Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ryn Nov 2014
Forget chivalry
Forget familiar nicety
Best tread carefully
I'm not my usual me

I'll not be the hero... Doing good
Simply because I'm in no mood
I'll go about my business
Steer clear, don't be careless

No sweet chirping of birds
Only sarcasm laden words
I'll wear no smile... Only smirks
Behind which may hold sharpened dirks

Don't waltz into my space
Like you know your place
Don't think I won't lash
Don't think I won't be brash

No 'Mister Niceguy'
Just let this day go by
With no alarms, no surprises
No incidents, no clashes

I might be back tomorrow
But today you must know
As I lace my steeltoed boot
Today I don my antihero suit
Auroleus Oct 2012
Once not long ago
In the vile state of Utah,
An evil wizard
Impregnated a feral cat with
Mormon seed.
In no time at all,
A litter was born
And all of them died
But one–
Mittens the Kitten.

Mittens grew up with a sense of entitlement
Because the evil wizard filled his head
With the Mormon scriptures.
When Mittens would catch and **** a mouse,
The evil wizard would pet Mittens
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

In the evenings,
Mittens would enjoy a bowl of warm blood.
Sometimes it would coagulate,
But Mittens loved his blood.
He lapped it up
With a a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

The evil wizard was a Harvard Business Grad,
And since feline-humanoids were not accepted
At Harvard Business School,
The evil wizard taught Mittens
All that he knew.
Mittens soaked up the knowledge
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Some years went by and Mittens
Became a successful business owner.
He would lap up bowls of
Other people's business
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Fast forward to the present tense
(My personal favorite tense)
And Mittens is running for president.
He uses his magical smirk to cloak his lies
So that naive voters might believe that
They should vote for this cat.
He smirks and he lies
With a vigor that is borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.
D Awanis Jul 2018
Darling, who ever told you that home is made out of bricks?
Home is whenever your heart feel at ease and be at peace
Home is whenever you go to places and in love with the streets
Home is whenever you listen to the music and jam to its rhythm

This two-story building made out of bricks,
is a place that shouldn't be burden off your shoulders
is a place that should you reminisce in joy instead of grief
is a place that should be a sanctuary rather than asylum

Darling, who ever told you that home is made out of bricks?
Home is whose eyes were jet black with a heartbeat
Home is whose smirks feel like summer in winter days
Home is whose touch melts away even the toughest iceberg

"Well", you said, "this two-story building made out of bricks,
is a place where I hear more yelling than laughter
is a place where my dreams died and buried deep
is a place where I used to shamelessly call as home"
chichee Nov 2018
Baby let's go
                           tipsy-toed
               Skinny dipping in
         disco lights.
    Drunken mouth in
                              worship,
            you call my body             Jerusalem
till I'm        
spluttering up
                             pool water.


    The ceiling spins
                                 a salsa,
the fridge exhales something
                               obscene when it opens
and the furniture
                         blushes
          I'm jealous of the
                                   love story
                    in my home.


We roll around in
                       bolognese
     I slurp the      happy
            out of
                     your mouth.
                                     Saucy smirks.
Oh keeper of my heart,
                             I chain myself to
your smile and
                              swallow the
                                                 key.
Something whimsical to pass the time
Sho Victoria Jul 2018
If we are in a masquerade party
with no faces,
names,
nor identity

Just words,
and alcohols,
for both of us
to see.

Just soul,
and coffee,
making our spirits
flee.

Would you look at me
without a mask,
with a cover,
inside a flask?

Would you touch me
and dare to drown
inside my smirks,
smile, and ignited frown.

Would you run away from me
to set yourself free?

Or would you let yourself fall,
for a masqueraded soul?
I am just me with a mask to fit with the society.
SilentAce Mar 2015
"What a beautiful ring"
isn't it though
The two kind looking young men smile at her. Genuine.
In their mid twenties she assumes.
"Thank you."
she replies. Twisting the ring absentmindedly
as though she suddenly remembered its presence.

"Who is the lucky man?"
A slow smile spreads across her face
a glimmer in her eyes
But they'll mistake it as a look of love.
They always do.
"No man."

