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Alexis J Meighan Dec 2012
Knock knock
Who's there?
Mr. Harris who?

Mr. Harris whom lead women with elegance
Tied minds and hearts with verbal excrement
Pondered their looks as well as their flesh
Decided to touch which lead to a mess
For his brain and hands were shaky at best
Floundered around inside of their chest
Slicing and skinned the meat of the breast
The last thing they saw as they took their last breath
An extreme way to deal with life and its stress
Just a mad insane killer you couldn't reject.
Harris is the  man who is there at your door
Knock Knock! Who's there?  Not you any more.
Mr. Harris with blood on his shoes
Mr. Harass you that's who!

Behind close doors he was a cruel brute.
In the public view he smiled and spoke soft
Laid the trap with a simple hello.
Sprung it with a slash
Took his trophies and placed it in his stash
Tonight he stalk a petite country gal
A texan tone and expecting child
Brunette, fair skin and smile you could eat
Perky, quirky with dainty hands and feet
He sat in her car and stakeout her yard
Sneaked in her house while she bath and smelled her towels.
She was a standing appointment on his to do calendar
For 3 months he pondered how to handle her
Caress her flesh and kiss her toes
Asphyxiate! Hand over her mouth and pinch her nose.
Suckle her perfect breast, brush her hair with short strokes
Look into her wide eyes, face to face, then slit her throat
She passed him on the train and he became,
Paralyzed by her fragrance, almost ashamed.
It became obvious, now that her baby bump showed
He had to **** her fast before it grew any more
And like that 9pm drew near and on his table she appeared.
She begged for her life but he didn't care "please I'm pregnant" I said I don't care
He chose option one for his method of ******
Soft and polite until life ignored her.
Now all left to do is to savor the taste of her essence
Then into the river and on to the next lesson
She was Jessica.
-Mr H.-

This night his head ached, he sipped wine and ate
Clenched his brow and grunted and tried to concentrate
This night his heart ailed for a particular face
Some one he knew from a particular place
Blonde hair, tattooed skin and frequent bizarre encounters
A spunky one she was, always on an adventure
She constantly moved which made it a task to learn her
But he was persistent and eventually impaled her.
5 years he tracked her with laid roots just to leave again
He even befriended her friends. But nothing came through them
With every new home she kept, and new ink she bared.
He would be right there sharing her air.
A secret adoration, a crush, a unrequited love
He would scale walls to procure her safety and guard her till she was his alone.
Outside her window snapping photos and collecting her things
Setting coincidences and craving her limbs
He's sneaked in one night and restrained her to the bed
Counting her ink from her honey *** to the kissing undead.
Rubbing her hour glass and slicing through her haunted castle
Penetrating her clover and stabbing her dracula.
For she was his best creation.
He mourned as her flesh he torn
When it was all said and done every tattoo was massacred
Her body of work now a body of hurt
Bled out at the hands that knew her the most
From a distance so close from a distance so close
She was Bridgette
-Mr. H-

She was so much more than a craving
More than a friend.
Its by accident that she met her end.  
They shared a bed, shared a home, shared there love
Now they share his secrets, but not her tomb
She stumbled on his collection of trinkets
And he confessed all thinking their bond and life together would lead to an exception
Shame on him, as to his surprise she screamed and grabbed a weapon
"who are you" she yell and ran to the door.
He screamed in response "I don't know but don't go"
Frantic she struggled with the door lock
Panicked he hit her face with the cutting block
She fell
So did his heart down his throat
This was his partner, his lover, his other half
In every day before his reason for life, his only plan
No way to recover this act of passion so he finished the job.  
Crying and kissing her asian lips
Squeezing her neck till she was gone gone gone.
She was Jen
-Mr. H-

As he progressed and perfected his method
He broadened his pallet and obsessed on this venison
He heard her words sent men to their knees
Both in praise of her power and to lap at her Mahogany
She was clever and sharp like his finest cleaver
Voluminous in her cleavage, firm in her actions like a verb, Poison to her distractions
For him it was her words that overwhelmed his desires
Call to arms, yell to god,do my bidding and "I promise I'll be yours"
She wrote poems like he did, spoke truth like he do
Broke hearts like he could, and swept the world away like he should
He sent her a poem she accepted with joy
Blew her mind with crafts he assembled like schemes, plots, and ploys
She gave him a secret, he gave her a line
She confessed her emotions, he confessed a lie
She showed him her body, he shrugged and denied
She caved and gave more, he enslaved her with compliments, task and more endeavors
She wanted him so bad that for the first time she fell to her knees
He arose from his own. Succeed indeed
He gave her one night, yes one night
8 years of famine, for only one night
He kissed, massage, fingered and caressed
Demanded her mouth as he got undressed
His contact was of malice and encounter of a deranged mind
An anomaly of his needs, a poetic way to propel her demise
He entered her slow made her safe in his glow
Then with a wicked grin the nightmare did begin
He took control, pinned her down, put big things in small spaces
Made her a scream queen with no crown as he laughed and mocked her desperate faces
A little cut here and a little punch there he accepted her fear
On the night stand he had a special potion
A blend of deadly poison
Told her it would end once she breath no more
"Its your choice my dear" then made her scream some more
He took a break said he'll be back
Went to the kitchen to get a snack
"When I come back we'll start again"
Upon his return he gazed the beaten, ****** goddess
She drank her escape route, now she is lifeless
She was Kaylani
-Mr. H-
This is actually something I wrote for one of my close friends Justin Harris. His Birthday is on Xmas so I've been writing people stalker letters and death threats and signing them with his name and address.
Some may not see the humor in this but if you knew the dynamics of my friendship circles you would know that this is normal behavior for us.
Tommy K Sep 2013
Witchy Poo

Mary had a little lamb
She made chops out of it,
Ate it 'till she was sick
Her ******* felt like ****.
So she went to the Wicked Witch
To solve her ******* drama,
With a wand up her ****
Like a banana in a farmer.
With a poke and a shove
The witch knows the soul is hers,
But it's the only way
That this sickness can be cured.
There was a sinister bump
A noise was close by,
The witch looked through the window
Humpty Dumpty was outside.
Witchy Poo got angry
And cursed the dumb egg,
That one day she will get him
And that he will crash down dead.
So Humpty ran off
And told The Kings Guards,
Witchy Poo is in trouble
She's a fugitive at large.
Hiding in the mountains
Hearing Humptys cries,
Sitting on the wall
Blabblering Witchy Poos crime.
So she came down from the mountain
As quietly as she can be,
Sneaked up behind him
Climbing a tree.
Then she pushed Humpty off
From the high wall,
He hit the ground
And splattered on the floor.
Climbing down from the tree
The witch ran away,
Hiding in the caves
Doing her wicked ways.
While looking through the mountains
A guard spots some loose weeds,
Chopped them out of the way
And his eyes trickled with greed.
There was a hidden door
And he opened it up,
Looked inside
And he thought, what a grub.
He saw the witch
Snoring so loud,
His sinister grin
Was making him proud.
The guard thought to himself
Saying, the ***** will get it today,
I'm going to be rich
On a nice pay day.
So the guard told The King
The place where the witch hides out,
Squealing to the pigs
While eating with their snouts.
The King ordered a search
For this menace to the crown,
Wanted: Alive
So she can be burnt down.
The search party went out
And found the witch,
The guards came back with some casualties
And in shackles, the menacing *****.
Then The King announced to his kingdom
That the witch will be sentenced to death,
Then she was thrown into the dungeon
Waiting for the end of this mess.
Torturing the witch
In cruel and horrible ways,
Telling her she is going to suffer
So she better pray.
As the days goes on
Then The King set a date,
"She's gonna be burnt on August 28th"
There was a shout of joy
As everyone was happy,
Except for the witch
Locked up, feeling ******.
Rats at her feet
Chewing off her toes,
Cockroaches all around her
Cursing all her foes.
Starving and weak
Hanging from a chain,
Screaming to The King
To go and grow a brain.
Weeks have now passed
It is now the date,
That the witch will now die
Burning is her fate.
So they unchain her
She is so weak and tired,
Dragged her out of the dungeon
Her brain is all wired.
As they bring her out of the door
The sun hits her face,
Blinded by the light
Coming out at a slow pace.
With no toes on her feet
Stumbling and pushed around,
Rocks are being thrown at the witch
By everyone in town.
Tied the witch to a stake
Wood and hay underneath,
The witch is getting taunted
Yelling insults at the beast.
The King watches on
And raises his hand high,
Then drops it suddenly
Meaning it was time for her to die.
The Kings Men got their torches
And started the fire,
Witchy Poo started screaming
It smelt of burnt tires.
Burning and scorching
The witch is now a charcoal corpse,
Then everybody was celebrating
And their minds warps.
As they drink lots of wine
The Kingdom is now safe,
From the evil Witchy Poo
Who messed up this place.
Singing songs of praise
About how Witchy Poo died,
Here how it goes
And the story aint lies.

Humpty Dumpty
Sat on the wall,
The Witch pushed him off
And he splatted on the floor.
The peasants were yelling insults
The Kings Men had the fire,
Burnt The Witch at the stake
Because she was evil and a liar.

And that was how Humpty really died
And how Witchy Poo got fried.

Tommy K
D I A Mar 2015
Stress sneaked up on me
Like a ninja out of the blues
Like a saxophone player
Weaving an intricate melody
To my internal noir monologue
Like a tax collector striking at night
Or a deadly case of the Creditors flu
Like a group of cut-throat dames
Like fog in the rain
Like a secretary named Velema.
Stress sneaked up on me
When the detective came a-knocking.

He wanted his cigarette back.

I told him I didn't have it
Then the ****** walked in
Quick-finger Teddy
Butcher Saint Merry
Leg-breaker Lenny
Mobster Ricco
Snake Bently
And Marcini of the incredibly gifted hands
Lead makes a different sound when fired
Glass shatters into tinkling tear drops
Like the heavens weeping.
Plaster breaks.

Stress sneaked up on  me
Like a kiss goodbye...
It's all
Smoke through the city...
Hard-boiled or Scrambled. A touch of Noir.
K Balachandran Jul 2013
A forest adventure-we didn't plan it that way at all,
the call of the wild prompted us, is all I can now guess
hand in hand in to the woods we ventured like two possessed,
magical, it felt, we soon disappeared, from the eyes of curious intruders.

erogenous scent of damp earth, after the first sprinkling of monsoon clouds,
pepped up our interest in hunting mushrooms
popping up everywhere, like fragments of white clouds descended,
we pulled out, egg shaped mushrooms that came in to our view
the frenzy we fell in to,  possessed us in total,
after all we we are also young and hot blooded,

We competed like hounds in hot pursuit,
ran, collided with each other, fell down,
with a gentle thud, upon each other.
She did lay flat, face down on my chest,
I smelt,musk on her neck a slow intoxicant
and mushrooms hidden in her both armpits,
which I pursued and found out,we were getting hot,
in pursuit of each other's secrets.
the world, we had forgotten completely for long!!

