. Tears of pure comedy, that’s what left my face. A Smiley taken out by No Name, I’ll never live this down. His mangled body lies under polished wood. Someone’s yearly worth gone in a second of frantic panic, reduced to twisted wires and cracked ivory. To see something so beautiful destroyed in seconds makes me wonder if the Smiley had gotten the better of us after all.
That broad’s in shock. Splinters covered every inch of ground save that around her; looked like a comet, trailing emptiness behind.  Should have noticed it then that something wasn’t right with that scene. Perfectly unscathed beauty sitting there with not a single scratch nor splinter on her, but I was too **** amazed I was alive. Knelt close to her and caught a whiff of some exotic scent on her skin. Some flower. Saw her face and it added another colour to that filling canvas of mine. This pretty bird from the joint. The one men died for. At least No Name had saved one life worth saving, funny it happened to be the one who could take yours in a night.
Names elude me, but the way I remember her . . . the way I remember her is Blossom, for when she came into my life she gave colours to my black and white memory, colours I didn’t know existed, and my black and white morals took a turn down some dawning grey-blurred alley.
So I’m a ******* gentleman and I walk Blossom home while No Name shifts furniture above us. Scrapes of hard wood against wood, filling that void in his once impenetrable bastion. I told you No Name’s got it all planned out already. Guess I’m just here for the ride.
Welcome to the paranormal neo-noir gangster world of Devil Smiles.
Abby Sanderson May 2011
She jumps
and leaps
and trips
and runs
on a quest to her sacred swing in the park.
Her sister leaps along, aching for the swing.
They weave through kids
like rival sharks towards a catch.
Past a swordfish,
past a carp,
towards that tasty turtle-seat, hanging like bait.
Her foot gets tangled,
now in kelp,
now in coral.
She slips on the rocks and hits something sharp.
Her sister sprint-swims to find help,
but the fin isn't bleeding and she’s up and swimming,
beckoning her sister with her swip-swish tail.
She dives forward to the turtle, grinning
as she slams into its shell,
her sisters slams into her.
They knew they'd seize their petty prey,
swinging faster,
swinging higher,
each time
to break the water surface,
to break into the sky.
Shannon McGovern Aug 2011
He is rougher then being dumped
from the saddle of a bay mare,
but perhaps she shouldn’t be riding
******* past vineyards of red rusted vines.
And if she is on fire then she should probably roll
or climb into a hot tub on ***** Thursday
and put out the flame ignited by the thought
of hoping to God his parents can’t hear her.
She had always wanted to know what it felt like
to slaughter someone. So when he placed his palms
on the arch of her back and massacred her lips,
I imagined her smashing his skull against a brick wall.
And when she is in the bathroom washing him off
her hands, with a published poet in the next stall
she shouldn’t yell *******, I’m not a flower
and start listing off the ten rules to **** ***.
Because no matter how many times she uses him
as her own personal merry go round or slams
back beer after beer, he will never die in a coffin
so that she can say he is already dead and
david badgerow Aug 2014
when i recite my poems
i don't shout
or laugh
i'm not asking your opinion
seeking your approval
or challenging your belief
in god

i don't even have them
and don't want to
i'm punching out words and feelings
from a page
like the grand marshall
of a ticker tape parade

i'm so tired of poetry slams
where dignity is stomped dry
and teenaged lesbians try
to change the collective consciousness
of the older generation

there's nothing original
in poetry anymore
every black kid has a poem
which starts with him holding
a black and white photo and
the lines on his great grandmother's face
as she sweeps the yard with a broom
made out of a bundle of twigs
and no shoes on her feet
and he's put it in a book
or won some scholarship with it

while every feminist ****
and post-pubescent *** have
heart-wrenching tales
set to the soundtrack of a john hughes flick
of a time when they were
mistaken for a man or
forced to **** a fat man's ****
in an alleyway somewhere
in Cleveland or Boston
someplace where the cold
pavement left their knees bruised

what if i told you
we've all ****** his ****
and nearly all of us hated it
we've all shoveled ****
and your sob story
doesn't make us cry

i still shake and crumple
the paper
no matter how many times
i read on stage
i still mumble and cough
and spill my drink
but maybe that's why
i've never
stirred deeply with joy
enthralled with the spirit
we return to Elysian fields
to live autumnal reveries

we prance once more
onto blue sky diamonds
with hometown heroes
to pitch perfect games
knock long grand slams
to honor and embrace
the semblance of siblings,
parents, lovers and friends

life's teammates
our dearest playmates
passed and still here
sustaining our spirit
filling the void of
riven hearts
with nothing more than
a smiling presence,
compliant ear
a warm embrace

keeping a
season of sunshine
alive for one more
golden day

in a resplendent moment
Measy’s youngest son
stood before me
as if it were him
five decades ago

his impish smile,
mischievous eye
and olive skin
wrinkled when
he grinned

your Old Man
was a hell
of a ball player
a great hitter
he always swung down
at the pitch, hitting
nasty line drives

I remember that
summer afternoon
when we first met on
the Washington School
Measy just up
from Carolina
he spoke with
a slow Tar Heel drawl
we didn't know what
to make of him
so we made him
our friend

Sifford's Esso, B&D;
and Bulldog teammates
I marveled at his athleticism
but the thing I remember
most was the soft joviality of...

“ ah hoot,
ah hoot.
ah hoot”

his laugh would send
a soft almost *******
shudder through his body

Measy lives in me,
forever in my heart
I embraced young Roy
touched his cheek
a transcendent moment
that spans a half century

At first base
Gail “Peppermint Patty” Q
was scooping up grounders
and not letting anyone past her
without giving them a smile or a hug….
asking each player if their shirt fit right…

the way Gail played
she could start for
the Lady Gaels today...

on the mound
Moons was wearing
a Schmeds shirt
lobbing lollipops to the hitters…..
making sure everyone got on base…

at short Screwball
covering half the ground
he once did..
(never a ss but a classic junk baller,
never threw a pitch that you could hit)
but on this day his heart was filled
overflowing with the karma
of good works and his love for
Rutherford and its favorite
sons and daughters
who have gone on before….

other stars abounded on the field and off…
Noons cracked everyone up
with an endless stand-up routine
Skip walloped a few dingers
BL looked sharp in his Foster Grants
and Andy was looking good
destined for the next cover of GQ….

Coach Way gave a resounding pep talk…
the need to grow up and show up
with an attitude of gratitude will
always make one a winner
regardless of the score

in the stands I heard a hundred stories
about the prowess and foibles of departed friends…

Bay Bay’s HR smash that put Flash Cleaners
into the World Series

A cool Moose bringing the ball across
half court, driving and dumping one off to Head
for the go ahead points against Queen of Peace

Minnow ruling a territory that included Morse Ave,
Wood Street up to Chopper’s House and
half of the Washington School playground

Fic being the smallest Bulldog with the largest heart
ran over linebackers and tackled fullbacks twice his size

Weehawken Joe draining a jumper
from the top of the key to keep it close
at the Union Hill pit…

as the list of the departed was read by Gail, Pat, John and Jimmy
the depth of our loss was only exceeded by the magnitude of love
a caring community extends to one another….
Rutherford is indeed a very special place….

so many caring friends
so many good thoughts
the blessing of friendship
the grace of presence

as I turned to leave
I thought I saw
Nick and Joe
hanging with
Sweet Lou
the hog was
his red bandanna
was flapping
in a rising breeze

Aaron Copland:
Our Town

Righteous Brothers
Unchained Melody

Whitney Houston:
I Will Always Love You

Dia De Muertos

Thank you Pat Francke, Jimmy Noonan, Gail Wilhelm Quinn and John Mooney for putting this beautiful event together….

My apologies for not mentioning all the beloved souls so honored at this game…..Know that all are deeply loved and equally missed…..

If anyone has a memory they would like included please add in comments section and it will be incorporated in future versions…..

Also if anyone has a list of the names would like to add that to this….