The gold band sits slightly too large on her slender finger.
"Woman?"
She can taste the curiosity in their voice now.
She loves it.
"No, I prefer a more masculine touch."
"So you are not engaged then?"
They ****, eyebrows creased now.
"No. I am not."
She bats her eyes with a smile revealing nothing,
"Promise ring?"
Their eyes burn into hers.
She smirks.
"No. It's a family Heirloom."

"Then why wear it on the ring finger?"
She twists it harder, the sapphire catching light in a halo of crystals.
"General preference, and to keep away unwanted attention."
She lies coolly.  
They laugh lightly, clearly satisfied with her answer and leave.

Truth is she keeps it there as a reminder,
of the family she left behind.
a life of servitude overturned.

She turns back to the bar
"A drink from the man across the room."
She thanks the bartender but ignores the glass
little do they know she is under aged
too mature for her age
a ripe sixteen.

She runs her hand through her hair then turns
She meets the eyes of her pursuer and smiles.
She glows in the neon light.
as does the ring.
His eyes tense but grins and raises his glass in response.
He notices the ring but is evidently not thwarted.
She raises an eyebrow approvingly and smirks.

This is why she wears the ring.
Because try as she might she still undoubtedly hates men.
Their love is unbearable.
And her family is to blame.

She was taught that *** was not meant for women
that no man would wed her.
**** was a sin
she knows that.

She twists the ring sharply
because despite her hatred, she doesn't want to hurt them,
The ring repels the decent ones and attracts the *******.

She smiles back at the man who could care less about her occupation
or her for that matter.  
He doesn't ask about the ring,
Doesn't even consider her age.
He's perfect.

Their love is unbearable.
but the ****, she can handle that.
She gets satisfaction when she sees the ring, that beautiful sapphire,
on the same hand that has yet to undo a man’s belt.

She wears it, so that no ring will replace it.
Some women wear their hearts on their sleeves.
instead she wears her reminder as to why she never will.
like a big ******* to her past really.
how poetic..

"What's your name?"
His eyes bore into hers.
She knows she can say any name in the world and it won't make a difference.
"Samantha."
and with her truth comes bravery.
"But you can call me Sami."
She takes his glass and sets it to the side.
He looks at her puzzled but amused
She offers no explanation and takes his hand.

Next thing she knows he is pulling her to him
She needed the buzz.
She feels his lips on her neck and knows
This is fine
Her breath hitches.
His lips find hers with an untold urgency.
Her hands shake
and she knows
This is her only solace.
A memoir of the more rowdier nights of my unfortunate youth.
The ring is still worn shamelessly.
Some days are sunlit,
clouds whisk smirks and grass collects tear drops.
Some days crash with downpour,
oceans clashing with windy confines,
and I've confirmed I'm fine,
but I'm really not.
Some days are frigid,
snowing in flooded cheeks,
check the numbness pierce through your coating.
Some days are arid,
deserted and alone,
lifeless in barren shells,
as lips ***** and skin burns
we'll never learn to avoid the weather.
Some days are terrifying,
testifying that it's not me,
hearing things that aren't real,
seeing things I can't feel,
it's more than luminous bat eyes and owl hoots tonight,
we're too naive to live,
and some of us can't thrive through this.
Recruiters that lived grew the most damaged,
we managed,
sitting,
swirling our fingers in the sand,
as we watch the ones who
faulted in resilience get eaten
alive by the fear of
Death-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
Jane Bell May 2018
I’ve never once
Looked for a guy who was charming
Frustrating and
Complicated
All at the same time
But you
Came in to my life and showed me how to
Find what you have
Which is charm that has made me obsessed
Frustrating words that make me think
About death
And complicated ways of showing effection
Yet I feel like I’m winning a game.
.
You smirk with confidence and I love it
You look at me like I’m youre next meal and I feel lucky to be your victim
Eat me up and take me to paradise
Where even there
I know it won’t be perfect but maybe we can
Get a few drinks and talk about getting together again sometime
I fell in love with your frustrating words, charming smirks and complicated emotions.
Even though you told me not to
CloudedVisions Jul 2018
Way down here
Where screams are common
The people shiver with cold
Way down here in the darkness below
People listen to the Shaman

Everyone is locked up in a cell
Everyone in his own
Here is a place where they are all alone
The place where evil calls home

In this prison the people cry
For a redeemed to come and save
But so far they only here
The mocking voice of the Shaman
"Soon you'll see your grave"

The people are are locked
Inside despair
As the Shaman laughs
And casts his glare