We didn't see evening light melt and
darkness spread stealthily over the woods
that engages the robust body of the night,
from the rendezvous, of these secret lovers,
we sneaked out and saw lighted torches,
approach us from all four directions.

they zeroed in on us,"Who goes there?"
a harsh voice asked,
"This, do you know, is the holy grove,
of mother goddess, strictly  watched
for not to be get desecrated
by people who seek some sort of adventure,
such an act never goes unpunished,
we'll search you and find what you did"

We held out mushrooms before them,
and I saw each face turning  a lotus!
"where did you get this,? Oh! so much!,
Those are so rare and any one is able to pluck it,
only if mother goddess is pleased"

And then we realized this,
in that forbidden sacred wood,
between us a miracle has happened!
that pleased the mother goddess
of the woods,  the blessed presence,
aren't we then  the chosen ones?

JB Claywell Aug 2014
The local mall now has a Spenser’s Gifts;
I remember that place fondly as Al and I
make our way.
It’s where I sneaked a peek at Samantha Fox’s ****
for the first time,
saw my first **** ring,
wondering why anyone would want one.
I bought my first Metallica shirt at a Spencer’s;
spending twenty of my dad’s dollars.
Spencer’s and Record Wear House
were sanctuaries;
my escape from what my classmates
took for normal.
I took my son into that store
so that he could see the X-Men hats
and Deadpool shirts, the banana and pickle
pens caught his eye,
but I had to point out one more.
“What’s that one?” I asked.
Alex made a face, but in the end
he did what any 14 year old boy should,
he chuckled.
I took him in that store so that we both
could escape.
Earlier he walked the mall
a good fifteen feet ahead of us.
We stopped for ice cream.  
He chose a soda and wouldn’t sit with us.
It took a second, but
I figured him out.
He was trying his teenaged self out;
testing his wings.
As we walked, he’d wave at classmates
and be either sturdily ignored or given a cursory nod.
It was obvious that he wanted so much more.
It pained us, my wife and I.
So, I took him into Spencer’s gifts
in an effort to remove some of his innocence and awkwardness.
It may not have been the wisest move,
but at least, for a moment,
both of us felt peace.

-JB CLaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2014
Noah Sep 2013
Twenty percent who die in cold water do so within the first two minutes -
it's called cold shock response,
which is a really boring name
and kind of how i feel because
when your body hits the water
     it panics
and can't stop trying to breathe
and the water cools your blood
and hits your heart
so if you happen not to hyperventilate,
cardiac arrest is always an option.

I talked to a girl who claimed that earl grey is better than any other tea -
i wonder if she's had anything else
because if she did she'd know
that sharp cinnamon apple spice
warms best on a cool fall day
and hibiscus and rose hips
make you feel like a little kid again
and throat coat is something to be worshiped
or so i've heard, anyway
it's something i need now, anyway
because like this so called fact
this sore throat has been passed on
from one room to another
has sneaked down stairwells
and curled under blankets
and that's kind of how i feel
like autumn and rose hips and sore throats
and i'm not really sure what that means
but like obscenity when it is here
it's impossible not to know so.

i have killed my flower three times since i've been here, and i think i'm giving up -
i knocked it off the window ledge
and then watered it too much
and then watered it too little
not really learning from my mistakes
as much as letting them evolve
each stage a new form of destruction
and i kind of feel that way because
each time i pick up a book
or open a new tab
my fingers linger on my phone
and i'm replying to a friend
checking my email
playing spades
and when i play i bet too high
though i've been low for weeks
i've been as dry as my flower's soil
and it hasn't bummed me out
as much as other things have
and that's feeling less and less incongruous.

the boy sitting in front of me has a really high voice and a really small body -
his beard is well groomed
and it fascinates me
and while i'm trying not to make
any assumptions about him or anyone
which is turning out to be
a lot harder than i thought
he gives me hope because
he represents something i want
something i'll get one day
because nobody looks at him weird
when he speaks so soft and high
and nobody laughs at how short and small he is
and nobody asks any questions
because there aren't any to ask
that's just what he is, how he looks
and even if it wasn't always
how are we supposed to know
and why should we even care
but even so i find these people and
i want to be close to them, to speak to them
because they look like how i think i'll look
even if they didn't get there the same way i will,
but we spoke in an elevator once
and i thanked him for his help.
Poetic T Feb 2015
I was a mouse and I lived on
The moon, I ate grey cheese it
Was always grey never anything

But then someone parked, left
Scorch marks on my favourite
Grey patch of cheese, so I
Sneaked aboard and watched
Them claim my cheese in the
Name of man, in the name of

What was man? did he taste
Good? but I smelt him and
Could tell he smelt not so
Good, We landed it took a
While, I sneaked off to find
New cheeses that I could see
From my cheese moon seat
So far away down.

I tasted here ,I tasted there,
But I preferred what I had left
Behind, that place  in the sky.
I had left to come to this place,
That tasted like moon ant hair.

I waited a while for the ride
That took me from there, but
It was doing a round  trip, so
I'd have sneak off and catch a
lift home from there.

So whoosh I went up through
The clouds, and through the
Blue, to the darkness out there.
I chewed and nibbled, then some
More. It got them in a little
Trouble, they solved this then
Were on there way.

I floated around waiting for a
Ride, then some tasty space rock
Was heading my way, I caught
It as it did fly on by. Then to
Home I was off with a jolt, I got
Near the surface my time to get off.

I landed after floating for a while,
Where the space rock had landed,
Juicy grey rocks had flown around
All mine to taste once more. I was
In heaven, I hope those humans
Never come back, as this moon of
Grey cheese is my  favourite place.
And there's not much tasty cheese
On that multi-coloured rock.
We some times do not realise we have it good till we leave, and then realize we should have stayed
Pablo Silva Apr 2015
Blazing hot sweats rolled down my back,
A cloudless sky was at reach from my palm’s view,
My eyes centered on the sun as it stood above my head.
Summer’s end sneaked around the corner,
But its endless heat
Fooled me to think it would never cease.

Milky sand grains covered my toes,
Beach ***** rolled back n’ forth,
Children’s castle were made and later destroyed,
Clear waters waved in my thoughts,
It was suppose to be a beautiful day
And until that moment, it was.

The moment the earth shook,
Loud voices suddenly began to rise
And footsteps tumbled the ground.
I looked around,
Right, left, up, down,
Where had the commotion come from?

The sun blinded me from the truth,
When the photons in my eyes reassembled the image,
A shock traveled to my heart
Making it pump furiously in my chest.

A desert ahead of me laid,
Content faces had ran from my presence,
The air dragged my body forward,
The ocean rapidly seemed to disappear,
I looked upon the never ending horizon
And its line had ascended greatly.

At that moment,
I refused to run like all the others,
I refused to avoid its magnificent moves.
The winds pushed me backwards with a tremendous force,
Sprinkles of icy water splashed against my skin,
A great calamity I was bound to face.

Shadows covered the surface of my dread,
An enormous wall of wetness surrounded me,
And with a blink, I was no longer visible to the eyes of men,
Even God could not spot me from the heavens above.

I gasped for air in the salty waters of the ocean
But there was none to be found,
And with that last thought in mind
I drowned myself in its eternal beauty.
Dana Jan 2014
Close your eyes as I sentence you to go back in time
To turn the clock backwards; won't coast you a single dime

All the way to days of catching fireflies and carrying lunchboxes
Being scared of monsters in the closet and building fort mattresses

When you made a best friend by sharing your blue crayon – the color of your skin didn't matter
When candy was everything you wanted to buy. And ice-cream was the ultimate answer

When nobody was prettier than mom, and nobody was cooler than dad
When she waited for you when you got home and you sat on his lap; nothing would ever go bad

When rainy days only meant we'll manage to do everything inside the classroom and continue to play
When chicken pox was entertaining, balloons made everything okay and we played with clay

When it was a big deal to go to an amusement park and finally get on the ‘Big Kid’ rides
When goodbye only meant until summer is over and no one left your side

When you sneaked up on your toys because ‘Toy Story’ was real
When you spent each day in the sun and everything was ideal

When mistakes were corrected by exclaiming 'do over' and everybody was a friend
When we all played together as one and there was no pretend

When decisions were made by going eeny-meeny-miney-moe
Never having a clue that we’ll soon say goodbye and it’ll be time to grow...

Those days weren't going to last
Huh... They passed by pretty fast

Days of wearing a blanket on your back thinking you could fly
Of tip-toeing around the house; turning to a spy

Days of wearing your mom's heels and pearls and acting like a queen
Of chasing each other in shopping malls and making a scene

Days of being afraid of the dark and pretending to be sick just to skip school
Of climbing trees, swinging on swings, and following playground rules

Days of bedtime stories and being tucked in bed
Of pretending to be a zombie and playing dead

Days of jump ropes, Nintendo games, and flipping coins to make everything fair
Of Hide & Seek, pillow fights and jumping up and down the stairs

Days of having a recess to run around and scream
Of no race issues; just one team

Days of not caring about what you wore; whether a size two or ten
Of being tired from playing, but we'd sleep only to wake up and play again

Days of ordering happy meals not for the food, but the toy; never worrying about weight
Of 10$ feeling like a million & another extra dollar is a miracle. When ten o’clock was considered late

Days of looking at the stars/clouds and imagining shapes, occupying an entire evening
Of no matter how bad your voice was, you weren't embarrassed to sing

Days of following ants and having a pet bug
Of camping in the backyard, and Barni was your drug

Days of melted chocolate all over our faces and still not caring who was watching
Of ‘Opposite Days’, checking who leaped more steps, "You're it" and racing

Days of cuss words being banned and you didn't have to be compared
Of having innocence and being treated equal. You were once heard

Remember those days?? Or have you forgotten that you weren't born yesterday??