God Bless
an annual autumn softball game played in my hometown Rutherford NJ...
we gather to honor and remember passed loved ones......
Tuesday Pixie Nov 2014
Hurry now, it’s leaving soon
Car door slams, gravel underfoot
And from the boot
Grandmas lil helper is lifted
Oh! Where did it go?
Wind twists scarf to snake
Released from frames captivity
I stoop and tug
Under your foot, Gran
She shuffles,
Ties it firmly around tiny shoulders
Bright colour against delicate skin
Paper thin, both,
One for beauty, one to hold the blood in
And may it hold the blood in,
Just a little longer...

The train awaits,
Steele stark against surrounding bush.
Matt has a sausage,
Mum bothers about tickets,
Both fuss and fizzle,
I press lips firmly together
Deciding then and there
Never to let entertainment turn to stress;
It’s more than it’s worth.

We’re to be in the engine room,
The rest will be left behind -
As something faulty.
Matt lifts Gran up;
She’s tiny,
She’s flying,
She’s in.
And then we’re all in.
We stare longingly through grimy glass
At empty carriages
Can’t we be in there? It’s all a bit stuffy.

There’s a fire along the track
But we don’t go any further.
The smoke streams out over forest.
And jerking and bumping,
Dipping along,
We reverse back to whence we started.
Petrol fumes and smoke fill our tiny cocoon
Here, let me help you*
Passenger to passenger,
Fellow human,
Compassionate eyes.
Gran has a seat;
She sways while we lurch.

Deep within
Railroad country
I make believe
I know something
Of the girl
Of the Plannies;
That sacred connection
To land and sky,
To Native country,
To Golden Macrocarpa

I stare over hills of tree ferns,
Kawakawa, Wheki, Punga
And, knowing no other,
I feel this land
My own.
"The girl of the Plannies" is Janet Frame, New Zealand author and poet, and a huge inspiration to me. Her autobiography taught me so much and made me truly realise my connection to New Zealand.
Julie Oct 2012
Contemplation for days and hours
As all the beautiful flowers devour their worst enemy
Trying to defend me, no decency cause I tell myself I’m horrible
Gravity slams me to the floorboard of a moving car
Let me go, let me breathe
My reality deceives the truth that you and I were once meant to be
I overlook, my eyes force me not to see
All the pain, all the lies
Just *******
I despise you and your ******* *** ways
And I’m still sitting here in this haze
Of my sweet mary jane, that takes away the pain
Because she actually gives a **** about what I have to say
And she don’t question me
She smooths the depression out of me
There’s not a doubt in me that I won’t see better days
You’re in the past
There’s no way we would have been able to last
But I be me, I do me
I don’t give a **** about what your eyes want me to see
They see what they want to see and I be what I want to be
I laugh at your failure to attempt to change me
I’m invincible, not dispensable
You can’t just use me, I’m insensible
Good luck finding someone as valuable as me
There’s no next time, there’s no meant to be
The curtain on the
CPAC convocation rolls back,

as the revolution
in Tahrir Square boils.

America’s theater
of deadly political

absurdity commences;
to witness demagogues

recite holy scripture to
evangelize a religion of war.

A heavily invested
audience marvels

at the marionettes
pirouetting on strings

jigged along by hands
of invisible puppet-masters

donning dark masks of
clever 503C llcs

disguised in self serving
hues of red, white and blue.

This grand folly of masquers
conceals a fatal pantomime,

a cast of reactionary characters,
Neo-Conmen auditioning for

the leading role in a lurid play
of a deadly nation projecting
a dying imperial preeminence.

The martinets engage zero
sum games where the victor
belongs to the despoilers,

and the merchants of death
richly confer multimillion dollar
reasons for being, underwriting
the gilded egos of candidates

and their infatuation with the
vanity of feigned power.

These master rhetoricians
skillfully lather up the crowd

by pandering to basest
xenophobic nationalist
instincts and fantasies
of laissez-faire proclivities.  

Slathering on the partisan
pretense in layers so thick

a master chef, armed
with the sharpest Ginsu Knife

couldn't slice a hock tip
of blood red meat

hurled into the crowd of
gobbling Republicons

howling and yodeling
it’s derisive acclaim.

The rankled party line,
gibberish talking points

are hammer blows of
incessant propaganda,

so cocksure that any room for
doubt is crowded out by the

phantasmagorical McMansions
of hyperbole they ***** in

the pliant minds of their
gibbering minions.

The candidates preening for
president show off their

falangist affectations
in eager duels of oratorical

one upmanship; constantly
jockeying to outflank their

other Neo-Conmen opponents,
always concluding their brutish

diatribes with a solemn
denouement of a Republicon

psalm ending with a
Holy Hosanna Hallelujah

to the Ronald Reagan
Heavenly Buddha.

Punchline of the holy Amen
“what would Reagan do?”

to remind the faithful
to remain the faithful

bearers to the fiction
of dead Reaganism.

Evoking anything
Ron and Nancy

induces sanctioned
comportment of a

slow simmering
******* eubellence

providing a welcomed
relief of repressed
libidinal energy.

The mention of Goldwater
sends GOP acolytes to

pause in reverence,
envisioning Barry and

Ronnie looking down
from heaven upon the gathered,

inciting immediate ruminations
of falling dominos and

the viability of a
tactical nuke strike

against Ayatollah’s
uranium factories.

The host of Neo-Conmen,
new age Falangist pitchmen

belch from the dais,
in ever increasing alacrity,

the stirring drum beats
and slick videos,

of glorious warriors
winning the battlefield

with the rippling glory
of the Stars and Stripes

flowing in a continual
loop behind them.


take center stage,

goose stepping
to the roll of piercing timpanis.

Words slither
out of their mouths
like poisonous snakes.

Lies, hiss through
their teeth.

Open mouths
expose Black Mamba
fangs, dripping with venom.

Eyes squint
as their reptilian brains

implore the besieged
to flee from the
light of truth.

Seeking refuge in fear;
yet on the ready

to coil and strike;
while trembling

in ignorance,
exalting loathsomeness

worshiping violence;
they remain

poised to unleash
first strike armies;

boastfully evoking moral
platitudes of Bush Doctrine

Trembling in ignorance
worshiping violence

exalting fear,
these dogs of war bay

to unleash armies
against the

Godless apostates
that threaten

to expose the
stasis of their

view of the world.

They have hijacked
the great faith traditions

to serve a narrow
political aim

and relish any
opportunity to

demonize Islam
in service to their lies.

Watch as they
they crouch down

on the dais to
open the nest

of vipers welling
deep within the
bowels of their souls.

They find relief
by excreting their

spawn of deadly asps
into the veins of

cable news networks;
scoring political points

with the terrorized
children of Faux News

capturing battalions
of straw men villains

to rise atop meaningless
straw polls.

They agitate for a second
American revolution

by injecting the venom
of fear and lies

into the body

Ron Paul
stands alone,

perplexed why
American's love

war as much as
they hate civil liberties?

Cheney and
Rumsfeld brood.

The people of
Iraq and Afghanistan

fail to embrace their armies
of liberation that run up

unfortunate collateral damage
body counts required to sustain
the American way of life.

Ever the defender of
democracy and liberty,

Gingrich slams Obama's
condemnation of Suleiman

"hes an able diplomat."
Gingrich  forgot to add

that Suleiman is a
skilled torturer and

an able tyrant any self
serving democracy would
be proud to call ally and friend.

Cheney and Rumsfeld
remain flummoxed.

Their armies of liberation bogged
down in the marshy Blackwaters

of intractability;  trying to solve
the conundrum of the diminished

equity returns of asymmetrical
warfare.  Spinning the math

to justify building aircraft carriers
to **** a gnat.

The families of dead soldiers
surround them and wave dime

store flags hoping the plastic
eagle remains fixed atop the pole.

Perpetually smiling
Michele Bachmann
raises the specter
of Muslim Brotherhoods
taking over Egypt.

The persecution of Christians
and the escalating war on

Christianity have the Crusaders
up on their seats waving Excalibur
once again.

Gingrich pink cheeks
flush with the cash

of a Zionist casino

doubles down, stacks
his chips high.

“The Israeli Embassy
in Cairo was overrun
by angry mobs.”  

“Is this a precursor of
cancelling the peace treaty
signed with Sadat?”

“The pullout in Iraq hands the country to
radical Shiites effectively handing our
hard won victory to Iran.”