He chants a few words
And pain arcs through your bone
The Shaman cackles and smirks
As he sits on his dungeon throne
This is the boat we are all stuck in, locked inside a dungeon. This is why we need a hope, a hope that goes beyond earth. Because people will always fail.
Smirks, chuckles, and evil grins filled the atmosphere,
******* my pure, vibrant, childhood
Into a deep darkened abyss,
My voice is stranded..
My spirit walked away, lost in the shadows...
All I can say without messing up is,
" Hello. "
I would love to say more but
Words is my worst fear.
I may smile in the hearts of athousand men,
But when I take a look in the mirror
I don't picture my reflection,
I visualize that dark filled day in 3rd grade,
Again...
And Again,
And Again...
No one will know about this quiet boy,
Who sits in the classroom..
Who wimply screams...
HELP.
I chose to remain silent.

©MH
Inspirational quote of the day:
Do not be afraid, to speak up. You never know strong your voice will be.
Mos Jun 2018
The tangible entity of consciousness is fleeting
Scene:
A elegant party but not quite extravagant
Clinking wine glasses echo through transparent walls
Twenty-two hundred lulls over the city like that of a shadow
This isn’t an ungodly hour nor is this a typical night
It starts when She enters in a red gown that elongates her figure
A pianist smirks in the corner — a grin that’s almost sinister
The clinking of wine glasses abruptly stops when its replacement of grim notes fills the glass house
The attendants still seem cheerful
(How peculiar?)
A stranger pulls her into a waltz but his eyes look hauntingly familiar
Unbenounced to her, He too dances with a stranger
Both on separate sides of the glass room
Both dancing with the unknown
Yet each pair seems to recognize some prominent feature
Nostalgic for what has never been
(How do you preserve a memory in reality?)
Through the glass house mirrors sit in obscure angles
One could see that within each reflection He and She were projected into the other room
Each glance towards the mirrors posed no questions
For both pairs seemed identical
Now their lives may have been content in accepting this dance with a “stranger” I suppose
But that was not the plan of this party
For guests grew tired of sipping on Beaujolais and listening to solem tunes
The pianist presented a different song, more lively yet equally eerie
Their feet paced with the new rhythm which called for a spin
(An act as dramatic as such was only proper for the scene)
With a grand gesture She turns, finally seeing the glass barriers
And for the first time that night He and She were face to face
A perfect dilemma to entertain an audience
In a frenzy She tried to speak
“I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”
But each plea for affection deemed futile
For the grin on His face became that of the pianist
Her emotions were a downward spiral of gray shaded confusion
And with a sinister laugh He (or he) smashed the glass, shredding all source of reality
He was the hallucinogen and She was angry at him for making Her feel
And each guest cheered “bravo” demanding an encore
But this tragedy, dear friends, has come to the end
She’ll never know how the stars look where he is
(Is such a loss truly a loss?)
This poem is for two people
His suit is taggered. Bullet holes and tears but finely pressed and clean. Still recognizable as a cop's beat uniform. He unsnaps his gun holster clip. No one uses the old guns anymore. Electronic laser weapons are the fad in the end times. I got a Desert Eagle .45 that has something these fancy tech-lovers don't. Two point three seconds...

You see, it takes a Lectro two point three seconds to charge-up and that happens to be more time than it takes a 'cowboy-movie-loving' quick draw to end you...

"Hi boys! You've got a Buzz here I see? Well...time to move along and let me buy the next round 'eh?" -I say

"Look, there's a drink shack right about a block up from here. Let me get you." -said with a wink

The three look rough as they all do out here in the runs. That's the wasteland roadways in the inner cities. Least that's what they are known as these days. If you're guessing the futures part of that wasteland you got it right. The last war was the Great War. The one that ended all government. Now we have two realities; the corporations large enough to maintain some order and the publicly disordered nightmare.

You'd a thought systemic breakdown would have released the minds of the many from their company masters but it was quite the opposite. Those left and afraid flocked to join the barons making them even more powerful. I work for one of these new titans; Altria Group.

The three look at each other with ***** smirks and grins as if their figurin' on what move to make or perhaps figured it already? The middle one draws his Lectro-gun...bad idea.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Three down. I walk over them to make sure,

BOOM!