Before having responsibilities and driving cars. Just simple cardboard spaceships, and the privilege to sit in the front seat
Before x-boxes, PlayStation2, or internet browsers. Before you made quick judgments, lied and cheated

Before changing ourselves to impress others and wearing make-up
Covering who we truly are, claiming that we have grown up

Before caring about sexism, classicism, or racism, and letting our ignorant society take over us
Being misled by social media; blinding us from the fact that we’re all the same and making a huge fuss

Before money and popularity controlled and took over - Being mean and acting like jerks because we think it’s cool
Mocking others because they're not the same as us. Abusing people; treating them as a tool…

Before all that… Days of our childhood – How I wish to go back
Enter a time machine and get back to that youth track

But time isn't on our side and we have to leave it all behind eventually
Yet learn from it… Gather that knowledge and better yourself… Childhood days are the cherry on top of this reality.
Meg B Dec 2014
I guess you could call me
a people addict;
I live for the exchanges,
momentary or prolonged,
the satisfaction of smiles substituted for
verbalized salutations;
the how-you-do's and hello's,
the pleasantries of chit chat,
talk of my oh my, I am not ready for this snow
and how was your holiday?;
catching a supposed-to-be-sneaked glance from that tasty
allowing your eyes to meet for longer than
you meant to;
a compliment that drips off the lips so sweet,
its nectar invading the taste buds for hours
on end;
individualized or multiplied,
I relish in the conjugated haze,
in the gazes and the giggles,
in the potential formulation of inside jokes,
in a have a good day to a grin I will never see again,
the whirlwind of vowels and consonants,
of coincidences and sarcasm,
of the impressions we may leave of which
we will never be aware;
I crave the mundane,
I get high off the monotony,
I am swallowed by the simplicity;
I guess you could call me a
people addict,
and I'm cool with that.
Kiernan Norman Jul 2014
I try to live Here. Here is humid-sticky-underground-dance-hall hot. I’m caught tight in a mess of limbs- bodies stretch and sway from this to Eden. I have never been more lonely. Together we inhale metallic Old Spice. Together we exhale stale tap water hymns. I am breathing all alone.

My tired tongue kicks awake to cheap nail poison as I tap each fingernail against bottom teeth and lightly push three times.
(Four times or eight times. Ten times in one quick, heart-drop minute but who’s counting?
Me. Of course I’m counting. There’s not a beat, rhyme or giggle that hasn’t busy-bee buzzed around my foggy brain. Each thought its own color, each touching down on a different set of crumb-glazed quilts or a different tower of gutted magazines. Each bee is long and thin, pointy in a terrifying way. Each bloated and dripping with a grand idea- which they leave like droppings and are so specifically intense they will never make any sense a breath apart from this moment and this context which crumpled and blew away while I dully, dutifully checked my pulse. I'm alive but my thoughts took off. I can see their exhaust but they fled fast, like they knew I could only begin to gnaw on them. They were born to quickly, maniacally live and die- in and out and there then off and gone.)

Here. Here the walls are chipping off one hundred years, one hundred lives of lead-based paint and are dripping onto the frayed denim of my ****** cut-offs. Impossibly long hair, absurd to call it mine, hangs heavy and wet. The strands shed drops of atmosphere on my (and their and your and-) bare feet. I’m my own sumi brush- my calligraphy is not words, but a footprint-marked path to treasure. Braided bits cling heavy and soaked to the curve of my neck and then billow like sheets hung out in the wind. My sharp, slick scapula must be the laundry line. It’s one of the good bones. Good bones only exist while jutting. The scapula is the beautiful ******* of my skeleton and we finally have made nice.

Here the music is so loud. The bass ignites my dental cavities. They sting and pierce as a reminder of how terribly I’m taking care. Lights blink, the room quakes and I need water.  I’m throbbing and flickering and faces attached to bones slither between each other and grind up into my own perfect focus. They’re smirking.

One at a time they appear with a warm, grainy hand on the small of my cold-sweat back. Each face of bones lean in close, dry and cracked lips that graze my own fever-hot ears. Goose bumps sling up and down limbs and the lips, all smudgy red lipstick and cigarette breath, whisper something to me that is absolutely crucial. It’s something beautiful or something hilarious or something crude but I can’t hear it. I’ll never hear it. They throw their bones back and cackle-laughing so hard it must be painful. All I can hear is my eardrums cracking and breaking, laying the bass for a high pitched dial tone.

One by one they do this and then, with a huge play-dough smile and eyes as deep as I feel, they slowly back away from my flimsy, electric body. I know they’re relieved they didn’t get stung. This goes on for forty straight hours. I feel like the Queen bored and still as they file through to kiss my ring. I feel like I’m at my own wake. I am beginning to erupt. I am lightly vibrating with the burden of militant creativity. I think I'm melting from the inside out. The bones still laugh and the bees, diving like war missiles, are screaming that it’s time to flesh out that novel, string precise words together in a huge, monumental way down golden strings that will change the world for the better and forever hang on God's graceful neck. It's time to record that beloved lullaby and sculpt that masterpiece or put on black clothes, sneak out and vandalize monuments. It is all absolutely crucial and so very urgent. Everything is wailing and I’m nodding slowly because if I do not do it, ALL OF IT, now- right this instant and quickly- I will die having said nothing. I will have wasted my opportunity to matter.

Here. Here the bone-bodies continue to mock me. The room stays dim and damp and I don’t think I’ll ever get clean. After twenty minutes or seventy years the crowd thins out, lights switch on illuminating exit signs and the room slowly, sadly, empties. I am sticky and aching and have never felt dumber. The bone-bodies left their blurry sweat, their empty bottles and their void inspirations like blank fortunes trailing across the bar top. There’s a real, fur, calf-length coat and a fake Birkin bag in the corner. My feet are filthy.

Here. But I’m not really Here. Here is bougy and exclusive. There’s no list but you probably can’t get in because actually Here is utter *******. Here is the moldy bricks and pre-war ceilings inside my head.
Leaving Here is too easy. You blink and you’re gone. Then I try to remember what party I even went to but I’m sitting Indian style and cramped on rough carpet and my back is in knots and everything I’m thinking is slow, melting taffy lose and inconsistent.

The sun starts to rise up pink through broken bedroom blinds and I know that I went way down deep and danced and gripped tight to flurrying ideas and made a big mess and now I’m stuck ripping papier-mâché, three inches thick, off coat-check walls and trying to read the graffiti-ed bathroom stalls but the Sharpie is dripping and I might be illiterate.

The Somethings I came to flirt with are hiding and won’t answer ‘POLO’ no matter how loudly I scream ‘Marco! ******* Marco!’ I’m reeling and under-breath begging ‘and please come find me and let’s make stuff and we can’t waste this and I can’t be a waste.’ But below all the pacing and knuckle-cracking I know that there are no Somethings listening to my panicky prayers. They sneaked out while I was braiding my hair for the sixth time, humming something old and Johnny Cash-y that I remembered and liked and had to Google and perform eight times for a mirror. I sneeze and I want to cry. I don’t think I know how to read. Edges start to blur and the alphabets a mess.

In defeat I’ll wash my face and slide under one light blanket and quickly sweat through it. I’ll lower my heavy, thick-thought and dizzy head onto a stack of three pillows. My vision will fall away from me and stars will explode in a chatty whisper that has be immobile and straining and sore. I will treat them like a sky full of fireworks blazing just for me. I'll ooh and ahh and my heart will palpitate under the weight of them. (Really I do know they're just amphetamine snowflakes falling slowly and burying my wasted night.  I swear next time I won’t waste it.) But at that moment I'll watch the show and feel safe and small and inconsequential, at last.
genetic poetic Sep 2014
Love is all he knows,
Like doves, he reeps what he cannot sow,
Completely seeping where you cannot go,
Secretly creeping on his toes,
And there it goes,

Waking up a stranger to the morning sun,.
After shaking from danger,

He cannot live without her his heart speaks out in anger,
She's the last out, to give what they were, from back in the start, for' she sneaked around,
Turned his whole world upside down,
He grabs the gun and preys his last prayers, she stabbed his heart, and it teared and teared,
Life's not fair life's not fair, the underkeeper gloomed,
The gun killed today, and a love much steeper bloomed.
Diya Feb 2018
Her magnetised tears felt onto a body of an Iron,a dead one.
It was completely corroded by the deadly rust.

With her A- line black dress, she looked at the tombstone,
Through the mirror of her soul as if it would reflect him.

Yes,she got his glimpse but in a way that was illusory
An awkward silence ruled the panaroma,
The gravestone was looking at her
With the inscribed letters that was revealing his name, in it...

She went near it with her heart,
flooded with a river of grief.
The aromatic flowers settled from her hands unto the stone,which was so rigid and evocative.

It bursted her bag full of memories of him ,
And drop by drop,they sneaked out of her eyes and escaped into the air.

Sentiments attacked her with the power of a nuclear bomb.
But yet she survived cause she wanted to live,for him.

She wanted to stare at him some more time with her eyes reflecting the sight of the night sky where he was her star..

Ya,he hasn't gone anywhere..
He still dwells in her heart and she knows that!
Just now, he is no more a concrete.

He is abstract, transformed into a memory that resides in her abode of love.
Now, she is strong again cause she's got braces of him in her body..

No,she doesn't want anymore condolences,
She closed her soul to the quantum of solace!
Thanks for reading!
Auroleus Aug 2012
Jesus Christ, 15 AD

Today was a good day. I sneaked away to the cave and lit a bush on fire so I could communicate with my father. I’m not sure why I even bother telling Him things because He already knows them… I guess I just like hearing his voice. Today I asked Him if it would be alright for me to start practicing my miracles… AND HE SAID YES!!! XD He says I need a lot of practice before I go taking it public because nobody would believe I’m the son of God if I ******* one up. Also, I’m pretty sure he wants to preserve his reputation… so I started practicing on sheep. It’s a good thing shepherds are already so far away from towns because if people witnessed what I was doing to these sheep PETA would be at my doorstep in a matter of days. For those of you who don’t know, PETA is an organization created by Satan for animals because he thinks it hilarious that they should have a place in heaven, too. HA HA SATAN, very funny…

So my first miracles were simple. I was to heal all of the injured sheep in my flock. This went over fairly well, until I came to the blind sheep. I tried healing her and her eyeballs melted right out her skull! REVERSE MIRACLE! REVERSE MIRACLE! I shouted as I waved my staff in a panic. Then in the background a bush lit ablaze, “Son, you know waving that staff around won’t cause anything to happen. Magic wands and staffs are pagan nonsense. Since your birth I’ve disabled all of their so-called magical instruments, so now they’re nothing but a bunch of ritualistic heathens.” Anyway, Father fixed the poor sheep’s eyes and I was scolded for harming the animal. He sometimes makes me flog myself…

Lunch: Stale bread and glass of water.