“Israel is threatened and will not
permit Iran to acquire nuclear

weapons. A nuclear empowered Iran
will not stand!”

“We mustn't let do nothing Obama
threaten the safety of our good ally

CPAC willingly holds the deadly asp
to the breast of a proud nation.

Urging, coaxing it to gently sink
its teeth into the sacred heart
of our dear republic...

John Lee ******
Crawlin King Snake

CPAC 2011

Matthew 23
Brood of Vipers

at high noon
at a small college near the beach
the sweat running down my arms
a spot of sweat on the table
I flatten it with my finger
blood money blood money
my god they must think I love this like the others
but it's for bread and beer and rent
blood money
I'm tense lousy feel bad
poor people I'm failing I'm failing
a woman gets up
walks out
slams the door
a ***** poem
somebody told me not to read ***** poems
it's too late.
my eyes can't see some lines
I read it
desperate trembling
they can't hear my voice
and I say,
I quit, that's it, I'm
and later in my room
there's scotch and beer:
the blood of a coward.
this then
will be my destiny:
scrabbling for pennies in tiny dark halls
reading poems I have long since beome tired
and I used to think
that men who drove buses
or cleaned out latrines
or murdered men in alleys were
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2013
We have entered desperate hours they stem from this historical fact they slay a man on a tree that was
Then and this is what all will face very soon Rev 1:12 Then I turned to see the voice that spoke to me and
Having turned I saw seven golden lamp-stands and in the midst of the seven lamp-stands One
Like the Son of Man clothed with a garment down to the feet and girded about the chest with a
Golden band His head and hair was white like wool as white as snow and His eyes like a flame
Of fire His feet were like fine brass as if refined in a furnace and his voice as the sound of many
Waters He had in His right hand seven stars out of His mouth went a sharp two edged sword
And His countenance was like the sun shining in its strength Isaiah 13: 6 says and notice their
Faces were like flames and mentioning of the stars I will possibly offend but know this I am
Going to use this piece and other life experiences as credentials for my having authority to
Speak on these or anything that is Holy
River of time
Your life began in the great head waters at Eden they will end at the mouth of eternity. I was given a view into the celestial I was just a teenager while a sleep this dream came I looked into the heavens and saw two great wheels made of stars the hands of God started to pull the wheels down as I continued I knew what was occurring God was stopping time. The wheels stopped then God turned to the seamless darkness grasped it and started to lift as he did it tore away reveling the bright true world of the spirit that was before hidden this was alarming since I hadn’t made my peace with him. Not long after this I was seventeen working at the refinery I just walked out of the boiler room into the section that was known as the flathead when a voice said time is finished all life and its concerns flowed out leaving me with the greatest sadness other men standing by laid down their tools and started milling about mindlessly. On this wise in some manner this will happen all over the world. The great enterprises so important to man and society will halt government rule and authority abolished in an instant majesty and power will take the reins the river previously known will be empowered its first charge make the deserts bloom as a rose. Georgia O’Keefe and her vision before beguiling but lost on ordinary eyes will dazzle true paradise sands burnished cape now like the Emerald Isle lush manicured pools of water reflecting the gracious transformation. Nothing will abide that is mean or distasteful children of a royal monarch comes from a city that is four square to play to enjoy their father’s wonder. Long ago a garden was the battle ground foolishness ruled the day it ushered in blackest night centuries old the blight has gone unchecked many were the tears as death strolled in to the human condition. His scythe with wide sweeps men and women fell before his awful work now as Victor Hugo said “a new budding will shoot forth” never will you feel the cold chill of death’s hoary breath. The tree of life newly planted take your fill of its leaves it stories only told by millennia not hours and days. The cost for a life so rich and full death to self follow the line of people to rivers where Hallelujahs rang out in olden days in these waters they secured their deed to true life. The harvest is still open many are praying in love will you listen
Before I get to the hardest saying of all I will add another piece about his grace and protection
Angel’s connect

“He could have called ten thousand angels” I could start it that way or I could tell what the guide said
About the Sahara how that it was the only place you could feel spiritual dimensions of that kind of depth
Nowhere else on earth but my theme is bringing you closer to the unseen why miss the greatest show
That truly is happening at the very end of your finger tips in crisis in joy and it goes with thought out
Saying but in Worship in all these areas they are present even in the hotel room in Hawaii at the
Hawaiian village on Oahu I thought the contestants for the beauty pageant that would compete in Miss
America was exciting then I went to bed and then there stood this beautiful angel I know they’re
Supposed to be gender neutral but sorry she had this light golden curly hair with a sweet smile and all
She said was do you have a bible for the Islands I was so very pleased but I admit puzzled I didn’t know
What it meant then or now but it was a treasured moment it dwarfed the islands believe me the
Greatest moment was the saving of me and twelve soldiers returning from church a hundred miles
Away in Monterey I got out of the service and was going down in a Volkswagen bus working the base
And talking those who would go back to church I had done this for the two week revival it started taking
A toll getting them in at twelve thirty every night then racing back getting in at two thirty even with
Every window and vent open and then the Salinas valley always has a high cold wind blowing it didn’t
Help I fell asleep all the way back just waking when I would hear the gravel at the side of the road but
This happened going in we were half way to the company area where fire house and just across the
Company compound was their barracks everyone was a sleep then the only way to explain it we all have
Pulled our hand and fingers through water felt that ripple effect well all of a sudden I felt that sensation
Down the side of my face and body it was so unusual I lifted my total sleeping head just as the bus was
Barreling at fifty five miles an hour straight toward steal a beam that made up a cattle crossing gate the
Kind with the rolls of steal rollers that cows won’t cross the angel stirred this most pleasant and life
Saving movement in a Volkswagen bus you sit on top the engine nothing but windshield and thin steel in
Front of you all or most would have died in their sleep including me the devil was stirred we were filling
Two rows of pews nightly the devil had took a shot a week before I got out of the service we were out on a training session at the pond I was
Showing the guys how to draw water if we were too far from the water point’s one of the other trucks
Was In trouble across the sand I was going down to help them the truck that I was walking beside of was
Backing up I inadvertently crossed behind him as I was looking at the other truck this one beside me was a two and a half ton
Water tanker with a double set of dual tires it caught me flush in the back with a wall of steal I have never
Been body slammed so powerfully even though I got the sensation in Jr high in gym while I was fighting
Someone else the coach came up behind and through me into the bleachers this was worse I heard the
Roar coming out of the tail pipe that was nothing the set of dual tires was inches from my face moving
Too fast to escape Death was inevitable but right when my life was to be crushed out the angel who
Would later stop a runaway car and hold the back end while it beat out the forward motion it was going
In at that most important moment he started the wheels jerking in the sand that was all I needed I tore
Out from under the truck the guy over at the pond who was a favorite who went to church was doing a
Bill in the yard with the bow and arrow but he was almost in tears from his vantage point he thought I
Was gone I could tell you more about angels personally and through others and their stories and I expect
You have you own stories there is so much more to our world than what we see just stop every once
and A while and say what is there really to see you would be amazed and blessed. Bill in the
Yard is another piece where we lost an arrow I was down in the yard looking for it he thought I
Will shoot another the same way only problem that was where I was standing I looked up and he
Was mouthing words without saying anything I knew and arrow was in flight I did everything I
Could but run I didn’t want to run into the arrow I bowed down and looked up nothing my
Problem I was looking for this beautiful yellow arrow with orange feathers and a green guide
Feather no wonder an animal never sees anything when I finally spotted it only the front half was
Showing and it was dark and wobbled not like I thought the same as the train when I was seven
And I played chicken it rolls back and forth and it seems two stories high it got within a hundred
Feet I jumped a little longer and there is a trick the nerves plays you freeze and you can’t move
And as a teenager we outran a train on foot we just turned and the engineer hanging out the
Window shaking his fist over the high roar he hollered something about being a son of a
Something and he was carried on down the line but these guys communicate a few days later we
Were on the front page of the paper down in the corners three youths race and out run train it was
Hilarious my mother was reading it and didn’t know she was reading to the winners but these are
More cases of God preserving my life the car and angel mentioned towing my car out of Chicago
It broke loose the story is included in miracle in the Smokey’s this bleeds in from a post about a
Beautiful car I wrote a piece then hit the wrong button this was a few thoughts I know this is
Serious piece but everything has light moments not being a car expert but I can attest to this fact
A fifty six Pontiac will skid on the surface as it swings back going the wrong way when you take
The corner to fast and the girls will scream but a fifty six Chrysler will stay upright but will roll
Both tires off in the slide and the guys will cuss no one carries two spares and a fifty eight
Pontiac will take a road bridge at a hundred and fifteen miles an hour it will give you the
Airborne thrill and slams down hard do it again loss nerve takes it only at hundred and five miles
An hour your blood has the sensation of turning to ice nothing no matter what can affect you
Fingers or arms it hold it straight or from some where you will hear Father except these dear
Departed ones I will add this piece it references teens drinking pool side in Texas it says there
Not terrible but the story I call them the Burbank five drinking and speed five died without
Getting out of the car one survived later more about L A Basin
The Eyes of Texas are Upon You
A great song a great state but I choose to reverse the meaning to we have eyes on Texas this isn’t
Complicated it will wind a lot but it will become clear first to say this then retie it together the heart
Suffers many sorrows and I was blindsided by an innocent scene of a group of Texas teens for this
Reason our church was launching a new work in the Dakotas’s brother Yoyla had already been to our
Church with slides when he was a missionary to Japan we set in the dark auditorium and on the screen
Was a little grandmotherly Japanese woman I think it was the second or third slide and he described it
Before hand with passion how she came and kneeled for hours on cobble stones praying to this great
Buda that had to be upwards to twelve feet but as we set there you could hear brother Yoyla saying with
His heart breaking it has no ears to hear no eyes to see thank God we have the true living and loving God
Who does see and hear this time the slides showed the work and the progress that had been made but
Then it centered on this beautiful teenage girl folks this is what it is all about I don’t care what any of us
Have if He doesn’t say well done thou good and faithful servant when we stand before him at the last
Day it has all been for naught there was the scenes of her wonderful life and then it carried you to the
Funeral home as she lay in the coffin these were the words what if we had gotten there a month later
On the razors edge of time and eternity precious grain is falling it is harvest time so it was when I saw
These young people in Texas they were poolside they weren’t engaged in illegal activities but it was
Obvious we haven’t gotten there yet these are our kids their back is up against a wall I am not a prophet
And I’m not Jeremiah the weeping prophet but I did weep for them my heart broke for them you say
What are you crying about I don’t look on the superficial show the beauty of their lives are of great
Consequence but they are targeted and the traps are personally designed to take them away from
The true path in both senses spiritual and natural success one is pure joy the other is riddled it starts out
So right but before you know it you are lost and have no familiar sign post your better good is
Undermined the great spoiler is perfected in the art of deception who else could sell us a bill of goods
Cut yourself off from eternal paradise in some cases live an abased life that only makes you miserable
You turn from perfect love to a venomous wanton liar murderer it is insane who would live around that
In life but in the truest deadly sense that’s what we are doing we as the precious teens work in unison
With the very one who has sworn to destroy us the love is streaming in this pool is healing of all of life
Hurts it will fix us on a course of acceptance and love forever we just can’t be late not a month or even An hour
Isaiah 13:6 Wail for the day of the Lord is at hand
It will it will come as destruction from the Almighty
Therefore all hands will be limp
Every man’s heart will melt
And they will be afraid
Pangs and sorrows will take
Hold of them
They will be in pain as a
Woman in Childbirth
They will be amazed at one another
Their faces will be like flames
Behold the day of the Lord comes
Cruel with both wrath and fierce anger
To lay the land desolate
And He will destroy its sinners
From it
For the stars of heaven and their constellations
Will not give their light the sun will be darkened
In its going forth and the moon will not cause its light to shine
I will punish the world for its evil
And the wicked for their iniquity