...one last slug in the ringleader's face clears this route. These ******* have been hitting our trucks for weeks from this alleyway. My shots draw out more vermin...Chicago is a mecha for filth. Our heavy operators in the dozer-rigs clear the blockages but it's up to me to stop the vagabonds and hijackers. Only losers don't have a job.

"Well boys you had the chance to take this one to the bar and drink it off...instead you got a buzz still ringing in your ears!" -I tell their dead bodies while reloading my clips

That 'buzz' would be me, Buzziah. I'm The last cop in Chicago. Maybe the last one in America, who knows?

BOOM!
BOOM!

Down go two more ****...I hate sneakies. I lean down to make sure my body cam gets a shot of their faces. I get paid by the ****. My bosses at the cigarette company still want to see their faces for some reason. I never ask, I don't care, I'm just a camel cop...

"Sounds like a ***** joke..." -I say out loud

I know it's confusing. Reynold's used to make camel cigarettes. I'll light one up while my brain explains it for you. When it appeared that the U.S. government had lost control...the major multinational players took action on their own. Some of them, like my employer, they literally killed their competition. Thirteen years later they're the only game in town for smokes, jobs, housing, protection and food...and I am the only cop left. I stop a ****** running by,

"Hey you stop!" -I tell him

He freezes and stares at me shaking. I'm a bit of a celebrity in downtown.

"Do you like the uniform or what?" -I ask him

"Uh-uh-uh man, man just let me go I ain't after your loads?"

I chuckle deeply inside. It is a ***** joke after all.

BOOM!

I turn on my Beats-Sat uplink...

"All clear on routes a-go, all routes a-go..."

Switch the channel to the network Apple link...******* rap. I love it. I catch a tune on the heavy guitar riff and backbeat intro...

<Double forty-fives, double forty-fives>

<YO> -chorus

<Jumped out the War like G I JOE!>

<Landed gig/wid Nort Gruman.>

<Patrollin' my beat as-a-GUN MAN>

<Double forty-fives, double forty-fives>

<BLOW> -gunshot sounds

This feels so right. I hop on my motorcycle and tear-off.

Time for my buzz...

I am the Lord's Strength.

Buzziah Willis...remember it.

I run the streets of downtown Chicago.

I am the law here.

"Wanna smoke?"  He says to the air.
The Last Cop short story intro. Buzziah Willis.
Wick HA Oct 2018
In our minds
We sit and stare
In thought of who goes
First. I draw a card.
She plays a card
I play and she draws
Two more, I play knowing
She has two more cards
I draw three more, but I’m oblivious
To what’s happening.
She smirks.
And plays two cards
One was the joker and the other a Queen
She controls the game....
yet I know the outcome
Of the endless cycle of
Chicane.
We play this game of life with those whom we like
Danneli Aug 2018
Don't run from those shadows
Those dark, heartless men
Stand above all your nightmares
Daring smirks do they send

Embrace all those spirits
They turn you to you
But release them one day
For they love you, in true

All the ghosts that still haunt you
From that darkened day
Remember who saved you
Who took you away

Draw him closer to you
Understand how he ticks
Hold onto his love
And he'll teach you his tricks

You may build up your walls
As high as you can
But I warn you, my friend
I'll tear them down again

Take down your demons
They're no longer with you
But don't shudder in hatred
For they'll bring you down too.
Sometimes, you can't mirror people. Their attitudes can be poisonous.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
Becky Mar 2018
He comes home in a drunken rage
Grabs her hair and smashed her face
She is begging on the floor
He just smirks and gives her more
He tells her to go clean her face
While he is on the phone to his mate
She is shaking and scared inside
In her hair the blood is dried
She lays down and wished she died
She closes her eyes trying not to breathe
Living in this life she has weaved

She wakes up broken and bruised
He lies there smelling of *****
She tries to hide the abuse
But she knows it’s no use
So she hides from her family and friends
Knowing that he will do it again

She lies in a hospital bed
Tubes all round her she hopes she is dead.
She can hear her mums silent cry
And the sad look in her eyes
Her dad paces back and forth
Leaving marks on the hospital floor

Darkness comes to take her away
But she decides to fight another day

Her eyes slowly open and she knows
That it’s time to let him go
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
ARRIVALS & DEPARTURES

( for Bud on his birthday that was never to be )

Never to be
met by you again

at the airport
with a hastily scribbled sign:

"WAITING FOR GOD...
KNOWS WHO!"