After lunch is training time. My father had me build a crucifix inside a cave hidden deep in the desert hills so that I can practice for the big day! I spend 2 hours a day roped to that cross, and another hour or so doing self-mutilation. More flogging. I keep asking Father if he’ll send me down a practice angel so that I don’t have to keep beating myself, but he said all the angels who were into that sort of thing migrated south… So here I am… alone… in a cave… fists full of blood and rope burned wrists. Heading home to watch my parents argue and maybe I’ll turn their water into laudanum so that I may have a decent night’s sleep.
might not be a poem... **** it.
MBJ Pancras Dec 2011
It’s not My will, but Thy will,
Let Me die on the cross for their sins,
And My blood pave way to eternity;
Yet My Soul is sorrowful unto death.
Abba, take away this cup from Me;
Yet if it’s Thy will, and not My will.
Father, Thy promise Thou made with the serpent
That Thou would put enmity ‘twixt him and a woman,
And I should bruise his head;
Nevertheless he should bruise My heel.
For this is Thy eternal promise for man
Who been formed in Thy image;
But been smashed himself with the deceiver.
Flesh is weak and tempting;
Yet the spirit is willing and godly,
For Me too passed thro’ the way of the tempter;
Yet cursed him with Thy Eternal Word.
Unfelt agony runs into My soul,
When I bear the sins of the world,
And who on earth knows it,
Except Thou and Me, Who are ONE?
Do men know Me, Who is in Thee,
And Thou in Me, hath stripped off Glory
And hath become a servant to them,
And made in their likeness with all humbleness
Carrying the cross of shame and abuse?
My sweat is as it were great drops of blood
And Gethesmene I pray turns red.
Who knows but Thou ought ought to reveal
That My blood be shed on the cross
Which is the symbol of the new covenant?
Father, in the beginning I AM,
And all things made by Me and for Me
Who hath come unto earth as the Light,
And I AM Thy Glory, full of grace and Truth.
My Father, here come My betrayer,
For his time hath come to strike Me
As he has to bruise My heel,
And I should then bruise his head,
For it’s Thy Eternal plan of mystery.
Here comes he with the spirit of darkness
Carrying lanterns and torches and weapons
Of unrighteousness and ungodliness.
Father, let Me finish Thy work,
But strengthen Me with Thy Spirit.
Now the betrayer hath sneaked  unto me.
Look, he kisses Me amidst the mob.
Am I his beloved for his kiss?
Yet he is My beloved.
He hath dipped himself in My cup of blood.
It’s Judas kiss bought for thirty silver.
He hath sold his soul to the roaring lion
Which devours the sons of Adam.
I made Judas My apostle;
But he  made himself the liar’s instrument.
The night I am put in chains in the realm of darkness
And I am left alone with none to share mine.
Where are My apostles, My disciples?
I remember Peter’s words
That he said he would go with Me,
And I know the rooster should crow
After his denial of Me thrice to go.
He is a mere man who knows not
That things written be accomplished in Me.
They drag Me, kick Me with their boots of sins,
I am chained by their unrighteousness,
And am whipped by their blasphemy of My Father,
For when I am rejected My Father is rejected
As My Father and I are ONE,
And who hath seen Me hath seen My Father.
My people spit on Me all the way
Where blood from My body sheds.
The thorny whips tear My flesh;
Yet I rejoice in My Father’s will,
But their sins sadden My soul.
I am dragged unto the high priests
Who’ve been awaiting My trial.
Even My disciples have forsaken,
And left Me alone, but My Father in Me.
Am I held ‘midst people of the law
Which was the schoolmaster awhile
Until I finish it with My blood.
Their trial with Me hath begun with bitterness.
And Peter is seen with a mob at the fire.
False witnesses spewed on Me, yet contrary,
Whose arrows stuck on My statement
That I will destroy the temple,
And in three days I will build one.
Behold, And they’re spiritually blind and deaf.
They spit on Me blindfolding My eyes,
And play prophecy of hide and seek.
Each spit on Me is a sin of  theirs
And their hurt in not on My body but soul.
They kick Me with their boots with spikes,
And the unrighteousness of My people bruises.
My soul bleeds not of Me but of their doom.
The father of lies mocks at My Eternal plan.
The liar can bruise but My heel,
And his head is already beneath My heel.
My people strike Me with the palms,
And they slap on  My cheek with prophecy;
Yet I hold peace to defeat the liar.
No man is found to paint the pallor on My face.
I am denied thrice as of My mysterious plan.
I am tried till the sun sinks at the horizon,
And I become the laughing-stock of My people.
I thirst, but not a drop of water I ’m offered,
Where found midst earthly meals the disciples of the liar.
To liars My Truth seems blasphemy
For professing themselves to be wise and godly,
They’ve turned scoffers strolling in lusts.
I’m ‘gainst the mighty liars,
Who’ve forgotten I AM Almighty
Having denied the Power of the Most High
Whose Eternal plan of salvation is for them
Whose trial against Me is vain;
Yet satan in disguise kicks My heel.
My angels were struck in pride in Heaven,
And so were drained off into hell
With their filth and lust in darkness.
They spit on Me Who is the Lamb.
The trial ‘ere Pilate take its roots,
And no roots of earth are of Mine,
For My Father breaks off every branch
That beareth no fruit in Me.
For they wear attires of pomp and pride
With no clothes of righteousness.
Hidden in the mask of flattery
Pilate hath no way to mark justice;
Yet it hath been the Eternal plan of salvation
In Me Who is the Lamb of sacrifice.
Who knows My kingdom is not of this world?
I’ve come down to speak the Truth
That hath made the governor question Me:
‘What is Truth?’
And who believes I AM the Way, the Truth and the Life?
For all have eaten the forbidden fruit
Which hath set free the son of peridition
Who is the father of lies of all ages.
And Pilate sets free a convict as is the custom
Which hath a way in the Passover.
Truth sets free the blessed souls from Death;
But falsehood sets free sinners from Life.
I’m whipped in flesh to bleed;
But I  am whipped in spirit by their sins.
I’ crowned with thorns and twigs:
The metaphors of sins and iniquities.
They throw around Me a purple robe
And cry against Me in sarcasm
That I would live long as the King of the Jews
Whose minds are darkened by worldly wisdom,
For My kingdom is not of this world.
They slap Me on the cheek with arrogance,
I remember Judas’ kiss on the same cheek
Who hath drowned in the lust of silver.
I make neither complaint nor not of repulsiveness,
For it’s My Father’s will to bear the cross.
Back to the porch of the palace
I’m made the season with withering leaves.
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who cried against Me riding on a colt.  
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who carried against Me riding on a colt,
They threw their cloaks of praise and shouts
Across the way I trotted upon on the colt,
They laid branches cut from trees,
And I knew they were clothed with filthy attires.
Their praises and shouts now turned to curses  and abuses.
I’m now thrown into the hands of disciples of the liar
Who is a like a roaring lion to devour.
Their faulty law plays in their hands
And laughs at My Father’s Rock of Salvation.
But I laugh at the liar’s defeated victory on Me,
For in My resurrection Death hath no victory.
Who knows death took its roots since first transgression
In Eden with the consumption of the Forbidden Fruit;
Yet in Me Life is sealed in Him to Eternity?
I’ve longed for Judas’ godly sorrow like the prodigal son,
But he was bitten by the serpent on the Tree
Where the betrayer tasted the Fruit and died.
He took himself to the tree of death
For the taste of the Fruit turned bitter to him.
Power of this world hath blinded Pilate’s conscience
Whose power hath been predicted over Me
With My self-will hidden in the Most High.
The Eternal plan of salvation hath tied Pilate.
Who washed himself in his self-righteousness
And throws Me out for want of  pomp and pride.
Now I’m in the arms of thorns and bushes
Laden with the cross of the world set out;
Yet My journey thro’ human darkness is for a while,
For the Reward of Eternity is awaiting Me
And the ones who are rooted in Me.
Each whip lashed on Me is the multiple sins of the world,
And the spikes of the whips tear My flesh,
And I bleed with the agony of lost souls,
Whom I’ve made for Glory with My Father.
Behold! A toll strikes this hour
When I hear the hellish roar at a distance,
And I know the traitor hath flung the silver
Which have no price for his destiny.
I shed tears for him but he’s lost
For his death is certain in My Eternal Plan,
And who could change it but Me;
Yet it’s all My plan of mystery in the Father?
They hit Me with a stick o’er the head,
And mock lat Me saying ‘Long live the King of Jews.’
A scepter of stick ****** into My palms,
A game of mockery is played  ‘gainst Me;
Yet I am as innocent as a lamb led to the slaughter,
As writ in the Scriptures with the design of My Father:
I’m oppressed, and afflicted down to death on earth;
Yet I open not My mouth to charge complaints,
I’m brought as a lamb to the slaughter,
And as a sheep before her shearer is dumb.
All the way I’m kicked to fall on the stony path.
Look! My knees bruised and torn for you,
Still are there moments of repentance from hypocrisy.
**! Here am I fallen on the thorny twigs.
Behold! My clothes are torn with blood flowing out.
They tilt Me with their pompous boots.
I try to lift Myself but laden with the cross.
Pity of sacrcasm plays in their hearts
And in turn a man from Cyrene is laid with the cross.
I carry the sins of the world for crucifixion;
But he’s made to carry the wooden cross behind Me.
Is it My Word that says unto you:
‘Take up your cross everyday and follow Me?’
Nay, but to forsake the world of sins
Be My doctrine with the love of My Father.
You cannot carry the cross I bear;
Yet you can carry yours beside Me.
Shouts of abuses thunder into My heart
Amidst the cry of lamentation across the way.
They hook Me up with scornful epithets
And the liar of the world bruised My heel;
Yet I walk the path of obedience to physical death
That My death on the cross shows Way to Eternity.
I hear the cry of My people,
Why do they cry with wailing?
Do they mourn over My trial on earth
Or o’er their sinful attires.?
Who knows, but I know?
They shed tears of emotions,
And who knows their sins crucify Me?
Behold! I hear the Nightingale’s song ‘cross the stormy breeze.
Is it the song of melody unto My people
For they murmur Nature too mocks at My trial?
But I know My creations are under My power.
They’ve painted the day’s sky with glooms
As their pilgrimage on earth smeared with sins.
Back on Me the cross is ****** and I’m knocked down,
And My face dashes ‘gainst rocks on the way.
The spiky rocks tear My skin to bleed,
I bleed and bleed till the last drop.
Little children kiss My bleeding cheeks
And they take the mark of My sacrifice.
The sun soars higher and higher
And each phase of My journey is of My Father’s plan.
I scale ‘gainst the steep hillock with lashes on My back.
The fiendish serpent laughs at Me,
And strolls with the exotic steps drowned in hellish dirt.
And I know he bruises MY HEEL:
But he ‘knows’ not I’ll bruise his head.
My disciples walk apart with arms tied,
For none can break the design of My Father.
The sun strikes the altitude and I reach the slaughter.
They drag Me unto the ‘place of the skull’.
Who’ve thought I would sleep ‘neath the grave
Which hath no future for death is once for all.
Their conscience is buried in darkness by the liar,
Like dried-up springs and clouds blown along by a storm,
Their thoughts and deeds lie in vain of glory,
All bundled in filthy rags of lusts,
Whose promise of freedom is spoken by the father of this world,
The mighty trap hidden with baits of freedom of slavery.
Who knows but My Father of My destruction of the Temple;
Yet be rebuilt in three days in glory?
Behold! They strip off My clothes to naked.
The serpent sneaks onto the Forbidden Tree
With a cynical comedy of errors;
Yet it bruises My heel with its bitten fang.
My Father drove out Adam and Eve from Eden
Who had turned unholy committed themselves to the liar.
Now the liar, he thinks, drives Me out into the grave.
But I will destroy him with My dazzling presence.
My garments  they part and share ‘mongst themselves,
And My robe made of single piece of woven cloth
With no seam found in it, thrown at dice.
Do they know it’s of the Scriptures foretold?
They lay Me on the cross down on the earth.
I recall My infancy couched on the manger:
How I was cared and nurtured by My human parents.
I was in the safe arms from bitter cold;
But now I lie sans comfort and in blood.
My arms are stretched across to be nailed,
Lost of strength My legs are pulled along.
My people watch the gory sight of crucifixion.
They nail My palms and feet ruthlessly.
How I healed My people from diseases
How I fed My people from starvation!
How I walked to listen to My people’s sorrows!
But they watch Me now lying on the cross.
Do they know of My death on the cross?
The nails are pierced deep into veins and nerves,
Streams of blood flow down unto My people;
But they kick My blood splashed ‘cross My face.
Unfelt agony and untold miseries crushed My spirit,
For they repent not of their sins but die
Forsaking My Father’s promise unto those who believe Me.
When nails are pierced Mine My Father strengthens Me.
I bear the pain for the promise of My Father.
They raise Me nailed on the cross.
Curses and abuses lashed on Me,
And they shout they’ve cut the root of the tree.
Alas! They do not know what  they do;
Yet My Eternal Plan of  these shall happen.  
I look at My disciples at the Cross
Whose darkened hearts I perceive.
Full of heaviness with a doubting hope
Of what will happen to Me and them.
They’re petals turned pale in the evening,
They’re the garden of Fall with no fruits bearing,
Like distant stars with faded light they look
My people fling upon Me mockery:
‘He saved others; let Him save Himself
Who claimed the Son of God!’
Not to save Myself is My advent to the world;
But it’s My Father's Eternal Design in Me
That salvation is for mankind in My Father’s likeness.
It’s written above My head of the Kingship:
‘This is the King of the Jews’
Who know not of My Eternal Kingship,
Not of this world, but of the Heaven.
Behold! The criminal on My left hurls at Me:
‘Are You the Anointed One?  Save Thyself and us!
Is he the son of Cain who turned a fugitive?
Is it not like “am I my brother’s keeper?
The convict on My right is another prodigal son
Whose sorrow of his filthy rags turns his blessed.
‘Lord! Remember me in Your Kingdom!’
My promise unto him hath crowned his a hope of glory:
‘This day shall you be with Me in Paradise.’
It is the prime of the day with beams of fire splashed across:
The sun is in its meridian lashing unforgiving rays.
Behold! The sun is darkened by the clouds of glooms,
It’s day but turns night as a premonition
What happens to the creation in My Day in Glory.
The temple of the city trembles at My Word’
And the curtain is torn in the middle,
Yea, Moses’ law turns unto rags with no price,
For I make the New and Eternal Law of love in Me.
Nightly day survives until My Last Cry’
Troubled with the heaviness of My people’s sins:
‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?
‘Yet it’s finished. Thy work on earth is done,
Father, here I commend My spirit unto Thee’.
Jesus Christ's ****** sacrifice for mankind!
Here's a story of the tortoise and the rabbit
Petty fights were kind of a habit
They couldn't decide who'd get the carrot
And so they agreed on racing to the jungle pit.