Once we feared nuclear annihilation the Bible says don’t fear the one that can destroy the body
But the one who can destroy the spirit the Apostle Paul said he worked in fear to save the lost
Because he knew the terror of God’s righteous wrath I dare not make excuses for God and His
Words but even on our level if we bring someone to our befriend them in their time of need and
Then they steal or in some way wreck havoc in our lives wouldn’t we be justified in firing up on
Them well this is God’s home he created it for His precious children then the Devil and the
Garden we are alienated even law breakers it runs the course of who is in charge want a list of
Tragic lives messed up in drugs *** alcohol those without salvation are dammed to be so they
Have to walk up to God and spit in His face the death on the cross who cares I want my way if
You could see all the road blocks you have crashed through the last is coming a weeping savior is
About to stand up and say enough is enough I will show no more pity it is time I am justified
Against all that is unholy and you can’t just say you’re going to heaven you have to be saved by
True biblical teachings baptized in Jesus name not in the titles of the father son and spirit one
God not the trinity read Isaiah 9:6 for unto us a Child is born
Unto us a Son is given
And the government will be
Upon His shoulder
And His name will be called
Wonderful Counselor Mighty God
Everlasting Father Prince of peace
If you read that by and with the spirits help you will know there is only one God and His name Is
Jesus no other savior can be found
I wrote this peace because after more years than Moses spent in the desert God has spoken to me
I have always been called a free spirit that could be loosely translated to being a *** when you
Drag a wife through a life of disappointment and sadness while everything is given to others I
Hope financial blessing differed all these years is about to change if so or not I’m going to the
L A   if I have to live under a bridge and be lovingly stomped and beaten an called a Troll the
Richest place in the world but the Bible says they are blind naked and poor they need spiritual
Prosperity I know the one who has it all I plan on sharing it in a big way if you find word errors I
have been at this five hours if yo
storm siren Jun 2016
You're sitting in the hospital bed.
You're smiling but you're crying.
You're telling the nurses over and over and over
"He's not a bad person."
"I don't want you to think he's a bad person."
"He didn't mean for this to happen."
(Just like, later on, you have to tell your friends and his friends and your family and his family the same things)

They shake their heads at you, but smile and squeeze
Your hand or shoulder comfortingly.
You won't realize this until later,
But you were so far in denial
And everyone knew it.

You're in your new therapists office.
He's asking you to recall a time men didn't scare you.
You smile and say,
"What? Men don't scare me."

He frowns and reaches for a tissue,
And you flinch.
His frown deepens as he hands you the tissue,
You realize you've been crying for the entire session.

It's the day before your anniversary with him.
You've been fighting for the whole week.
You just want to talk to him,
Figure out why he's so mad at you.
Why he keeps taking it out on you.

So you bring it up,
While you try to prepare dinner.
Knowing that if you say the wrong word,
You might have to figure out a new place
To sleep for awhile.

He says something, stands up.
You're thinking the whole time:
"How did it get this bad?
What did you do wrong this time?
Why do you always do this?"
You flinch.
Your back is against the stove that you haven't turned on yet.

There's a flare of anger and pain in his eyes
As he tells you,
Trying not to yell,
"I won't hurt you!"

You realize that you're scared of him.
That you're not just in this relationship because you love him.
You're there because you fear him.

And you think to yourself
"How can I be so stupid?
I was in the last one because I was afraid.
I wasn't in love.
But I love him.
Why am I scared of him?
He won't hurt me."

But he gets mad, and slams things.
Hits himself.
And you realize it's because he won't hit you.
But he wants to hit you.

Things only ever get worse,
And sooner or later
Due to his friends advice,
You leave for two days
To give him some space.
He says he'll pick you up,
That Sunday from your friends house.

He arrives on Sunday, a little over an hour late.
He hasn't spoken to you all weekend.
You want to attribute the fear to your abuse and anxiety.
But when he shows up,
He brought most of your things.
He breaks up with you on her porch,
With cliches like
"We met at the wrong time."
"It's not you, it's me."
"I don't want this to be the end."

And you realize,
He's just painting himself as the good guy.

But he's not a good guy.

Because the one time you were honest with him
About how bad you were getting,
And you weren't even there for it because you black out when overwhelmed,
He used it so he could be the victim.
Twisted it so the suicidal girl had to comfort him because it made him lose trust in you.

And he's telling and told all his friends
That you use your mental illness
To manipulate him.