Or telling me you were
expecting the Cat in the Hat.

One year a tip-top topper...
...the next a battered bowler.

Always. . .
your smile

my gold coin

your laughter
my treasure.

"Ahhhh Jaysus, Bud...tears?"
cries the ghost of you.

"It's all I get these days!
Dying is so...annoying!"

"Oh, before I go. . !"
the ghost of you smirks

before fading away
into an EXIT sign.

"I love the purple
fedora!"
Donall Dempsey Oct 2018
WRITING BAREFOOT

Being frisked
at Dublin airport.

"What's dat in yer
back pocket?"

"An unfinished poem!"
I admit ruefully.

"Is it metal?"
he asks.

"No, it's mental!"
I tell him.

"You know, a bunch of words
hanging about on a piece of paper."

"Go on with ya!"
he smirks.

"And next time...
remove yer shoes."

On the plane I
kick off my shoes and

finish off the unfinished
poem.

Now I
always write barefoot.
On my way to Jersey to perform at the Opera House I was asked at the airport after a thorough search refused to yield why I had bleeped...."Excuse me sir but could I look inside your hair?" I was only hiding curly thoughts inside my curly hair.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2018
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"out of the man
who makes the false teeth.

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
As the old woman on a bicycle so perfectly puts. . .

Ineluctable – that which cannot be escaped from.

modality– A condition like eyesight. Hearing is a modality. However, from each condition a limitation can also be implied. As eyesight is a modality, it also implies the limitation of not being able to hear, or being limited by the quality of our eyesight.  A modality only offers a partial reality.  Eyesight doesn’t give us reality in its entirety, because it can’t give us hearing or taste, both which add aspects to reality.  Eyesight, hearing, and taste are all visible modalities, and all limiting, even together.

By its nature of being visible, it is an ineluctable modality. That which is visible is limited because it’s being observed by a modality which implies a limitation.

This is the entire sentence as it appears in Ulysses:

“Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes.”

This means his current thought is only about what he is observing through his eyes.  “at least that and no more” implies the limitations of eye sight and he is saying here that there is more.  There is an old saying that goes  “there is more than meets the eye.”

Now...imagination on the other hand. . .
Travis Green Dec 2018
My daughter is 16 and thinks that she
is a grown lady, the sassiness in her steps,
the stares and smirks in the bathroom
mirror, rosy fleshed cheeks chipper and
glowing bright, as she dances and spins
around like the wheels of a moving vehicle.
I can see the upbeat swag in her hips,
the iridescent charm in her flow, how her
caramel brown skin glistens like the sun,
like a sparkling diamond in the moonlight.
And as she twirls her lustrous curly hair,
I can hear her soft voice singing Brandy’s
song, Sittin On Top Of The World, pure
sweet harmonies rising in the air towards
a sea of uncharted dreams.  There’s the
dazzle in her bright brown eyes, serene
gleam and glossy red lipstick she tries
to hide from me.  Her mind is ahead
of its time like the tremendous trees
that stands in the background filled
with so much knowledge and depth.  
But a part of me worries that she is
becoming a young woman too soon.  
Some days when I’m home polishing
the furniture and she walks in through
the screen door, I can see the radiance
and flirtatious grin in her frame,
those various boys that got her losing
her mind like a kingdom falling apart
piece by piece.  And when I try to talk to
her, there’s the smart remarks that rises
out of her mouth.  Who do she think I am?
She must not know that she is not too old to
get an old-fashioned whipping.  Back in the
days when I was a teenager and we talked
back to our parents, that was grounds for
an absolute beat-down, the kind that had
a stinging sensation of blazing rhythms,
a swollen space of broken waves.
Still, I understood the meaning behind
those times, the many days when my parents
showed me tough love in hopes that I would
bloom into a blossoming woman.  And now
as I stare at my baby girl, I can only hope that
she too will blossom into a beautiful flower.
Arry Sep 2018
Sarcastic smirks at the corner of your left cheek,
exaggerating the importance of each day and week,
Making me nod even when I don't agree,
Just to tell yourself...."I told him what to seek!"
The veins of my wrist pop out ever moment,
My ears get a spoon full of torment!
But fortunately I've got two of them so two ends,
Open at the terminals to shove everything out!
Pretentious eyes...I've got... but something lies behind them,
This massive walnut of conspiracies is what gives instructions all the time then,
You see what I show you and inside I'm a blank face,
Who wins without even putting a step in this never ending rogue race!
Thousands of efforts you can make and yet you'll only see what I want,
I am the generous soul of the priest who avenges the night till haunt!
Stop me if you can...cuz you know you cannot, but still show me what you've got which will at last die and rot,
So stop me if you can cuz I will be the same which never have I been,
Something that never have you seen so come forward and lean,
To witness red coming from green.
Stop me if you can!
Stephanie Sep 2018
;
fraud!
she knew it, smirks, so she applaud.
-
lame. that was a fallacy
herself is the mistery