The tortoise made some calls and told the press
He said he's sure of winning the race
The rabbit sneaked in and asked if he's ready for his pace
The tortoise trashed back 'get ready to save your face'.

The race kicked off with much fan fare
Friends of the tortoise were outnumbered by those of the hare
The slow movin buddies were taken aback by the dare
Some even shouted 'this aint fair'.

The rabbit took off and was out of sight,
The tortoise could only take 2 steps which took all his might,
He knew he can put up a fight
If all that was planned just went right.

Miles behind but the tortoise didnt lose hope
cursed his legs, wished everything were a downward *****
the rabbit on the way came across a pretty doe
'Come in boy' she said 'you could use a cuppa joe'.

The rabbit told her he was in a race,
She said 'We dont have time, let's get to 3rd base'
The tortoise skipped the route and to get ahead
Took a bypass through the jungle maze.

The rabbit woke up from the one fine stand,
The doe confessed she was part of a plan
The tortoise could see the finish line
''More than the race, i wanna see the rabbit whine''

With a happy face, the rabbit left her crib
Approached the finish line to welcome the press clicks
And this is how the story was spun
The glory was slow but a deceptive one

The tortoise laughed after the race was done
Asked him 'how does it feel to be the slower one?'
The rabbit said 'I must admit I had much fun'
'Procrastination is in my blood, if i get that I think I've won'

There is a point which Aesop missed
Just calm down and go with the drift
Take what comes with the roll of the dice
As for the happy ending - the rabbit got it twice.
To listen to the song - please visit:
Verdae Geissler Jun 2013
This is one of the great memories I have of the, rare but precious, moments I spent with my daddy. I was all of,maybe, six years old. And this is how it went dow that night...

It was during a wedding party for my dad’s good friend Billy Phibin, where he and I would pull off more than a couple of our wonderfully delicious pranks.  Mostly though, we would put to test our excellent skill in ******* off his wife, while amusing all the  wedding guests. And with a style all our own,  we would leave our  mark on a couple of “celebutants” of the New York, Atlanta art scene. My dad and I were quite a team.
I am sure we left our mark, to this very day, on those silly chicks!

As I recall,  one of the two, along with a terrible fake British accent, and some funky 70′s, pre-punk eclectic outfit, was wearing this pair of truly, unforgettable, green sunglasses.
...The kind that would put ol’ Elton to shame!

My dad and I,  when we weren’t throwing bricks, with Harold Kelling, off the top of the old Atlanta warehouse, followed the two celebutants around the party, heckling them through out the night.
...Or, when we weren't reaching for the neon coca cola sign, which seemed so close I thought we might actually be able to touch it, we razzed and heckled the crowd.

The warehouse seemed more like a huge tree house, full of everything wonderful and exciting, than a downtown loft, in the worst neighborhood possible, and where a man might actually be mugged and left for dead in the street!

My dad and I had indulged ourselves in all the boring fun we could stand at this point. Plus, the celeb chicks were getting ready to leave.  So we set our mischief into action.
It was crazy.
Like syncronicity.
...We never planned a thing,  yet we both knew what the plan was, and what the next move was going to be.
So like we were one entity, and in unison, we followed those two chicks to their swank little antique convertible, where we inevitably ended up, absolutely, tricking one of those silly chicks out of her “funky green sun glasses”!  
Not to mention her phone number, for my dad, no less!
My daddy and I were on a roll!
We laughed and laughed as I put them on, then ran.
Wearing those funky green sunglasses!                                  
"Well, that was fun!", my dad exclaimed.
"What's next Daddy?", I screamed with delight!
With a wink and a smile, we were off again....
That is when we really did it up!
We threw it all to the wind!
..and the real fun began!
Hell, we were already in deep **** with Linda Phibin and Da Mama!
....why not have some REAL fun!

...So, as we watched the little antique sporty speed off into the distance, my dad and I set our plan into action...

Let me take a moment to explain the entrance to this loft. It had a very narrow and steep stairway, which led, abruptly, to the sidewalk outside.
So if a man were to loose his balance, it would pretty much be over!

Back to the scene of the crime...

I will, again, note that this staircase was very narrow, steep, and old.

If a man were to fall, he would, inevitably,
land, face first, onto the ***** sidewalk.

...As my dad got busy positioning himself to look as if he'd fallen down the staircase.
He went on to position his face and wine cup just right...
... with them both spilling out onto the sidewalk...!

Now, my job was to sneak back in to the loft's tiny kitchen to get some "blood" for around his mouth and hand.
Off I went...
... I sneaked past the front room, then past the swing, onto the kitchen, people smiling at me the whole way.
... never knowing what was up my sleave...
Finally, I arrived in the cramped little kitchen.
I proceeded, in stealth mode, on to the fridge for ketchup.

Hah! mission accomplished!

I was headed back to the scene, when the
bride caught me by the arm, as she was mixing up some drinks.
She smiled and winked.
...I will always think, because she knew my dad,
and by reading the look on my face, as I stood there with her bottle of ketchup in hand,
she secretly loved whatever  it was, we were up to!
So she gave me the go ahead with then nudge of her chin. T
Then off  I was, once again!
We proceeded to put the finishing touches on our grotesque scene....
... A scene that would most probably now, cause, even, me to have a heart attack,
were I to come upon it!
As I reached my dad, who was all sprawled acroos and down the stairway, I screamed, in my kid voice; "Mission accomplished, daddy!"
"Here's the blood!"
We squirted it in all the right places....
After everything was just right, I  already knew my next mission:
collect the crew, and bring them out to the horrific scene!
Now, I must remind the reader, that "the crew" consisted of my step mother, who had been fed up long before now, and then there was Linda Phibin, who'd been over my dad's antics since 1972!
They made up the "crew"!
Just so you know, they were acting as if they'd had less no fun that evening.
and if they had to put up with “just one more thing out of us”, they would both implode.
Thinking back now, I can say with pride;
The scene was perfect!
We had everything in place.
Now for the theatrical perfomance of my entire childhood...
...My dad looked like **** Jagger, or even Keith Richards during the thrushes of a major overdose, or perhaps Joe Cocker, on a bad drunk...
....With his head all ******, from all the ketchup we'd squirted all over the  place, there he  was.
.. My dad with his bloodly head hanging out into the city’s dark, *****, and dangerous sidewalk!

After, once again, climbing the stairs, I rushed in on the crowd.
I was a kid in hysterics!
I was screaming about, how my dad had lost his balance.
and was, now, lying on the stairs, bleeding into the street.
I led them back to “the scene of the crime”,
sobbing the entire way.

