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Let Us play Yesterday—
I—the Girl at school—
You—and Eternity—the
Untold Tale—

Easing my famine
At my Lexicon—
Logarithm—had I—for Drink—
’Twas a dry Wine—

Somewhat different—must be—
Dreams tint the Sleep—
Cunning Reds of Morning
Make the Blind—leap—

Still at the Egg-life—
Chafing the Shell—
When you troubled the Ellipse—
And the Bird fell—

Manacles be dim—they say—
To the new Free—
Liberty—Commoner—
Never could—to me—

’Twas my last gratitude
When I slept—at night—
’Twas the first Miracle
Let in—with Light—

Can the Lark resume the Shell—
Easier—for the Sky—
Wouldn’t Bonds hurt more
Than Yesterday?

Wouldn’t Dungeons sorer frate
On the Man—free—
Just long enough to taste—
Then—doomed new—

God of the Manacle
As of the Free—
Take not my Liberty
Away from Me—
JR Rhine Oct 2017
Baby Teeth

I pulled the prayers from my raw gums like baby teeth. With the
          blood spat into my palm, there lay the tools with which I
          chewed up everything I ever put into my mouth. And yet even
          then I had felt the hands working my jaw for me.

Every day I tongue the empty space before meals and again at
          bedtime. There’s this moment when I feel like I should be
          saying something, but the void leaves my tongue aimless in the
          newfound space. I’ve grown accustomed to it.

I wasn’t so fond of it when they wiggled in my mouth when I talked
          or ate, acting like a broken saloon door for my roving tongue. I
          didn’t like to brag about it with my friends. It didn’t quite feel
          like a rite of passage as it did a loose Band-Aid.

They dangled on those last few roots that desperately clung on to that
          childlike innocence, which looked like Awana badges, Sunday
          school, father reading to me bedtime stories of David, the
          girlfriends in church that were always repentant after we
          touched;

I began to believe I could sew it back in if I only believed hard
          enough. It was in those last few efforts that I was at my lowest,
          when my gums started to become infected as bacteria got
          beneath the bone and festered in the flesh. I grew sorer and
          sorer.

At some point I ripped every last one of them out. The therapist had
          cancelled my last three appointments. The bible study couldn’t
          progress since it refused to answer my first three questions. I
          stopped believing an artist had to first and foremost be
          miserable.

I still keep them in a little plastic treasure chest in a cardboard box in
          the garage, along with my plastic baseball trophies and other
          sentiments unworthy of the bedroom shelves. I recycled all the
          extra bibles I previously felt guilty enough to never say no to.

Sometimes a meal looks so good I feel the need to thank someone for
          it. Sometimes I wake up so happy I need to give someone credit.
          Sometimes that’s not the case. I’m happy I don’t have the voices
          telling me through my own teeth how sinful I am.

I’m also happy they’re not telling you how sinful you are.

I tongue the space before meals and before I drift to sleep. I feel
          something growing there. My parents are looking into an
          operation that will put the teeth back in. I still fear one day I’ll
          be the one to grab the sewing kit.

I don’t fear cavities anymore. I think they took them all with them. I
          brush my teeth now and believe in modern medicine, and
          climate change. Needless to say, I didn’t put them under my
          pillow that night.
600

It troubled me as once I was—
For I was once a Child—
Concluding how an Atom—fell—
And yet the Heavens—held—

The Heavens weighed the most—by far—
Yet Blue—and solid—stood—
Without a Bolt—that I could prove—
Would Giants—understand?

Life set me larger—problems—
Some I shall keep—to solve
Till Algebra is easier—
Or simpler proved—above—

Then—too—be comprehended—
What sorer—puzzled me—
Why Heaven did not break away—
And tumble—Blue—on me—
1296

Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest
Of the thefts of Time—
There Marauds a sorer Robber,
Silence—is his name—
No Assault, nor any Menace
Doth betoken him.
But from Life’s consummate Cluster—
He supplants the Balm.
Brian Apollo Mar 2014
I was just walking around and spotted a golden ladder.
People walking past it, a swarm of people are under it
Yelling up at people, cheering loud when anyone falls down
Some fall and are slightly bruised, some aren't so lucky
Some charge right back up while others walk away sobbing.
As I walked closer, this ladder seems wider at the bottom
And narrows the higher it gets towards the top.
Using binoculars, I saw people climbing up and down it.
I even see some climbers kicking others down
As they climb and take their place like a rat race.
Racing up fast to get a bite of the cheese.
Some are taking their time, others are dashing.
The crowd underneath are cheering for those to fall
I walked closer, a few people looked scared
Desiring to be successful, but fearful to fall
So they never try, they become one with the crowd
The scornful, the haters, and the ones whom fallen.
So I touched the bar, instantly the boos began
Telling me that I am worthless, I will never succeed.
I touched the next bar, feeling hands on my feet
Feeling jealousy and envy by others under me.
I've just started this journey, I climbed higher
Trying to grab the arms of those that are falling.
The top of the ladder is so high that I can't see it
But I know that it's there, there has to be a ceiling.
And what's beyond the ceiling, who really knows?
I hear rumors of prestige, riches, luxury,
Honor, power, but is it really a myth?
As I climb, the crowd throws rocks at the climbers
Helping them to lose their grips and fall off.
The more I climb, the more callous is on my palms
My arms growing sorer, feet sweaty,
Head dizzy, fears increasing, scared to fall
Second guessing the desire to climb this ladder
But at the end, is it really worth it?
Climbing up the ladder of success.
Esridersi Dec 2018
Spend less time...
Clinging onto whatif branches .
They’re frail & sapless.

