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Ladislav Josephs Jun 2015
Read this poem only if you are alone.

You wished me nice dreams last night
I could say I have dreamed
About flowers, butterflies
It would be nothing but lies
I was dreaming about
My arms holding your hips
Against mine
Mine lips touching your sweet lips
Then
One hand squeezing your breast tight
Other hand holding your waist
So you won't fight
Then
With a slide touching the magic Place
Leaving quickly without a trace
I want to make it perfectly clear
I will never do it for real
Maybe
Seanathon Mar 2017
The clouds racing across the sky
Remind me that my chance to live
My window into this varied life
Is rather short-lived
And that one day, as I certainly know
I'll be able to fly across the sky
Beside the clouds
But never high enough to look down
At least with this particular set of eyes
Can't wait...
She Writes Aug 2018
My light is too slight
To hold back all this dark
Rakha Mar 2018
You worth more than a thousand golden crowns
and continent wide silks
and all the brighter, wilting stars in the dark
and had you pulled the universe to you,
it will surely crawl under your thigh
as a machination made only for you.

And you worth more than the ten thousand horses that I had slain
and I pulled them onto your sheets
as whispery faeries gnawed onto its skin
onto its slippery vein
gory, but lovely all the same.

Alas, you worth more than another ten thousand of them running
hooves clattered across the impenetrable glass of auroral dome
and I saw you rode on another ten thousand that had not deserve you-

as you deserved gold and stars
and all the greater fury of this land,
not treachery and I.
Gold was the color of your ruse
and your words deify scorching stars into bloom
and you reek of rust — the finest yellow there was.
- and once more i pray to see you
Samantha Nguyen Jul 2018
can you promise me
that you won’t commit suicide.
so there will be a
          slight chance that you’ll
          inhabit my future.
we could do amazing things together.
                    (...make happy memories and
                    have fights that will be made up…)
it’ll be a great story to tell our children—
          (a great story indeed).
i promise that you’ll be satisfied—
          (you’ll be satisfied).
i don’t care about the hugs and kisses.
                    (...that’s not love…)
          (definitely not love.)
love is being with who makes you happy.
          (you make me very happy).
i promise that you’ll be happy—
          (i’ll make a million promises).
                    (...that will be kept…)
but can you promise that there will be a future.
          for there to be a future,
          you must stay alive.
                    (...don’t die, i love you…)
CK Baker Jan 2017
leg on the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omegas
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all the impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the **** storm
with hostile ******
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line...
this banter
is killing me
gleck Nov 2016
“We could be gods amongst mortals"*

“Why be a god when the earth gave me you?”

His slight whisper
Another’s warmth on my hand
Body sculpted like those of gods
Engraved into my own
He is very humane; -

He is gravity;
Retain me against ascending
Pummel my sins

He is water;
Take away my thirst
Drown me when greed takes over

And I am grounded,
I am thirsty,
Lain earthbound onto the ground at his side
Heart aflame far away from Mount Olympus
I am still only  *
human.
s Aug 2018
Hi there.
Sometimes it hurts to think.
I'm driving around in my hometown
I saw this old park that me and my friends would run and laugh and play at all the time.
We played cops and robbers
Lava Monster
Freeze tag
We acted like knights in strong armor and princesses with glittery dresses and we all slayed the dragons
Well now here I am staring at this old swing set that no one swings on anymore.
I used to think that I could touch the clouds with my feet if I swung high enough.
There is something so lively about a group of kids laughing and playing on a playground.
There is something so eerie about an old empty playground where no one goes.
That playground used to be so alive.
Now the swing creaks as it sways in the slight breeze.
You can almost hear faint whispers of the kids laughing from years before.
Now all those kids are adults with lives and responsibilities that are much more important than slaying a dragon.
The wood has splinters that get stuck in your fingers.
It is not shiny and fun anymore.
It used to be new
But I have found that everything changes eventually.
I wish people didn't leave so unexpectedly.
Anyways I am just rambling
but next time you see a playground
just try to look away.
it hurts to think too long
Bye.
I am so sad. So many people keep dying
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
How can you reject me for rejecting your wrong idea!
It is too heavy. I can't stand under it.

Peace!
Amen.
When forever starts, let's have peace.

Record skip scratch chalkboard screech

Recruiting station on Sunset... nothing is as it was

We, Adamkind-augmentatious, are warriors.
Our weapons and tactics have no semblance whatsoever
to the warfare affairs of this world.

Our weapons are mighty, by God,
and we ain't afraid to use'em.

Truth made us free,
un-amended, it so happens. Unsweetened.

Our weapons pull down imaginations
that exalt themselves against the knowing of God,
the big one,
real YHWH creator of the heavens and the earth
and all that in them is.

Our weapons are mighty, by God,
and we ain't afraid to use'em.

No swords nor swords with motors,
Just words of best tasting varieties and bread
leavened with heaven's leaven, if you can

Imagine that.
I believe
there are people who believe that,
they think.

They think they believe
the weapons of our warfare are not carnal,
Our weapons are mighty, by God,
Our weapons pull down imaginations

until a rumor comes to take their guns
But but but
believe it or not, shift back, real time

the meek inherit the earth.
where the peacemaker's kingdom is,
we don't fight a spirit war with carnal minds.