And you want to scream at him,
Because you've never done that.
He's used his everything
To twist you up.

You should have run for the hills the moment he got mad
At you for having an anxiety attack in the car
In public,
"I hate when you do this. It makes other people think I abuse you."

Because that was the moment
He probably realized he was doing exactly that.

And you should have run as far as you could,
Because that was two months before it ended,
And it only got worse.
He only got worse.

And you shouldn't have stayed,
Because he was this way from the beginning.
He has thin skin and angers too easily.
Would throw grown-up tantrums
When something went wrong
When you told him he was wrong
Or told him he hurt you.

You should have run.
You should have cut ties.

Love cannot heal someone
Who doesn't want to be healed.

And he didn't heal you
He made you worse.

But he won't be the one to break you.

Because a wolf in sheeps clothing
Will always be just that.
People will see the sheep
That sometimes gets a little too close
To the meat at dinner,
That sometimes disappears.

And a rescue dog
Will always have that pain,
But that doesn't mean you can't be happy
One day.

And that wolf in sheeps clothing,
He promised he wasn't a wolf.
He promised he wouldn't do this.
That he was just a sheep.
But what do promises mean
To monsters
(This doesn't go in chronological order, for those who are curious)
Alexis Mar 2010
He walks through the door,
And he holds me tight.
I can feel it already,
Starting to rise.
He picks me up gently,
Throws me down on the bed.
Touches my body,
And kisses my neck.
My hands slide down
His chest,
Looking for the tool,
I need
to fix
We don't use a ******,
'Cause I'm on the pill.
So he unbuttons my jeans,
And I'm begging for more.
He takes of my shirt,
sets it down on the floor.
He takes a deep breath,
As I undo his jeans,
Open my mouth,
Aiming to please.
His hand is on my head,
And I pick up the speed.
He pulls it out,
and I say,
"Put it inside me."
He does what I ask,
And says,
"Oh my god, you're so wet.
And so tight, oh god.."
And he slams into me.
While I begin to scream.
Scream his name,
And scratch at his back.
All fairytales,
Have a happy ending.
He indeed had,
A happy ending.
All over my chest.
Sam Conrad Nov 2013
Every night I wonder,
Why do I waste my time to write?
I sit and sit and sit before this computer screen and sometimes my pen,
And I write and write and write.

I wonder to myself,
Could she still love me, or has she changed?
I wonder and I wonder and I wonder until finally I tell myself it doesn't matter,
That I'm only writing to keep myself sane.

But what if she would listen?
I mean, could I read her all these things?
I would read and read and read until I've poured my heart out,
It would bring me such solace.

So here I'll pretend,
I'll pretend, that someday her and I,
We could sit down and talk about our feelings, not only a few,
To find the real truth.

Yes, I will pretend,
I'll pretend, that someday her and I,
We'll take turns in our one person poetry slams, with only one poet,
And a judge who doesn't judge.
Stanislaw HHM Feb 2014
Her *** is red
from the slams in bed

I can see her face through the spider plant
A bit creepy as she reminds me of me aunt

Another shot of *****
She wants me to call her mama

The ****** could be hear across London
I made it into her dungeon

We flirt like Tom and Jerry
Back in prom I'd pop that cherry

After the release She looks in my eyes
a few moments pass and she implies
- Ride me again like a Porsche 911
and rev my engine again u gorgeous
Lee Nov 2013
I smell. . . .
horse ****.
It's less offensive than the
i've been seeing lately
They say it with their
hands, mouths, eyes
Desperate offences in defence of the indefensible

Tonight i sat in a safe space
where we clicked to show our appreciation
Heard resonations of clicking when a poet spoke words
that darted through our foreheads
And lit something there.

We knew the responses:
"This is new ****"            
Clap the poet, not the points
the points are not the point

We knew we were offered


more than words

Their rhythms and awakenings,
arrhythmias, overflowings, and
midnight ponderings.

So we put our own into our palms
and beat them together for every poet
who dared to touch that microphone
to their chest.
I wrote this after a day at tafe studying australian sign language. I was feeling worn down by casual racism, sexism and transphobia in our class. That night i went to my first poetry slam and i was BLOWN AWAY by the generous, brave, honest, caring people that got up on stage to share part of themselves with us and what an accepting space the slam was :-)
"What do you mean you've never seen Blade Runner? My GOD! I didn't think there was a single person on the planet that hasn't seen that. They showed it to us in elementary school as an example of a prophetic, foretelling, social commentary."
"Well, I never was a fan of fiction or science, even though somehow I've still managed to live my fair share of both."
" Do androids dream of electric sheep? What are your dreams?"
"Yeah, that's the title of the book the movie is based on, but like, I'm honestly curious about the second part. It's a better ice-breaker than your deprived childhood".
"You wanna' know what I dream? I dream of a world soaked in gasoline, and a lone, shadowy, figure masked by deceit and decay, filling the air with a rotten sulfuric smell as he festers in his own filth. I can't see this guy clearly, but I know him. I know him in my head and my heart and he just stands there, idle, in a place where he can see the silhouetted skyline of the entire wretched city. Trapped between his forefinger and thumb is  a match donning a dancing flame for a hat, performing a flamenco routine for two wild eyes.  Eyes that indicate a sureness of what to do, but make no use of intentions. They seem to sort of flip between question and answer with each dimming and brightening of the match's beacon.  The question appears to already have been answered, but has yet to be acted upon. He's tinkering with the notion.  Is this due to hesitation in the man's mind, or is he simply toying with the already squirming city? The final act is inevitable, yet the ulterior option, to extinguish the trigger, still stands...". He pauses.
His new partner's face has lost most of its color and his mouth is propped open with a jack made of sheer horror and curiosity.
"Well JESUS man! Aren't you gonna tell me the rest of it?"
"The rest of it is: I wake up".
He languidly looks around, takes a pull from the bottle, and proceeds to pull his mask over his face. His partner isn't sure, but he thought he'd caught a smile crack before his mouth was covered,
  "...and not like a haha I'm yankin' your chain kinda grin. This ****** meant it", his partner would recall later to some buddies in a bar.
"I wake up and wonder whether I'm the man, or the match".
He slams the magazine into his weapon and rips the slide back to load up the first round of ammunition. He exits the vehicle, and heads towards the disheveled building that has more or less sunk into its foundation. His new partner shakes his head, wipes his face with his paws of hands, pulls on his mask, and flicks the *** end of his cigarette whose embers have already begun to eat away at the cotton filter out towards the woods. He catches the light from the buckshot of the cherry out of the corner of his eye and imagines that match spinning towards the city.
"What the **** have I gotten into..."
Excerpt from a story that is being written some time in the next 30 years
Ayeshah Oct 2011
I remember the first ingredients
to our lover's brew -
desire & passion
was the basics ingredients,
He already had the spice of
"want" & a dash of "need"
copiously he trailed rainfalls of kisses
down my body.
Until he reached my valley of milk & honey,
He opened me slowly, meticulously so- placing one finger inside as his tongue danced across my *******.
Causing me to reach my hands down pulling his hair, trying to pull his head closer deeper as my body melted to him.
He rejected my urgency...
reaching my hands he held both with just one of his own keeping me in place as he administered his lustful assault on my person, my mind froze as my body ****** hips first before he let go my hands then wrapping both hands around my thighs.
Holding me tightly while making me cry out his name over & over...
He knew I was ready, wet & sleek.
He's hard solid & ready but I rush to taste him he only allows me to for a second then he bends me over my *** facing his **** he doesn't enter me- he once more licks & ***** my ******* then my tongues my ***.
Causing a new sensations...
right before my body explodes he slams into me swiftly, my moan dies as my cries of more rant the morning air.
He's moving so vigorously- blending sensual amounts of harmonic tones of his own moans and whimpers in my ear as he ****** harder but oh so gentle like he was a drummer & his throbbing ****- a solid 10" hard hitting drum is now beating  in & out of me,
He was so energetic without rules or reasoning to pleasuring me so immensely he never noticed the door bell ringed..
Oh well, my legs began to shake as he holds my hips he moves in- pushing deeper,
retracting slowly then again- he slams inside of me...
from behind me he pulls my hair while his other hands is placed  on the small of my back, I'm convulsing like I'm having an epileptic reaction- my ******* rapture causes me to fall in a heap upon our bed.
These are the ingredients to our
Lover's Brew!
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®
Nigel Morgan Sep 2012
It is morningtime in the hour that the day’s light shows its hem in the East. It is that time when dream and memory are replaced by invention and desire. Desire to invent, to feel the words form on the page: messages from the heart, an imagined landscape, a different time freshly peopled.
The mind’s eye, as though a flying sprite, enters the privacy of home, alights on a child’s pillow, marvels at the untroubled face, the easy limbs still resting in half-sleep before rising. In an adjoining room his parents, aware of night’s echo, stretch and touch, delighting in the comfort of those known places where love and desire visit, made precious through stroke and caress. Her dear head fast into the pillow, his right arm resting lightly across her body, his left folded into her back. He inhales her as though a most delicate incense slowly burning on the mantle shelf, on the altar of this gathered home; beside his glasses, her simple jewellery, the once jasmined vase, cards ascribed with the love of friends and family, endearments, a child’s gay picture, a photograph of a cottage in silhouette against sea and distant mountains, and five stones from different shores, each a talisman, a gateway to a memoried story.
Still this still time, this fragile cushioning of quiet before the necessity of movement, the need of thought to plan the must of the day, the have to in this hour or that, the when and then, the care to this and there. Another day beckons in a sharp noise from the street, a car starts, a door slams, away in the vallied distance the hoot of a train.
It is warm for a late December day, but against the possibility of damp and cold he takes the necessary gloves and scarf, though wears a lighter coat. He will walk purposefully, though unbreakfasted, through the grey streets, past houses where the lit opaque windows of bathrooms shine, onto the heath land and then into the woods of oak and birch and alder. The trees therein are pilloried hands stretching their gaunt fingers to the whitening sky, still in the still air, almost silent but for the change of the air’s resonance, that particular quality in a wooded space where sounds’ reflections have a confused trajectory: a bird rising at your footfall, its wingbeats echoing a cascade of almost touched finger strokes on a wooden drum.
Here in this dank wood the mind is restless; it moves ungraciously between what the senses tell of the now and the interventions of imagination and memory. Her fatigue at the dinner table, the dull green of unberried holly, the description of a woodshed its contents delightfully named, and that short paragraph about the similarity between books and trees (he makes a mental note to learn this: to keep this warm thought close in times of stress). This is why we read he thinks: to gather to ourselves a temporary safety, the consolation of another’s voice, an antidote to loneliness. She is waking he thinks. He can ‘see’ inwardly her movement as she shakes off sleep, raises her eyebrows before opening her eyes, sitting on the bed now (eyes still closed), she stretches her right hand for the juice he brought silently to her bedside, that little action of love borne up two flights of stairs, every footfall carefully tiptoed, to place very slowly, silently next the clock, her bedtime book, a pile of his letters, a scribbled address on a notebook’s torn out page. She will never be so tenderly beautiful as in that moment he so rarely sees but knows and thus imagines. This image reverberates over his moving body and he stops to calm himself, to enjoy for a few seconds this almost-presence of her in an imagined touch of skin to skin, his fingers stroking her naked back as she gathers herself to move.
KM Ramsey Jun 2015
where am i?
how am I to write when
I am no different from
those gaseous ephemeral words
who lie prostrate upon
the pages of my dictionary
carved plainly into
those battlefields strewn across
the wartorn country
my heart the despotic dictator
whose primal drumming
carries no tune
and no rhythm
and throws of explosions
grenades that
black out the world for
a brief moment
until it careens back and
slams into me