Have you seen her in the clarity of dripping scarlet riverflows?

she's still the secrecy of midnight that no one ever knows

Even hallowing hazy fog of cold could made us blinded

in this knotted ropes of white lies, dead end

Lowfully dare to follow her illusionary footsteps in waters

fraud. she's the one whose following your shady runners
she is the vulture and the prey;
the moth and the flame;
the wicked and the good;
the water and the blood;

Peace in your mind, her sojourn.

she's the only one who smiled in the midst of mourn

Mellow greetings when she entered the juvenile dreams

when the night visits, it'll be silent screams

fraud?

Eccentric.

she is an oxymoron but more of a paradox.
: a whole beautiful jigsaw puzzle who's made to be in thousand pieces...

PS. i leave clues
PPS. read with your heart and soul
PPPS. anyone who reads this, know that I love you. Because only those who really love me will want to read this **** right 'til the end.
PPPPS. thank you.
Like the dance of a song bird
That whistles its secret
Over an icy lane
And believes  
In a wishing plea
So~~~
Wish on a pine tree
Just for me
Wish down a well
But never tell
Wish on a star
Hope it goes far
Wish on a birthday candle
May it return that which
Only you can handle
Something that brings divine bliss~~~
Did you wish for a chocolate kiss?
Wish on a penny
May it fill your cup with many
Wish on founded feather
May hearts bond forever together
Wish on a four leaf clover
Don’t forget the songbird’s flyover
Wish on a dandelion
Wind carries its seed to fresh pine
Wish on an eyelash
Maybe for a little cash
Wish on a turkey wishbone
Before desserts blueberry scone
Colored rainbow high in sky
A wish to gratify~ oh my
Wish on high moon
Above a blue lagoon
Wish on digital eleven
To be granted by seven
Wish on flying ladybug
May it be returned with the tightest hug
Wish on a stone’s flat side
For a spiritual guide
Wish on coins in a fountain
Picturesque terrain
Of water~ not champagne
Acorn wishing tree
Better wish more than three
Wish as you move necklace clasp
Held tightly in your grasp
~~~
Believe in a secret you’d like to tell
One you said by a wishing well
That wishing tree
With your written ribbon of plea
Is nothing like ~~~
The wish under bright fireworks
As your angel quietly smirks...
MARIGOLD’S FEVER 2019
M Salinger Aug 2018
Something happens for you
something changes,
a part of your power
a part of your abilities
a part of you

when you’re faced with truth,
and choice,
when moving from known
into uncertainty

and in the face of this
adversity,
you lose a part of
yourself

The words want to escape..
I understand
it is our nature;
yours,
mine,
everyone's,

it is the human condition
& our shared suffering

but don’t you see?

it only masks the
demons
that come out when
fear
runs rampant
& to win the fight
we must be
brave
& discover
what parts of
our nature need
taming

because I’ve seen you
move mountains
& together
we can move Earth itself

Imagine for a fleeting moment,
the dark side of the moon
and it’s just you & I

summon that same
courage
& fervour

be bold.

in the face of adversity
that is my hope for you,
that you find
your fearlessness
so you can be
free

The smoke
it hangs low,
a weight in my lungs
like the feeling in my soul

the forests
burn themselves,
and out of destruction,
the new growth is born,
like us

be born again,
let my love
nourish & caress you
scars and all

rise to the
challenge
when fear beckons

Lay your heavy head
and tired mind
in my lap
and let your tears
of sadness,
and longing
flow in the space between my legs

let go.

and like that,
I will hold you
& show you the
promises I won’t
break

let me reveal
my inner corners
as you show me yours,
and prove to you
how tender I will be
with your delicate
heart

tell me,
how do I show you
I am worthy
of all your virtue
& vanity

Something happens for you,
something changes

when you’re faced with truth,
and choice,
when moving from known
into uncertainty,

resist the temptation
& give into me
instead

make love to me.

lay your lips
on mine
& slip yourself
into the space
between my hips

let me show you
true ecstasy,
let the arch of
my back
show you what
words can’t

let our bated breaths
& escaping moans
be our solemn vow
that fear will never
rule here
again

let your fingers
get tangled in my hair
as your heart beats
against mine,
as a reminder of what
is ours

have courage
& fervour
to hold on,
when fear
taunts you to let go,
when it smirks