And my side designed the meta game. It is not fair.
Evil never had a prayer.
Fishing in a theme
Anne J Oct 2018
Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.
I did this about two weeks ago, as the poem you gotta send in order to the join the site. I hope y'all liked it. Does this count as a Halloween story?
Piyush Gahlot Sep 2018
I see you here,
Just beside me near,
Your soft voice I can hear,
Whispering my name in my ear.
I am drowning in your memories.

I hear your laughters,
I can hear you crying,
Still remember your hugs,
Your surprise kisses,
Beautiful scene of you making your hair,
Baby em drowning in your memories.

I miss your stupid face,
Your innocence and that grace
That slight grin,
Beautiful little chin,
Those perfect hair,
You making that stare.
Baby em drowning in your memories.

I loved you then,
I love you now,
Doesn't matter if you ain't near,
Losing you , I have no fear.
But yeah em drowning in your memories.
Missing her close near. She ain't comming back. All I have is her memories. Still I feel she is with me somewhere.

This coup
A new nation
Loyal dedication
Its classification

‘Species procreation’
Prevents us from facing
A human cessation
selective mutation
Gestation
Creation

It may help explaining
The reasons
Behaving
But not the foundation
Or actions
We’re basing


A simplification
is “continuation”
A checkbox
left vacant
Fulfillment
We’re chasing


We sweat
Eyes are gazing
A slight
palpitation
In need of hydration
Complete excitation
Without
hesitation
Intense stimulation
Deep urges
Heart racing

Driven
By sensations


Unbounded fixation
Pelvic
Undulations
Clothing
Perforations
Time no longer wasting

This capitulation
a Sanctification
****** gyrations
Hint of *******


The bedroom
Safe haven
For what
we are craving
Once out
and displaying

It all had been taken
Before
Feeling vacant
Freed imagination
A resuscitation
Indulged depravation

A rhythm
we’re setting
The giving and getting
Destroying
the bedding

All else I’m forgetting
Entwined
with each other
Like entangled netting
Both
on the same trip
In a unified heading


Now comes
the summation
A true
Revelation
Final
culmination
Smash all expectations
Volcanic
eruption

That lasts the duration
Loud gasp
We unlock

Filled with gratification
Written: July 8, 2018

All rights reserved.
Jeff Stier Nov 2016
She captures autumn
in a jar
reads the moon's straying
through leaf and branch

Always in love
with love
and always reeling
from the loss

What wave tossed this refugee
ashore?
What alignment
of stars and planets
of uncountable galaxies
brought this woman
to this world and not another?

A simple truth will tell.
The moon at high tide
hides beneath her skirts.
A slight disturbance
in the silken fabric
of space and time
and all is lost
all is born.

I hold my hands out
palms up
in prayer and thanks
every day
to mark the blessing
to place a peg
in the whole.

Given to all
denied to none
and mysterious to most

Life pours out of
a hole in the sea
leaves nothing
and everything
to chance.

This blessed world.
#h
King Panda Jan 2017
meaning
I can hear you
anchor that holds us
down
a second
I lost you
complete
fire
pierced
meaning
I am light
a flotation of end
a memory of when I was
four
a rise and you
the nebula in which
I
speck
meaning
a fullness
an overflow
a mist of brown and
wave
the hand which I
have writ
the looseness of your
outline
meaning
all the sheets
smooth and cupped
the ribbons around
the slight chip
rainbow
meaning
the sketch
and you
a prayer
I
break
zebra Aug 2018
im a self describing a self
a face on a liquid surface
a plasticity
a brain
a three pound infinity
always remodeling itself
and making new copies

a copy
of
a copy
of
a copy

a massive  accumulation of copies
each a slight distortion
from it's original eminence
a history of minute alterations
all subtle deceptions

my so-called reality
a memory
of
a memory
of
a memory
a repetition pouring the self out
self corrupting the self
until it is somebody else

a fibbing shifty double-dealing soft machine
trying to remain intact
it's signature
a disjunctured awareness

my cells talk **** about each other
i'm more microbes than human
every synaptic light of the divine casting a shadowed past
a devil to the true origin
a mangled remembering
my pillar of reality
spirit from matter
not the other way around

i no longer recognize myself
am i human
or perhaps a robot
an alien
a walk in
that left the original inhabitant
disembodied
to wander perplexed in a netherworld
lost and crying

or, just a bad copy
of
a copy
of
a copy
of
a co

py

of

a

a

co
Kitbag of Words Jan 2018
an incredible incite (the ruthless volatility of words)