i should have been born twice
for how could i have
both my body and that
intangible inexplicable
something inside
it stirs at the molten core
of me
that chasm that forged
those graven images
that first gave way to
a pictographic language
and offered me
a voice
to explain that immutable
all powerful
to throw myself on that
red button and
burst into a million pieces
and finally relieve that
nauseating pressure
of adipose smushed between
holy bone and
saintly skin
interloping in that space
and separating two lovers

barriers create madness

walls box me in
and yet i grow
an expanding balloon girl
macy’s day parade and
candy littered streets
and razor sharp edges
to steel walls pressing harder
against me than
my supple skin could
ever possibly press

i can’t breathe

there is no room
for my lungs to expand
and feel the
fresh sun filled meadow
of crystal air
delivering oxygen to
starved alveoli
and i can’t find your chest
to guide me
in impossible respiration

i’m suffocating in my own skin
from no outside force
but my body itself
turns inward and
shouts its dominance at my
cowering self
sniveling in the corner
of my dusty half used heart
where no blade could possible
land a blow deep enough
to silence the torment and
particular personal poison
a torture to course through
every part of me
activating every single neuron
and making me
hyperaware of my
shame and noxious
venomous corpulence
a reality i
never wanted you to see
but is written plainly
in fiery script across my forehead
and in every fold of fat.
on how it feels to be in your body when you are having a body dysmorphia episode
Vinoth Apr 2014
Ever time a mountain erupts in as Volcano
Every time the sea slams the shore as tsunami
every time the huge buildings are brought down to shambles by quakes
every time a part of the world is swept by floods and tornado's
The earth is just trying to remind us one thing,
I am your creator, I can be your destroyer if you don’t behave.
Save your environment, protect your lively hood.
wandabitch Oct 2012
When you don’t know when to shut the door—
Someone slams it for you.
Then what?
Open the next one—
find your treasure box.
It’s difficult through when
all you get is a brick wall,
or a child who needs to grow up.

“You sir, are a savage. Caught me in the woods—
and I more like the rabbit you shot for Harvest moon.”
That thirsty water becomes summer gaze—
dark tides take those eyes away.
Hexasize they say is just a phrase
but I don’t see why when its---
Hansel and Grettle or
Wormwood in Screwtape Letters or
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Arreonna Frost May 2016
By: Arreonna Frost (me)


“No, Please?” She sobs, “No!” Screams through the air.
I close my eyes and think of all the good times we had together, before he turned into a monster. My thoughts are interrupted when the front door slams and all of the knick knacks in my room begin to shake. I shudder. Glass shatters and falls to the floor as of if it were a waterfall, as my mother screams an ear piercing scream.

My eyes fly open and I realize that I have been crying. My yellow walls glow back at me as the star stickers in a starry night pattern hint off a neon yellow, as they glow in the dark. I hug my purple polka dot bear close to me and begin to cradle her.

My mother left my door open a crack again, like she does every night and a long stretch of light creeps across my floor, almost reaching for my slippers at the foot of my bed. On my night stand to the right of my bed, I turn off my green lava lamp and roll over so I face the window.

The glowing of the white moon that almost looks yellow reflects off of my cheeks, hinting to anyone nearby that I have been crying. As goosebumps slither up my arm from the chill of the window, I wrap the sparkly green butterfly quilt my mother made for my 6th birthday tighter around me. I then plug my ears, silencing the noise the best I can.
“No! No!  She screams louder. “Please! God please! Please save my baby!”
“Shut-up!” He screams back. “Nobody will hear you, no one at all!” Echoes his evil laugh against the old walls. “Were in the middle of nowhere you no for good ***** **!”
“Please! Please! Please!” She silently sobs to herself.

As I am eager to be down there and witness what is happening, I roll back over on my side, throw the blanket off of me, and to the side. My feet fall to the floor silently as I slip them into my slippers. Walking towards my door I look at the floor carefully, as of to not make a sound.

My door slowly creaked open as the light fills my room eagerly. I stop in my tracks as the front door slams shut. Holding my breath I begin to cry; feeling scared, sad, and lonely. A chill nips at my bare legs and I yank my yellow silk nightgown down my legs some more.

When I reach the top of the stairs and about to slowly go down, I examine my surroundings and see our family portrait to my right. The gold frame is what really made the picture stand out against our white walls. Mother looks younger and prettier, her eyes don’t have bags underneath like she does now. Her long brown curly hair flows down and off of her shoulders almost reaching her elbows. I notice her bright white smile and how happy she looks while she is hugging her 6 month pregnant belly. While holding me close her blue eyes sparkle back at me, so alive and adventurous.