...It was better than we ever could have imagined!
They swallowed it all, hook line and sinker!
They were all freaking out, screaming for an ambulance, medic, anything!
I even remember hearing someone scream,
“Oh God, I think his neck is broken!”
...Then another scream,
”And so are his legs!”
I'll never know how he continued to lay there without cracking up,
but then at that very moment,  
my dad sprung to life, acting as if he were some kind of zombie creature!
They really freaked at that.
... crying and screaming, and freaking out!
Then they screamed some more...
...I was ecstatic, bursting with pure admiration and awe of my daddy’s brilliant performance.
I was walking on air knowing we'd pulled it off , once again!
Let's just say, the others were a lot less amused.
So we all piled back into the momobee.
Then headed home, with them scolding us, and ******* the whole way.
....Some things never change!

Even then, my dad and I kept our private little buzz going....

...on  Ketchup and Green Sunglasses!
Ralph E Peck Dec 2013
Simone was among the smallest of the small, a flutist of the smallest size,
Who carried herself well, and seemed to be taller than she was, at least in her mind,
Making her among the tallest, among those who could strut their stuff across the marching field.
She was proud, even on these practice days, when the dew of morning would
Make the practice areas so wet, and make her roll her pants up to just below her knees,
And her shoes would be soaked before it was over, and her heart would melt
Inside the flute, so big it seemed, compared to her hundred pounds.

Simone left little to chance, her eyes were forward, yet they moved quickly
From side to side, always checking her position on the field, and her
Position among those with her, and her position in what she perceived to be
The best among them.

One, two, three, four, five, six.  Repeat. One, two, three, four, five, six.  Six to five
They marched, long strident steps for the five foot of her, almost as if she was
Carrying the length of the world upon her shoulders. Her back was straight, her head
High up, toward the southern sky that held not a cloud, and the footsteps of those
Around her, the Flutist, till the turn, then the French horns crossing her path,
And she listened for the cue among them, and realized they carried their instrument
But there was nothing to be heard, as their mouths looked as though they played
Yet only the mouth pieces knew, it was but a scam of time.

She was wrapped in the image, that being here, on this field of one hundred twenty,
There was a leader, if you thought of it, too lead them in their playing,
But the real leader was her, briskly marching; head up, down the field, and hearing
The slides of the trombones, bam bammer, bam bam, up and down, as they never looked,
But kept time, her flute so bright and cheery, and so lost in the mornings lift.
One, two, three, four, five, six.  Six steps to five, six steps to five, six steps to five.  
Other bands, no all bands, marched eight to five, which would seems so much more
Comfortable to march, smaller steps, smaller people, across the field so major in its size
But her band, marched six steps to five, making for cleaner, tighter lines.

Ta da, daaa da, tee dee daa dumple deed ah daa, the trumpets and cornets rang out, loud
And seemingly obnoxious, in their tee dahs and tee daaaas, making for a crashing sound
Of thuno didity thump thump as the drummers passed, all music ringing loose from her head,
And the crashing sound of the drum, and the Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump of the bass,
Keeping time, keeping rhythm, of the John Phillips Sousa march across the field.
Her feet kept time, her flute braced up to her lips, her breath pouring forth,
Blending in perfect time, to make the most pleasant noise, her breath taken in, and her breath out
She flowed with the drums, the trombones, the trumpets, and heard the bass attempts
To play of the baritones, God’s most beautiful instrument, and the caterwauling
Of the clarinets, tooting and playing and attempting to play, some brand of music,
Some portion of a song that must have been heard long ago, that seemed to have
Nothing at all in common with the song at hand, but each looking down to trace
Their finger patterns, to hear the music as it played.

Simone’s flute, for all it was worth in her small tiny hands, in her small tiny arms,
Across this major large field, with these bodies next to hers, with the blats and sickles,
The very intent of each one to make its noise across at one another, seemed
To be a cacophony of sound, a completeness of nothing, and mess of a wreck of instruments.

Then there was the noise.   A complete and un-fractured belt of wonderful musical sound
As it marched toward her, as it seemed to assault, but to pay compliments to her,
As it seemed to worship the very wet, damp ground, upon which she walked, she felt something
In her body, a stirring, a feeling, her stomach turning in a good way, as her eyes lifted
She saw him, marching, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six times across the field,
One step was starting on the yard line, the last touching the yard line, five yards later.

The sousaphone.  This mass of brass, wrapped three times at the valves, turned
Around his neck, ending in a massive, shiny, bell of a horn, bigger around than her body
Bigger than a freight train coming down the track at her, she saw him.  Felt him.
Could feel the cool timber of his breath and voice and song, played so well upon
That instrument.  He was over six feet tall, no six feet six, and that horn, dear god,
Was two feet and several inches across the bell, putting him eight feet tall,
Compared to her five feet, and her fragile weight, and the mass before her.  That sounded,
So beautiful.  So real, such a part of it all, its tone, its timber, its reality was there and Anthony,
Playing it with intensity, playing it so strong, its notes almost removing her light little
Shoes from the field.  She thought she could float, she thought for a moment, that she
Had died and was no longer walking, but floating across the field.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Down. The. Scale. Up. The. Scale. Boom. Boom. Boom. Anthony played the music,
And marched, keeping time, and handling the music well……and he heard her soft little notes
This miniature toy before him, this small flutist playing her trills, her melody, her principle
Piece so well, so that it sneaked in and captured his heart in a moment, his breath short,
His feeling of being the only person in the band, suddenly expanded to two, took him hard.

And they played their music, their parts, and the rest of the band tried to keep up.
Del Maximo Sep 2010
he steps forward to bless us with song
benediction’s serenade
binder clips and clothespins weaken wind
as sheet music tries to take flight
with each strum he was fighting it
emoting with sad lips and blue eyebrows
taking deep breaths let out with heavy sighs
but holding steady
singing and crying come from the same place
as he sang the sun sneaked out
shadows surrendered their stronghold
a moment of warmth shown upon our gathering
near the pine tree at our father’s grave
Terence’s ashes to be interred with dad
a musician, an artist, a writer of songs and poems
a technician, an electrician, a wood worker
his many gifts now only spoken of in past tense
a son to two, a brother to eight
an uncle to many
a father to one daughter
his passion relived in his writings and works
his essence reflected in her eyes
© September 6, 2010
POLAND, France, Judea ran in her veins,
Singing to Paris for bread, singing to Gotham in a fizz at the pop of a bottle's cork.
"Won't you come and play wiz me" she sang ... and "I just can't make my eyes behave."
"Higgeldy-Piggeldy," "Papa's Wife," "Follow Me" were plays.
Did she wash her feet in a tub of milk? Was a strand of pearls sneaked from her trunk? The newspapers asked.
Cigarettes, tulips, pacing horses, took her name.
Twenty years old ... thirty ... forty ...
Forty-five and the doctors fathom nothing, the doctors quarrel, the doctors use silver tubes feeding twenty-four quarts of blood into the veins, the respects of a prize-fighter, a cab driver.
And a little mouth moans: It is easy to die when they are dying so many grand deaths in France.
A voice, a shape, gone.
A baby bundle from Warsaw ... legs, torso, head ... on a hotel bed at The Savoy.
The white chiselings of flesh that flung themselves in somersaults, straddles, for packed houses:
A memory, a stage and footlights out, an electric sign on Broadway dark.
She belonged to somebody, nobody.
No one man owned her, no ten nor a thousand.
She belonged to many thousand men, lovers of the white chiseling of arms and shoulders, the ivory of a laugh, the bells of song.
Railroad brakemen taking trains across Nebraska prairies, lumbermen jaunting in pine and tamarack of the Northwest, stock ranchers in the middle west, mayors of southern cities
Say to their pals and wives now: I see by the papers Anna Held is dead.
hazem al jaber Mar 2017

as a weapon your love is....
sneaked with its bullet so fast with no ask...
sneaked and reached the point to my heart...
hit the main vein to stay so deep there inside...
to live happily while it gives a happiness there...

stunning ...
yes you are...
don't look around ...
its you whom i'm talking about...
marvelous with the feelings which you owned me with...
stunning and so **** with your bright sight...
with your touches....
with your whispers...
with every motion you did...
yes you are...
even within your craziness...
drove me so madly to you...
excited up all my feelings inside...
even your eye's bullet which pierced my heart...
amazed me so...
amazing you are...

sweet stunning girl....
in spite of your farness....
your effect controlled up on me...
till i saw you wherever you be...
felt with every breathe you took...
with every beat of your heart...
and with every tremor of your craziness' ******...

you owned my heart with yours...
lived within your soul there inside..
even to my dreams...
you were the most pretty stunning guest...
thats why i got stunned...
stunned because of you...

marvelous you are..

hazem al....
The path is jagged and so I have been told
I feel so pathetic feel  old
The canvas I started is thrown on the floor
The room is full of smoke
I cant help feel distressed
I’m hesitant of this mind of mine
I try and surrender but I cant find the time
When all is said and all is gone
Will I see you? Will you fall at my feet?
With pieces of me upon the mountains for only you to keep
I never tried to stay
I knew what I had to do
Wanting to inhale you into a line straight into my mind  
Through amethyst moons and fields of love
You come undone and I have just brought you the sun
Pieces of me dwelling in your nerves
Every ounce of your resilience divulges me
You cant escape what you feel
I beat on this drum
Longing for love that is new
Watch you gaze at me with those shades on
Like an old hippie that just cant grow
Patchouli the fresh scent in your hair
Delicate and weak as you go
Spread your wings
Look at that light it forced itself in
I wanted to stay in bed and sleep
But for the reasons I have to live
It sneaked up on me anyway
It was a Wednesday an  a dreadful day to fall in love
But as I crossed the road you caught me by my thoughts
Make sure you kiss the sky as you fly by
Thandiwe Oct 2013
To a person I once felt deeply connected to. He was a gem :

Re-inviting the forgotten emotion of bliss, my heart has accepted but you are still greatly missed.
Had I erased the thought of a better union, from past sinners, selfish liars?
I'd been taught by them trust is only visible in fairy-tales, told by expert lips ejecting no remorse.
I still hardened is my heart, I can't hear my soul-mate's knock.
Cemented by the deceit I was fed by those I'd hoped to grow with.
This love is a myth, not understood nor respected...hard to grasp with one breath. came along, engulfed me with unfamiliar warmth then left to sort yourself out...
Now you have sneaked your voice back into my head, leaving me wishing you remained more than a friend, the forces seem to disregard us sinners and just lead us to sad dead ends.
We dream of rare garments and jaw-dropping bank statements...I dream of having your face as my daily sight, happiness embedded in my eyes from your humble treatment.
I wish to see more of you, live knowing we walk on the same earth and value your own place of birth.