~for L.B.~

the only place of solitaire solitude in the city accompanies me
like a faithful country dog that doesn’t know better to be afraid,
of moving cars, sleepless night terrors and unscripted “dreams”

where image and words say come “follow me” with ruthlessness and no cloying come hither looks and
see and take and recall with perfect midnight blue sky clarity for

the incredible incite of credible insight

surfacing unexpectedly in a intemperate pool of slushy snow,
that will be an ice storm of painful confrontations with naked
inner truths standing outside in sunny sub zero playground

there is great risk.  volatility gone wild. when the speed
governor is removed and you live at 100 mph on local streets,
when the merest slight of an accidental incidental touch
transforms into an incite incident and hell is the threat
that you will not die today and your own words will ruthless
pull from the nerve places where sensible and sensual cannot
coexist and this write this script is a poetical insight inside, an
incredible incite and what your spilling is spaghetti sauce blood
when you left your brain on broil, instead of the faking daily of
slow simmering ineffectual intellectual words that just don’t
cut the crap. your addiction complete, you cannot live without
the incredible incite, the ruthless volatility of words,
otherwise why rough write what you see
in the blind
beyond the blind


1/6/18 5:03am
Twelfth Night, Act 1, Scene 5
“I took great pains to study and ’tis poetical
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2018
How tenuous this grip we have, how slight our hold remains
When all around  loud braggards boast that power now pertains,
We see the banner headlines splashed across our daily rags
And redneck demonstrations cleans the streets of Spics and ****
When blood runs in the gutter as the battons rise and fall
And whilst taking tea in style the filthy rich ignore it all.
The blonde leader of our nation struts, postulates and brags
While the rest of us skive off around the corner smoking ****
Our  kids ingest confusion as they loiter on the street
Unknowing  our delusions make illusions held, replete.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our hold remains
As our allies shower cold distrust convinced our fault inflames.
What chance of clear redemption, what remedies revive
When truth is lost to darkness can our honesty survive?
Reputation cut to shards, confidences ******
That leaders of community no longer hold our trust
When white is caste as black and then to green and then to grey
And sanity refuses pontification one more day.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our holds remain
As twilight turns to darkness caste against a larks’ refrain.

M.
The White House
HAMILTON, New Zealand
25 July 2018
Despair across the nation, good people sitting quietly in their kitchens not quite believing the chaos and disunity sown by the White House amidst their communities, not knowing which way to turn to seek reason, to seek an element of promise for the morrow.

Who would have thought this possible in what was once, the greatest nation on Earth?

M.
Distress shows on my face
like atheism in a priest
yet is welcome in my head
like a baby in its crib.
I'm always where I don't belong
always finding myself singing songs with cicadas
I'm always losing my head
And finding myself stuck, still a slave to time
it's time I find so pressing
not some boy's dejection or rejection of my kind words
(in that sense, I can make 101 comparisons
of myself to a rubber ball, always bouncing back)
no, it's time I'm so scared of
it's time that's constantly breaking my heart
when I fall in love at least 32 times in a day

I fall in love with contentment,
with the sunrays that filter through the leaves
of early autumn trees
with the slight lisp
situated between my favorite singer's lips
I fall in love with the milliseconds when
life seems sublime
when I snake my way out of glass,
when the wind dances on the
ski-***** of my nose,
the moon lifting me up
putting pretty words in my head.
Time will always be sure to come and
rob me of these lovers of mine
and so
naturally,
in their passing I am left hollow,
confused,
longing and heartsick for something that no longer exists
but is still very real
L B Nov 2016
Tired clot of night
in the moon’s slight of hand
in the moon’s slight—
place to hang my hat....

Winter clouds come tumbling toward
the gray
Raked clean by barren trees
Yard waits with its leaves
tucked in corners by the wind
along hedges, stairways
mingling with renegade trash
Stuffed in layers like elderly keepsakes for—

no one cares...

My yard—a neglect of winter woods
but for towels waving stiffly on the line
and the squealing crackle of my footsteps—
Being there

Stairs sigh differently coming home

Blind search for a key hole
I could die searching!
the frustrations of the blind
the fumblings of “locked out!”
I—
know where to go....

Pretend
in my warm lonely
fling—mittens on the table
Survey the ***** dishes...and
close my eyes
There's been nothing but wind and cold for several days here.  Makes me think of January, almost, when walking in snow below 10 degrees F actually does squeal and squeak.  We're getin' there.
Nylee Nov 2017
I walk on a thin wire
of this very delicate life
right above my grave.
a slight imbalance and
death waiting down
like a cozy bed
for me
to fall.
Chris Neilson Sep 2016
Stopping to write words is my impulsive habit
as hopping grey squirrels cross paths with a wild rabbit

Hedge and tree sparrows creating their fun
tweeting feathered friends under a rising sun

Goats and rowing boats resting by a shady tree
donkey rides advertised that don't come for free

Mother feeding baby upon a tartan rug
a passing loved up couple sharing a hug

Ear flicking deer romping up then down
full leafed green trees turning to brown

For who knows a bell tolls at midday
not for a slight slumbering pony anyway

Passing a multicultural horticultural area
spotting an alpaca who's growing hairier

A soaking Labrador emerges from a small lake
brushing my bare lower leg in its wake

Sitting on a bench dedicated to a lost loved one
taking in the views he loved before he was gone

A picture may paint a thousand words long
but poetry captures succinctly September birdsong
It's my fortune to live close to one of the largest municipal parks in Europe (Heaton Park), this is my account of a stroll through there this unseasonably warm September day.
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