Like the usual my father looks like he is staring right through the camera instead of at the camera. He has never once smiled or even shown a sign of happiness, not even in public. The blue flannel shirt has a tear by his elbow and the top two buttons are unbuttoned. My favorite blue dress brings out my big brown eyes as I also smile into the camera.

My brown hair wasn't quite as long as my mothers but my brown curls also flow onto my shoulders. My high cheek bones stick out from the glare of the flash. This picture was taken a few years ago. Taken before my little rugrat of a brother was born. He is now three years old and very annoying, especially when he gets his way every time he cries.

The door slams shut again as I jumped startled again and snap out of the memory. The wooden stairs are slippery beneath me as the fabric from my slippers does not give me traction. The railing is what gives me support as I slowly creep down the stairs trying not to make a sound down our ancient steps. Tears slowly fall down my cheeks again, leaving behind a damp trail, once I reach the bottom. Pulling my nightgown down some more, I reach their bedroom to my left. The door was already left slightly open as the light creeps into the hall. Pushing the door open more, just enough so I can see, mother is on the floor holding Joseph in his blue Spider man blanket.

Josephs blonde hair sticks out of the top blanket, all knotted together. Mother is weeping into my personal favorite nightgown of hers. The blue silk always made mother beautiful, especially against her skin and brown hair. I see that father is holding a Budweiser in his left hand and his rifle in the other.

In the far back left corner, fathers stained nook has several beer cans and bottles piled on top of each other, some even spilling onto the ground. As father raises the rifle off the floor I gasp and take a step back not cautious of the creaky floors. When the floor does let out a long creek all I can do is my hold my breath, and pray that he doesn't notice my presence as his dark heartless eyes beat right through me.

The muscles in his hairy arms tense up as the rifle lowers back down and rests on the floor. I notice mother looking at me as she slowly slides to the window. His focus is now away from the door but back solely on mother, as his attention goes away from this dark pit I slowly step closer to the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rolls off of the tip of his tongue like he’s getting woozy. He then pulls Joseph out her tiny fragile hands. As he sets Joseph down in his handmade wooden crib, mother cries harder.

"N-nothing", stutters through the air, "I was just getting Joseph’s other blanket since he was cold", she bluffs.

I just now realize that the window is open and I was her hope of escaping. Now I wish he was still focused on me. I slowly fall to my knees and kick them to the side, so i’m sitting how  a princess would sit in a gown on the ground. The cold tile floor numbs my knees sending more chills up my body.

I scooch more to the right so I am in almost the same position as earlier when I saw fathers nook. Searching the area of the room I find Joseph near the corner nook under his blanket. I actually feel sorry and worried for Joseph for once. Father raises the black 22-Caliber pistol when mother stifles another cry. Worried to be noticed I crawl back into the dark.

"Please", she barely whispers as she lays down covering her face. "I love you, thought you loved me. Please."

The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears.
This is a sneak peak at my book. I would love any comments or suggestions. Honesty is the best. Thank you.
Riley Renee Nov 2014
concrete slams across my shoulder blades as you press your body against mine
an outside invasion;
my hands climb to my lips warding off the gin and wine of your
it poisons me as you reach to grab my flesh

I should’ve turned to coffee and water;
velvet nights of smooth moonlight and a bitter windchill
God whispered warnings of you
across my thighs, near your neck
gin and wine

it’s you and me, mixing liquor with jealousy
fabricated curls and a whitened smile
you stand towering over me
asserting deceitful dominance at every chance
yet darling,
Odysseus struggles needs to prove to himself world he is talented painter determined to achieve recognition goes from art dealer to art dealer seeking support one dealer says Schwartzpilgrim stop changing settle on 1 style you can be known for what you’re doing now is good stick with it call me in 6 months with 300 drawings just like these another dealer says Odys you must learn great art is a **** beneath bed sheets another dealer says Modigliani knew how to paint flesh paint like Modigliani you need to learn more about painting Schwartzpilgrim you’re too young inexperienced another dealer says thank you for your interest in our gallery we’re not taking on any new painters at this time Odysseus knows there are people so much more talented better looking than him he feels inadequate intimidated

thinks to himself sister Penny is right female wish list is curse Bayli haunts she alone always be my ideal until i met Reiko Lee now Reiko Lee Furshe holds me captive i long for her voice eyes shoulders wiry delicateness crazy outrageous humor fiery ****** appetite i need to tear apart wish list leave myself open need to learn to seek inner beauty let anatomy fall where it will need to cultivate new standards it’s difficult to see with different eyes i am so biased how do i do this?

Odysseus muses with Reiko’s ghost 6 months since separation lights candles burns incense opens bottle of red wine pours glass for her and himself sips watches her glass while he makes toasts speaks elaborately of her beauty charm cites reasons why each of them does not need the other why couldn’t you have been the one? what is it about me you didn’t like? what did i do wrong? pours another glass begins talking louder ending in rage why aren’t you here? why? what went so terribly wrong? i love you where are you? how come you’re not here with me tonight? looks at her glass sees she has not even taken sip feels slightly drunk fearful he has sunk too deep  gets up staggers to bed sniffs blanket for traces of her tonight is their anniversary his only excuse

telephone rings sometime in late july hi it’s me Reiko how’ve you been Odys? he questions Reiko Lee? uh yes Odys it’s meee your stray puppy Reiko’s voice sounds playful tender Odys are you there? what’s up? let me come over **** and ******* please he speaks into receiver Reiko Lee is dead hangs up wonders if he has done right thing paces room writes a woman like that you tell yourself you do not need  ignore her deny her let her pass because if you admit how much you want her you become fugitive in chains running from dogs men with guns a woman like that is all you need a woman like that is motive seed chance of a lifetime a woman like that takes chances at twice your speed a woman like that keeps you guessing hoping waiting a woman like that leaves you destitute you cannot have her because she possesses you a woman like that is a wanted woman

decides to move finds new place blocks away apartment on lill street changes telephone number in his heart he knows nothing more thrilling beautiful than joyous girl yet he attracts women who seek abuse because they see themselves in him because he lets them try to mend his abused mind because he misuses them so well reaching finding joyous girl looms impossible breakup feeds venting bitter fires

the most dangerous woman eludes meall other women are too attainable chinese green tea gestapo limousine it doesn’t matter that you don’t understand that is the line darling dangling darjeeling your lips bleeding your ***** on fire imagine i am running sprinting in relay race just up ahead i’m about to pass baton this is life expectancy of poet indonesian cigarettes made of clove leaves i held your wrists pinned your fragile body to floor strummed you like guitar while other men looked on i knew one of them would take you next

miranda comes out on verandah with lemonade on hot summer day hair blows free in breeze leans back against beam softly hums inside time bomb ticks somewhere fly caught in room knocking itself against window ricocheting off corners  buzzing crisscross ceiling floor miranda sips just enough so lips are wet eyelids flutter like butterfly wings ******* swell in heat of midday sun she calls to us with hand stirs more sugar in lemonade late afternoon when fly is caught entangled in spider’s web buzzing is muffled ice has melted lemonade watery we are dozing in hammocks rocking chairs miranda is changing dress perfuming thighs crafting character in mirror screen door slams she looks up recognizing it is only wind sun is sinking orange ball spider crawls fixing aim grabs thread swings in for **** we are passed out in grass at dusk lights around verandah beam on miranda appears wearing low-neck dress with one strap down breath heavy with anise invites us inside giggling shyly as we follow timeless newsreel vision men hard at work war room spins as fly ***** desperately spider opens legs miranda lies arched on bed eyes weaving

he gets drunk loudly sings she must be some kind of witch flying in the wind she must be some kind of ***** to dig this grave i’m in he rhymes it was just another **** stunt forgive me for speaking so blunt she was just being a lady no need to get crazy it was just another **** stunt he scribbles she gets ****** hair styled eyebrows plucked nails done walks out new woman miss fox Mrs. G. Fox madame de faux meeting the girls for lunch wearing her pearls writing her name in swirls talking up a storm pack of women is worse than pack of hungry wolves wolves stop at carrion women carve combs out of bones