How you see me amazes me, maybe you don't see me as being amazing.
Your actions have been contradictory to your words that fulfilled me.
Once again I wonder...exactly where do you fit in my life painting.
Behind my pains and years of hoping, wishing I too would find a soul-beauty like you.
Or maybe you'd be the speck of dirt ruining my colours and joys of my life, forcing me to completely expel you from my sanity.

You'd become my partner-to-be, letting my lips celebrate the beauty of your name,
letting the random know about this special being that set my soul aflame.
My Ray of Light.... Forever my favourite, the turmoil’s and joy, have come and gone but how special you are to me will always be without a doubt.

Thandi Xaba
Fa Be O Dec 2013
There had been a few signs before,
But the hurt from before had me incredulous,
Wary and cautious;
I did not want to be the fool.
There had been a few signs before,
And I pretended they did not exist.
That weekend I chose to be myself,
Or so I thought.
Every now and then I caught myself
Looking for you from the corner of my eyes,
And seeing you looking at me head on.
I did not want to understand.
The day progressed into night,
Oh and how young the night was.
I sat on the hotel bed,
Surrounded by so much youth,
And feeling so old.
You with your chess,
And I with my book of Benedetti poems,
Me, pretending to flirt with
The cute accent of somewhere down South America,
And you pretending not to care.
The girls fawning over this person,
And I could only see you,
As the night blurred more and more,
With that elixir, the one I associate with love,
With you,
My roots and my sky.
I began to read out loud,
And I chose each line carefully,
Each poem for you in a room full of people,
Where my only audience was you.
Slowly, every drop was burning through my resolve:
Somehow we were somewhere else,
There were more people now.
There was that guy with his arm around me,
But all I noticed was you in front of me,
Watching, silent, a little concerned,
But appearing aloof.
That woke me up: I had had enough pretending.
I went back, and you followed, concerned
And I so, so confused.
I thought I wanted to be alone, like I had always felt,
But then I, I felt so relieved,
With your steps soft and carpeted behind me.
I said I was confused.
You said, it's ok if you choose him.
I thought you were crazy.
For a second I wondered if you were that anxious,
That anxious to get rid of me,
That you could see me
With the first loser that showed his face.
I said, I have and will continue, to choose you.
You stood quietly.
We sat down.
You said you'd understand.
I told you I wanted you.
Did I want to go to sleep?
I was losing myself in the buzz, and I nodded.
It was natural from then on,
How you slipped into the covers with me,
For the first time,
And my body turned towards yours,
My arm wrapped around your neck,
My face nestled under your neck.
Not assuming, not imposing,
But effortlessly,
And you held me, without malice,
But tenderly and sweet instead.
And we continued to whisper to each other.
Me asking questions and you soothing them,
Until you began to drift off
And I thought I was talking to myself when I said
Your name, and you simple murmured a "mm?"
And I said,
"Open your eyes. Look at me,
I am still here,
Like always."
And I settled into your breath, your skin,
And prepared to drift off.
It was some time into the dawn
And I felt the urgency of asking you,
"Do you love me, even a little bit?"
And you hugged me tighter and said,
Like a painful whisper.
I fell asleep with your smile on my face
And my lungs full of hope.
The next day was a blur,
I remember getting dressed
And how you kept looking at me,
Even though I still couldn't understand.
I remember the sneaked note that fluttered my stomach,
Too much coffee, you following me.
I remember going home, comfort in your arms, you walking with me to my house.
Lingering at the door, a kiss and goodbye.
Later that night you wished we could've talked,
And you ask to see me again tomorrow.
And I hear you struggling to tell me something,
And it's so obvious but I don't get it.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
Claus, Santa, the
Is a huge enigma to me
And probably many others
My enigmatized sisters and brothers.
Enigmatized, possibly stigmatized,
It beggars logical thought
All the confusion and pain
This concept has brought.

For over two centuries
Surrounded with mysteries
An alternately jovial and evil guy
Brought bounteous gifts, could fly!
Gave coal to the misbehaving,
Or nothing much at all, saving
All the good stuff for good kids
Who were careful with what they did.

We have read of Saint Nick
And Sinterklaas; take your pick
Of which legend blended with what
To become the guy we were taught
Sneaked down chimneys at night
It you kids didn’t sleep tight.
While this is all very typical
It seems rather biblical.

Claus’s eye is on the sparrow
So we must walk the straight and narrow
Or go down into his big naughty book
And he will ultimately decide to look
Askance at any chance of gifts for you
No matter how much begging you do
Write to his eternal rotund self.
He’s an unforgiving old elf.

And there’s that flying reindeer thing
And the way he’s rumored to go zipping
Around the entire blessed world in one night.
That, to me just never seemed quite right.
It’s bizarre and incredible is exactly what.
Do the reindeer have jet engines in their ****?
And how can one tiny sleight and eight beasts
Tote those thousands of truckloads at least?

No, the whole thing sounds bogus, in its base.
And that whole North Pole/tiny people place
Where they slave on making toys all the year
And thrive on hot chocolate instead of beer?
Elves must be a rather dim gang of workers.
No union leaders? No malingerers? No lurkers?
I have tried for decades, but it doesn’t add up.
There’s too much questionable in this holiday cup.

I’m going back to the idea I thought as a child.
It’s easier to believe and not nearly as wild:
It’s Mom and Dad behind it all, it’s a big lie.
And my final bit of skepticism? I can tell you why.
The kids in my little neighborhood get given
Gifts with no relationship to how they are living.
If all this hogwash were actually true
Bunches of them would get coal too.
Rashika Ahuja Aug 2018
Haven't you noticed my trembling legs, when you are close enough,
The bare touch of your fingers from the very first time,
The touch never felt strange to me, you knew there have been others too.
The shiver it got through me, was something I've experienced for the first time.
The blissful kiss that made me realize , I have never been in love before.
You noticed the tears in my eyes, you noticed I was trying to find someone from the recent past through you.
You stopped and came back to me, though truthfully I never wanted you to stop.
Those hands running back and forth were bringing me back to life.
I watched you sleeping so peacefully in my arms, that moment itself made me fall in love with you.
You thought, I did not notice how carefully you wrapped me in that blanket, though you were feeling the same amount of cold.
And how I sneaked out of it, just to wrap you in the same.
Then the morning came, and I never wanted you to leave.
I wanted to confess that you are carrying a piece of me, but I decided to let you go unknowingly.
You made the day with the parting kiss on my forehead and gracefully carried a part of me with you.
Sam Oliver May 2010
In the end,
I never harmed any of you.
When you were down,
I held you high.
I drank your pains,
It left me dry.

Does that make you

You were injured by 'love',
I licked your wounds.
I let go of you
Because you
Wanted me to.
But always,
I remained by your side.

Does that make you satisfied?

You asked my hand
Then ****** away,
What was it
You were trying to say?
In the end,
You could not decide.

Does that make you satisfied?

We loved each other,
So I thought.
Till you drowned yourself
In another man's wine.
But I remained steadfast,
I think you'll find.
But forgiveness was my only friend
After you took to the bitter end.
You only wanted me to ride.

Does that make you satisfied?

We loved each other,
So you said,
But all that really
Filled your head
Was using me
To fill your bed.
Till I knew that
I was on your side.

Does that make you satisfied?

You, too.
You also claimed love,
But only as long
As I wore your glove.
I did your deeds,
I sowed your seeds.
But, in the end,
What did you owe me?
From this past,
I cannot hide.

Does that make you satisfied?

You 'loved' me,
But not as much as her.
You wanted more.
You promised love
All of my days
As long as I
Could always stay
Tolerant of another lover
Who sneaked her way
Into our covers.
In the end,
I had to decide.

I could not make you satisfied.

All the women in my life,
Put me through
Such troubles and strife.
But despite their sins,
I'd hold them in.
For each of them,
I would die.

But they never will be satisfied.
Amitav Radiance Jun 2015
I took the forlorn path
And came in front of love’s door
So many imposing arches
Crowned the long corridor
My footsteps echoed throughout
I am the only visitor in many years
The evening light sneaked through
Creating a mesh of intricate patterns
Soon the arms of light will shorten
Leaving this place in darkness
It’s time to ignite the love’s flame
This seeker has come a long way
And the place becomes more familiar
As silence and darkness falls
Soon the candles will be lit
Imposing windows with
Colorful stained glasses will shine
Reflecting the few candle lights
This place will rejoice with reflected lights
Now that peace stays here
It’s a haven for a lover who seeks
Love shall be showered with eloquence
Here that the lover will find his love
World’s door may close behind me
But eternal love will be my abode forever
Adele Aug 2014
The day blister as the sun followed 'er.
No shade nor a parasol as she goeth an' hope for evanescent heat
A basket in 'er hand, one way to marketplace

'Alt! A mad horse kicked thro'
Dropped on earth, dirt in 'er sleeves
"Gawd o' all horses keep yer eyes open to see!"

A fine young man bowed down for repent about his detriment ride.
O! Poor little thing!
A thorough water in the basket she offered for 'er long little journey.

**! The vigor horse galloped an' circle round she.
'twas a good thing an' he proffers honourable  ride.
There goes the curtsy 'off in the marketplace' says she.

Alt! The creature pause. Where is this? "thy big heart shalt hail for I, present thankfulness. Devoting thy fortune." the prince rendered his throne bounteously.

O! Applause how majestic upclose a palace could be.

'tis she wish e'er since. To seek for a lost playmate, hoping for camaraderie. Remembering in that small village where the little prince sneaked. Oh dear! 'Twas he!

Aye! The prince hoped the same an' knew all of a sudden. He made 'er his wife!

(An' they live happily e'er after. Bow)


I was reading some classic poems and I said to myself, I want to become one! An avant-garde kind of writer. There, I started writing something 'classic' that ends up into a fairytale lol. Funny, I tried :[
L Maughan Jun 2019
I  know how much
I love a peach
or summer evenings
on the beach
I like the leaves of artichokes
and when I drink
I love to smoke
Avocados mangoes too
sunrise and twelve shades of blue
I love my bed I love my bike
and sometimes love the bad-boy types
cotton shirts and sweaters- great
Fluevog shoes and writing late
I love the wind on cloudy days
vibrant colors next to  grey
desert parties strings of lights
and sometimes- well I like to fight
a Varied Thrush’s morning song
and ***** talk- is that so wrong?
to skinny dip is just pure bliss
I like to ponder people’s wrists
and love hello’s you don’t expect
secrets kept out of respect
watermelon cantaloupes
goosebumps dogs and stupid jokes
the subtlety beneath a voice
where my mind goes reading Joyce
I love those slips that fall from tongues
and watching drummers is great fun
I love to travel north or south
I love your eyes I love your mouth
see how fast that line sneaked in
I love to love and then again
Terry Collett Mar 2017
The Mediterranean Sea
is out there
Miriam said.