because the intensity
almost burns,
& your soul bleeds
and your bones ache
& your will is
tested

in these dark moments,
find strength in me

because something happens for you
something changes,
a part of your power
a part of your abilities
a part of you

when you’re faced with truth,
and choice,
when moving from known
into uncertainty,
when you’re
fearless
guy scutellaro Sep 2018
(continues from where Jack  and Kate have exited O'Malley's wedding reception and are standing outside the bar)


"Hello Mr. Martin," Jack says to an old man slowly shuffling up Main Street.

"Who is he?" Kathleen asks.

"I know him from the barber shop. The barber pays him a few dollars to clean and sweep the hair off of the floor. He has a room above the bar."

When Joesph Martin approaches them, Jack asks, "Hello, how are you?"

"I'm an old man, Jack. How could I be?" But then he smiles, "Ahh, I can't complain and how are you?"

"Still alive and well."

"Who is this pretty young lady?" Mr. Martin asks.

"This is Kate." Jack tells him.

Joesph Martin reaches with his hand and takes her by the arm. Gently he squeezes. "Hello Kate, such a pretty name for such a pretty woman. It's nice to meet you."

The thick eye glasses that he wears magnify his sad eyes. Kathleen is cold and dizzy and half heartedly, she smiles.

"Good by Jack and Kate. Have as much fun now because you're going to be dead for a long, long time."

""How long?" Delleto inquires.

The old man just smirks and the continues walking up the street until he comes to the door that leads to the stairwell and his room above the Wagon Wheel bar. Anthony turns to face the door. The small window is broken and the shards of glass catch the twilight.

Joseph Martin turns back looking at the young man and woman who are about to get into a car. He is not certain what he wants to say to them. Perhaps he wants to tell them that it ***** being an old man and that the upstairs hallway always smiles of ****.

He wants to say to them that although Anna died ten years ago he still loves her and misses her every day. Joesph recalls that Plato in Tamaeus believed that the soul is a stranger to the Earth and has fallen on account of sin into matter.

Jack waves to Joesph.

A faint smile appears on Joesph Martin's wrinkled face as he heeds the resignation he hears in his own thoughts. Joesph waves back. The mustang drives off.

Earth, O  Island Earth.


Joesph pushes open the door and goes  into the hallway. The fragments of glass scattered across foyer crunch and clink under his worn shoes. The cold wind blowing through the broken window touches his warm neck. He shivers and starts up the stairs.

Little illumination is provided by the 25 watt light bulb at the top of the stairs. There is only enough light to dimly see the wall and his own breathing. There is just enough light, like when he awakens from a bad dream, to remember who he is and to separate the horror of what was dreamt from the horror of what is real.

The old man continues climbing the stairs following the familiar shadow of the wall cast onto the stairs. If he crosses the vaque line he will become invisable like a four pound trout hiding in the deepest hole of a creek. By the  time he reaches the second floor he is out of breath.  Joesph  pauses and with his handerchief he has taken from his back pocket he wipes the moisture from the lenses of his eyeglasses.

A couple of the doors are standing open and the old man cautiously looks into each room as he hurries past them. Down at the end of the hall the fire exit sign glows above the door. One forty-watt light bulb hangs from a frayed wire from the ceiling halfway down the corridor. The wiring is old and the bulb in the white porcelain socket above the door and hallway stairs flicker like the blink of an eye or the fearful beating of an old man's heart.

When he opens the door to his room, it sags on ruined hinges.

Several seconds pass as he nervously searches with his hand for the light switch, finds it, and turns on the light. Vigilantly, he looks around the cramped, sparse room, over at the bed against the wall, and then across the room to the dresser beside the sink.

The opening of one door and the closing of another outside in the hallway ushers Joesph Martin into his room before his inspection is complete. Quickly, he pushes his door closed. Without taking off his coat, he sits down on the bed and reaches to turn on the radio.

It is gone.