Cal is driving Odysseus sits in passenger seat heading to pit & pendulum for cocktails it is raining down hard Odysseus looks out beyond sweeping windshield wipers sees red cowboy boots the ones they found together at flea market there she is Reiko Lee Furshe arisen from wasteland Odysseus tells Cal to stop car turns to see her she is running across street his hand reaches for car door handle what’s happening? Cal demands are you there? i can’t stop cars behind me! this is crazy Odys what’s going on? i’m not stopping! Odysseus stares through rear window frozen watching her disappear behind red brick wall in pouring rain

ghost girl it’s difficult to write in comatose passage apart i am in theater of mirrors with empty seat beside me black hole inside me itinerary of fears i’m seeing dancer but haunted by you look in your eyes smell on your fingers clonking up stairs of your wooden clog shoes feelings we dared plans we knew might never come true la laahh la lay la lay dee la lady of shady lagoon weeping willow pisces moon like India ink you’ve left indelible stain i fumble in dark of empress’s tomb like necrophiliac i grip onto memory stroke ashes of you lantern licorice amethyst bone you are gliding in your canoe cutting through mist swirling whirlpools that untangle themselves behind you dancing nearer to flame la shady lady does pirouettes in rain
Brianne Rose Jun 2019
"Stay with me, please. You don't need to go!"
"You know I can't - "
" - Can't? or won't?"
"...fine,then leave. It's what you're best at after all."
A car door slams, an engine sputters to life, tires crunch over gravel, and red tail lights light up a lone man standing on his porch.
" - Please just - "
"I said no! You know I can't stay! Why?! Why do you always have to ask?!"
"Look at you! scars, fresh bruises, you flinch every time I raise my hand."
"Please, just - "
"Just. Stop. I can't"
"Can't? or..."
Again a car door slams, again an engine starts, and again tires crunch over gravel, and once more red tail lights shine upon a man standing on a porch.
"Please, please, stay with me! please! nonononono, don't close your eyes! STAY WITH ME"
"no, please! please don't go...."
A pulse stops, a last breath has been breathed, lungs no longer struggling to keep functioning. A hand falls limp, gray eyes staring at a man on his porch, as red and blue lights bathe him and the still body laying there in his lap. He hears the sound of the sirens, ambulance and police vehicles alike as they pull up the drive.
It's too late
A car door shuts, tires crunch over gravel, and red tail lights shine upon a man dressed in all black standing at the gates of a graveyard.
He enters.
He pays his respects but before he leaves he swears he hears her voice,
"Please....stay - "
" - with me", he finishes softly, he turns to a headstone - marble per the request - and looks at the name carved on it.
"I can't, you know I can't", he then turns and walks away leaving the stone behind.
A figure appears in front of it and watches him leave,
There is no response.
Lilly Lunaeras
DOB: 1/1/96
DOD: 1/1/2018
"This star may have fallen, but it forever remains up in the heavens above.shining with all the other fallen stars"
random write i did a while back, figured i should get to posting my works again.
The night approaches swiftly, like a tiger on the prowl,
As the night moves forward you can hear the hoots of Great Horned Owl.

The hours pass by and the clock keeps on ticking,
And here I lay on the couch just thinking.

In my time of relaxation I pondered and I thought,
Is the path that I’m on a wise one or not?

Hour after hour I begin to feel sleepy.
So I rush to my bed, relaxed, until I feel something beneath me.

In a rage the room turns pitch black, with flashes of red and yellow.
And in a panic I jump off my bed and run like a crazed fellow.

The door slams shut and my panic becomes deeper,
Until I hear the voice of a mysterious twisted creature.

“He says be wise with decisions that are made with haste,
You would never want a fortunate opportunity to go to waste.

Never feel forced to be on time with what you choose,
Because it will not be the respect of others, in which you lose.

Indecisiveness is wisdom, which with time will bloom,
So from here on out do not spend your days in gloom.

If these words are not followed, a different life you shall live.
A life in which you are selfish and refuse to charitably give.

One that is chronological and filled with bland affairs,
A life that is careless and lacking in truths or dares.

In the blink of an eye light pours in from spontaneous lightening,
And in a matter of seconds this all feels more frightening.

I turn to open the door, but the door will not open,
Scared for my life, I scream “This isn't the path I have chosen.”

As I lift my head up and turn around, the monster in no longer there,
At last my room is filled with light, it was all just an insightful nightmare.
Mike lowe Jun 2015
If no one ever told you that you breathe an invisible gas at all times and it is always surrounding you, then it would have absolutely no meaning.

You wouldn't appreciate the value of it until you're gasping for it and begging.

I remember the day you left. You walked out of the room and I watched as all the oxygen followed you until there was nothing left.

Some people never get to see what it looks like in a room with no air, gravity left and the pain was too much to bare.

Face turning blue, everything floating around the room, I wonder if I was more worried of getting my breath back or you turning around and coming back.

As I float off, ready for the inevitable, everything slams to the floor as you run threw the door! I inhale deeply and before I can exhale you say "sorry, I forgot my shoes!"
You don't know how preciouse something is until you lose it.
Akemi Feb 2018
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus.

Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the

In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands.

i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery

THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk


Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus.

the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
In this catastrophically worthless point of my life I find myself intersected by my failure to sustain a relationship, my alienation from left-wing collective politics, and my consumption of Faulkner and Ligotti, unto the birth of self-destructive pessimism.
Daniel Crase Mar 2014
Where will this take us now?
Is it us who outruly guiding us as we march dramaticly to the next room?
Will it be us who slams the door shut, or will we be boxed in with some automatic door opening and closing as more and more people come right in? Will we move along romanticing every little acomplishment we do, or will we morbidly and silently stubble on as we are poked and proded to keep moving? Will we finally rest as we see fit, or will we be told we have done enough? We all can easily anwser this in a way most people would generaly. We could stubernly and pridefuly declare that nothing shakles and moves us from one feeding trough to the next. We could so easily be just another rebel with a hollow cause that eagerly awaits to rip open the binds of all those around him, and finally take his spot in the limelight of respect and admirition. We can continue to dream and strive to be the philisophical moses of our generation, and lead our fellow brothers and sisters into a time where we all walk at our own pase, we all slam the doors we ourselves opened, and take any path we wish to travel in a way we feel best suits us. We could all be the one to hold on to the chains, or let the cattle go, but all of us are simply black sheep. So again I ask, who? I do not know, but I non the less seek an anwser.
Where will this take us now?
Marshal Gebbie Mar 2011
As a maddened beast it charges
Emanating with expanse
Brute techtonic plate reaction
From the epicentre’s stance.
Huge concentric rings diverge
Expanding at horrific rate
Black, titanic, towering waters
Ploughing to a deadly fate.

Kneeling in her bed of roses
Pollinating bees abound,
Morning sunbeams kiss her shoulders
Peaceful garden bliss surrounds.

Surging to the coastal shelf
The black gigantis rears on high
Claws toward the placid beach
Seabirds scatter to the sky.
Tide receds to bare the reef
Stranded mackerel whitely leap,
Enormously the massive wave
Attacks the land and they who sleep.

Death comes fast to they who loiter
Violence in the tangled purge,
Massive pressures, crushing debris
Broken buildings in the surge.
Ships and cars are tossed asunder
Inexorably it slams
Far inland to slay those fleeing
Locked in highway traffic jams.

Strange roar at the garden wall
Terrified, she finds her feet,
Roses, bees, sweet girl engulfed
As black entombedment swamps the street.

Far inland the chaos flows
Wreaking death's destructive bands,
Halted now by highland hills
Where souls in horror, wring their hands.
Slow retraction leaving ruin
Desolation far and wide,
The smell of new death in the air,
Heartbreak in the countryside.

For Nippon
18 March 2011
Candy Noire Aug 2014
I find serenity in storms
The slams of doors make my heart race
And if you trace your finger's down my spine
I'll give you an earful
Of distasteful pleasure
I'll juxtapose any situation
For the most fun I can find
Oh I love being hard to read darling
I want you to open my closed eyes
And if you read me like a story
I will lie dear oh I'll lie
And cover up my deepest fears
And conceal everything I despise
I love to hate and hate to love
Those I regret most I crave
So lay me on the darkest train tracks
And pray that I will be safe.

— The End —