You and she
sat on the beach
looking out at the sea
lit up by the moon.

You and she
had just made love
in a small sand dune.

Stars sparkled over head
and over the sea.

And we are here
you said.

Behind you
up the beach
was the camp base
and the tents.

A party was going on
which you both
had sneaked away from
to be alone
and have ***.

She looked up
at the sky:
I guess my mother
is looking
at this moon now
Miriam said
she likes gazing
at the moon
but she is in England
and we are here
in Morocco
but same moon.

The party was noisy
you could hear music
and singing from the beach.

Those stars may
have burnt out
hundreds of years ago
or more
but we still see the light
from maybe dead stars
you said.

She lay down
and you lay beside her.

She kissed you
and put her arms
about you again.

She was still naked
from the waist down
so were you.

was playing a guitar
the sound hung in the air.

You made love again
without worries or care.
Sarah Elizabeth Aug 2014
The day the angels came for you,
I was wearing a lipstick that stained my mouth
the color of raspberries.
When I came into the room,
we both ignored the fact that the monitor showed
that your heartrate jumped when you saw me,
and that my body instantly began to tingle.

I brought yellow roses
because I thought red would have been inappropriate,
and you giggled and made them into a flower-crown for me.
You remembered that yellow stood for friendship and admiration,
and I only nodded in response.

The get well soon cards were stapled to the walls of your room,
but only the outside of them showed,
and we were surrounded by teddy bears and balloons that
did not show the tastes of a twenty year old boy.
The nurse came in and when she saw the holes in the walls,
you shrugged and said that we ran out of tape.
She left in a hurry.

You said that you were excited to leave your body and go to heaven,
because you wondered if the "land of milk and honey"
was really all it is cracked up to be.
I sighed, and slowly asked the clouds
to keep you with me for another day.

You told me you were tired,
but you asked me if I would stay while you took a quick "siesta",
I said I would and when you drifted off,
I fought off my better judgment
and left a mark of raspberries on your forehead,
so when I sneaked out you would wake up
and look in the mirror and see that I told you goodbye.

My lips were still stained the color of berries
when I left red roses on your gravestone two weeks later,
and I wondered if you knew that all this time
I thought you would outlive me.
Terry Collett Apr 2014
was by the tuck shop
in the school corridor
in mid morning recess

don't eat
too many sweets
I said
got to watch

your figure
she was with
other girls
who giggled

I thought you watched
my figure anyway
she said smiling
of course

I said
she bought
a couple of Wagon Wheels
and she left

the girls there
and walked with me
along the corridor
bought one for you

she said
I took it
and said
thank you

we walked further down
until we came
to the gym
and sneaked in

one of the doors
it was empty
so we sat
on the one

of the benches
by the wall
didn't have time
for breakfast this morning

she said
my mother
was in one
of her moods

and I couldn't
put up
with her moans
so I came to school

early so now
I’m hungry
well have
this Wagon Wheel back

I don't need it
I said
no you have it
she said

why was your mother
in a mood?
I asked
she said my room

was untidy
and that I do nothing
about the house
and is it

and don't you?
I asked
it is
she said

and I don't
so she gets
all moody and moans
Christina bit

into the Wagon Wheel
and I ate mine
sunlight poured
into the high windows

of the gym
making patterns
on the floor
voices from outside

around the walls
after we had eaten
our sweets

she said
we have time
to kiss don't we?
I guess so

I said
she leaned in
and kissed my lips
and I kissed hers

putting my arms
around her waist
just then
a prefect came in

one of the doors
and saw us
and said
what are you doing

in here?
you should be out
in the playground
or on the sports field

not in here
so we sighed
and went out
of the gym

and along
the corridor
the prefect shouting
at us from behind

our backs
but the kiss
still lingered
on my lips

warm wet and soft
and the prefect
didn't feel that
I bet.
TheTeacher Oct 2012
The room is dark and he's sitting alone.  The light from the moon sneaked a peek inside.  He's writing something....but i can barely see.  

The blanket is so soft that's covering me.  He removed me from the closet.  I was in a box with some cards from when he was a kid.  I was actually surprised when he opened the lid.

I've been in this box for quite I'm wondering about the occasion.
I see him lacing up his prized possessions....he also has a closet full of those.
He says he loves them and that they match his clothes.

A tear falls on to me ......and i feel the warmth of his hand.   I'm turned over and pulled back....and out jumps one of my friends.  She falls on to the bed and sticks her landing as the blanket cushions her fall.

He lays me back on the bed and searches the room for something.....I hear a click and realize that he has locked the door.  I'm trying to figure out what he has in store.

Whatever it was ....he finally found and loaded it up with her brothers.  Meanwhile...she was still there lounging on the covers.

She said...."you know what he's about to do don't you?"  I stated that I didn't have a clue.  He's about to make us become an accessory to a crime.

He's attempting to use his last life line.  The news caught me by surprise....I vowed to serve and protect guard my owners house.

She said "He has tried it before ....matter of fact several times. He just never succeeds. That's why he purchased you.  He thought it was the gun ....he said it kept jamming when he pulled the trigger.

I asked her what happened...and she said "We worked together...since he's not strong enough to refrain from the voices that speak....we decided to be the strong one's since he is weak."

The safety did his part..because he thought.... he took it off...The clip decided that she didn't want to fit....she had put on a little weight. Plus she went from a size sixteen to a thirty two.  She was really upset and didn't know what to do.

My brother's and I worked with the trigger and when he stuck me to his head and closed his eyes.....all you heard was a click.  His hands were sweaty and so was his face....I guess he envisioned blood all over the place.

We had just pulled off a trick....although he tried once again. The attempt was another failure.  He will never know that we are a team and preserved his life.

We won't become an accessory and maybe he will get an opportunity to read that suicide note he can see the other side of his selfish act.  This is not an opinion....what I'm stating is a fact.

I guess he's gratefulful that he's still here....I see a tear and he's on his knees.

He said "Lord please forgive me for my selfish behavior.  I just don't know what to do.  I prayed and nothing i became angry with you.

  Why...must I struggle when others have it so good?  Why did my wife leave me for another man....even after I put a diamond ring on her hand?

  Why did i suffer abuse from my dad? ....Lord, please restore the fire within me.  I'm hurting so much inside....and feel death would have been better.

That's the reason for my letter.  Lord...I hope you forgive me. Thank you Amen.

He took me apart and placed me in a bag....before he did that... he wiped me down with a rag.  The bullets were scattered all over the place....and he finally turned on the light.

Psalm 119:105
"Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path."

An excellent decision ....and another opportunity to fight.
Suicide is a serious's not something you can just get over.  Increase your faith.....Life is better when you are here. We need you here!
Fah Dec 2013
tear apart the seams

it’s ok.

i, don’t wanna talk about it.

even looking at the writing i wrote about you makes me feel slightly nauseous , it’s not that i didn’t love you but....

well perhaps it was my fault ,

i don’t know

i don’t know

i thought i loved you. Ok.

and how is it? that one moment i can feel the whole world for you and the next....
it's lightning struck tree all over again.

Do not get me wrong , you inspired me to write and to breathe , you showed me loving myself wasn’t that hard and yet , yet .... you...broke my heart just like aunty said.

you broke it good and well that i didn’t even realize until i was out from under your spell...
                                                                  * ~ * ~ * ~

Open my heartspace ,
you were golden in my eyes ~

heavy sits the stone in my chest , cracking as i walk, dropping bits of crystal on the floor, turning to molten liquid scorching the floor with unsaid words and dispelled feelings to seep into
the ocean of bliss

burning the waters to desert residues
in the blink of 3 eyes ,

i saw in you - the flash of brilliance that i know is holy. The kind that could rule the world if, you dared.

But you were too scared ,

i want to explore this world , step out of my comfort zone , feel like i add to the mass of human potential -
not accept my consumer status because it’s simpler ,
i don’t care about public image , i despise whittling myself down for some pre-conceived notion of etiquette, and i can’t stand people seeing they have the power and not taking it.

You are a reason and you have a purpose, we are only here for a short time , this is our chance at something great and i want to share it with you.

I wanted to help you , and maybe that was my mistake.
To make you see yourself through me ,
that you were golden in my eyes
and should think yourself no less.

So i let you in to the secret place , my choice , i don’t regret it, not one bit.
I guess you made me a woman  so to speak. But i don’t think you are any more of a man.

You were a 26 year old boy.

Nor were you anymore of a lover who was soft and fair ,
but you twirled my hair, turned my lips to ashes , sashayed across my hips, tore holes in my skin with your teeth , sneaked kisses on my inner thighs , you danced with my imagination and petted my ego...oh so gently.

I saw a newer version of myself through you ,
and maybe , i just like being adored,
but i would have given everything back. I’m all for fairness
and in some twisted way i hope i hurt you as much as you hurt me, just so you know how it feels, but somehow i think , it was me who ended up with the short straw on this one.

I’m sure there are gaps in your fingers you don’t understand, let alone loving someone, but i hope you get this , your lesson was : Love freely.

And you know , if that makes me stronger and more flexible and if it means that i can bounce back faster , then so be it. I will learn my lessons in time , because i’m shooting for the stars and i intend to be amongst the nebulas that shimmer so well.

And i intend to love with that ferocity again and even more , because i won’t give you that.

Not after i ******* my being in ribbons for you. No. I won’t and i can’t.
I’m worth so much more.
So these tear filled words are as much for me as for you , that i hope one day , someone comes along who can give you what you need to make you happy.

Because i’m *pretty sure
i’ve already found mine.
this is long overdue, i guess i didn't really wanna look at the scars , they're almost healed i guess.
bobby burns Jun 2013
I'm sick of writing
self-righteous sadness
just to drain the abscesses
left putrefying small cavities
that sneaked past my demeanor
so cleverly, so cautiously
Sticky fingers are a hard thing to manage
when everything is crying out to be taken,
i suppose.
I mainly remember K-I-N-K-Y smeared in shisha
on the door of a shed where we would go to get drunk
and listen to the two albums left on my rich kid phone
because it's the only music we had, and silence was just slightly too unbearable.
But ****, I want to stop citing all these ******* sea wolf songs
before i lose the discography to my inner ocean
and have nothing left to sing my sails
away from here.

— The End —