Hard soled boots echo hollowly off the hallway doors. The overlapping echoes make it impossible for Joesph  to determine whether the footsteps are approaching or leaving. He lays back on his bed. Resigning himself to another sleepless night, he  rolls over onto his side and the wall.

He thinks of Anna and the garden behind their house. He feels the warmth of the sun emanating from the white bricks of the house as he walks the path to the garden. He remembers how sweet the air smelled and Anna standing there, waiting there with a plate freshly made oat meal cookies. She made the cookies every Sunday before going to church and she was beautiful and Joseph  aches tonight with the love he feels for Anna.

Earth, O island Earth.
continues with Kate  and Jack leaving the bar and Jack taking Kate home.
Fay Kim Nov 2018
There's a tightness in my chest as I gasp for air
Hugging my frame I wonder how these thoughts began.

How had my mind betrayed me so bitterly.

I feel as if somedays my vessel leaves me tied in bed in the morning, bringing me the stories of today when it returns tonight.

________________

"Did I smile today?"

She smirks, running her hand through my stale hair.

"Yes," She whispers, slipping into the cold covers.  "Everyone believed it."

I hug her close despite the emptiness she brings me; trying to remember what it was like before she came.
I used to love the moments of love
Like the gratuitous glances
We exchanged in the grocery store
Or the brief belly laughs
That reverberated in our bedroom

I found myself living in them
Like the kind kisses
We had in the tight kitchen
Or the sly smirks
Reflected off the shower stall

I wanted them all the time
Like the ample adoration
Down adjacent bookstore aisles
Or the careening caresses
Of my thighs in the car

Even when sour, I held them so close to me
Like the damaged despair
Of broken plates in the dining room
Or the warning words
That echoed off white walls

I remembered every moment
Like the accusing anger
Spread across awful afternoons
Or the effortless embraces
Given in endured evenings

And sometimes, I wished I could forget them
Like the somber silences
In separate sides of the bed
Or the tearful touches
Of hands tightly ****** together

I used to love the moments of love
Like the beginning beauty
Of blushed bedroom faces
Or the frightened farewells
Under falling rain
ConnectHook Jan 23
Beware the white smirk.
Worse than **** atom bomb,
that deadly white smirk . . .

When the White Man smirks
Hordes run, screaming, into ****
(When the white man smirks)
I have spoken. I have spoken.
Heap big medicine.

https://tinyurl.com/yc4v56cr
Mona Mohamed Nov 2018
I find myself overshadowed by the universe,
Just a tiny breathing creature on a tiny earth,
The turbulence of my cries dies in my throat,
And when it greets the world, the world is lost in thought.

I ask a bird to carry me, and I stand in the sky,
I shout listen to me, I have a speech filled with I's,
I refuse to be lonely, that my voice gets forgotten,
Power lies in me, even though I'm at the very bottom.

And I look around, but nobody has raised their heads,
The earth is still orbiting in its same old orbit,
The sun smirks at me, as it announces a new day,
That's when I realized, that initially I had nothing to say.

The bird abandons me, and I sullenly walk home,
Maybe the world doesn't need me, I'm better off alone,
I hang my head, my sweat collects into a pool,
I jump into it, time to drown off just another fool.

When my shame has departed, I shake off the water,
I realize that my hand aches to rant to a blank paper,
So I write and I write till night becomes dawn,
And even then my mind had the capacity to ramble on.

Inspiration only finds me at times when I'm by myself,
And we witness this little miracle where art is given birth,
A tinier world forms within a tiny world,
Where all I want is written, painted, drawn, said, and heard.

The more I walk in this life, the more I get to see
My little solar system assemble tiny piece by tiny piece,
And I get to visit all those places people frequent in their dreams,
But this time I'm the master writing every scene.

And maybe one day someone would stumble into this dimension,
They'd get to live my stories in a world of my invention,
You don't have to scream at the world to show you have power,
Just do what you love, and in the aftermath you'll live forever.

● ● ●
"Power has been cried by those stronger than me."    ~ Hozier

— The End —