When happiness breezes by, it can’t be contained in a bottle.
If you don’t understand the breeze,
you’ll climb desperately
tumbling from broken branches & broken spirits, only to be plopped where you started, but sorer.

Let go completely and fall, the wind will catch you,
toss you up and around
and gently set you down
on the dirt
149

She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!

She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer’s Eve—
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It’s sorer to believe!
Abigail Apr 2012
It's that **** awake at midnight
Looking to your left and then right until your eyes adjust, drawn to one corner
there it stands.
Tall, grey skin over bone pulled tight as a drum
Still panting through its corn husk lips as if it is trying to keep blood pumping
Its heart removed.
The monster is back to feed.

You're walking home at night, stomach growling again
Turning a bend you run into a wall of a smell
Decomposition, palpable and thick
the Windigo stands under a street lamp bathed in light
Ashen skin nearly translucent, eyes meeting yours, it stares. Dry lips parting
Its teeth are revealed.
Rows of razors with human flesh still clinging to their yellow tinge
The same teeth that bit you years ago
Now its blood runs through you.

Your feet are bare, thick with mud as you run through the woods
Ice spikes the air and your lungs, your legs carry you, thin skin, grey like the day
You're searching.
Looking, pining for the next human you see because maybe when this one meets your mouth and is greeted by your teeth you will feel full.
You will feel complete
That smell of death and hunger will cease to linger around you
But you never find it.

This is the punishment you are handed.
Bones stinking out sorer than a thumb, barely human but still a cannibal, feasting on the flesh of the innocent
Scouring for that one last bite that will satisfy
The one piece of flesh that will make you breath easy and smooth
Hoping and holding out for the person that will fill your belly, curb your appetite
Wanting, Waiting for the pink to come back to your cheeks and the drear to stop its lingering
It stays.
That musky oder still permeates
Your stomach crys out
Your lips remain dry and cracked, all you can taste is the blood running onto your tongue

You are alone at night
Fear doesn't reach you because you are that thing that makes people cringe at in the dark
Teeth gnashing, eyes rolling, hands grabbing, skin peeling
Trying to clutch for the last shred of humanity
Choke it down.
Swallow
only to throw it back up
You will never be full
A spring gone dry
A wheat field molded
Your own eyes sewn shut by your inability to see
And what does it even matter anymore?
The malevolence already surges through your bloodstream
The disease is already infected into your system

So lift your eyes to the peaking sun
Open those desert lips one last time
Not for medicine, for one last cry
And run back to the tribe.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2015
If you are advocating
The eliminating of humans
Assuming they are less
Than the mess you are, then
You are, by far, among the worst,
The first level of devils living
And I am giving you the name
And the blame for the horror
And am all the sorer that you
Insist I must take it silently
While you slice them, bleeding,
Leading them into the jail
Wailing, calling them names
Then maiming, beating and killing
Even when willing, and agree
To cooperate in your travesty.
In your majesty, you feel you
Are the one true and decent
And as they are your victims
Inherit all the ills that go with them;
Your prisoners that you call *******
And beat their insoles and bare feet,
Drag them off the streets for being poor,
Call the women ****** and trash,
Smash them around and then you
Say they fell down, and your boss agrees
When the prisoner’s knees are broken.
Just another token of how awful
And how stinking terrible they are
Those without cars, or jobs, or houses.
Just human louses in stained blouses
And raggedy clothes. Break their nose.
Nobody cares about them.
You are real men, they are not.
They get what they deserve.
“To protect and serve.”
Joanne Heraghty Jan 2017
She cleared her throat and told me,
What she thought you must now know.
Her voice was silenced, but her mind was still running,
And she's fearful that it may soon blow.

She chased down every government body,
She travelled the world and witnessed pain.
She caused a ruckus in a crowded place,
And then got thrown outside in the rain.

She asked me "who do we talk to, if not our superiors?
Who can help us, if not them?"
She found the answers, now she wants you to hear.
She said "here goes nothing, ahem.."

"No one can help us. No ones out there,
We're simply just stuck inside.
We can stand up and speak out, if you want to,
Or we can just keep silent and hide."

"This does not change with time," she continued,
"We must face our fears at some stage."
She hid away for so long now,
She has just filled herself up with rage.

She said she spoke to you for a long time,
And, instead of helping, you just sat still and observed.
She appreciated the attention you gave her,
But she thinks that's a little less than she deserved.

She needed your help, and you know that,
And now her rage is directed toward you.
She can't pretend she's not disappointed,
Because you were the one person she's ever known to be true.

Your heart was warm and loving,
Your exterior conveyed it well.
You're probably still the same person you were then,
But, for some reason, she can no longer tell.

And when the skies displayed it's colours,
And the air held so many voices,
She looked at her surroundings,
And she was fooled, just as others are, to think she had many choices.

She had none, she was trying to tell you!
She had no idea how to fix the world.
She tried her best and she wants you to know that,
But she's just one little girl.

For that reason, she completely gave up on hope,
And, all around her, the whole world turned grey.
From the outside, it was easier to see though,
The world looked different on display.

She said the world is crumbling all around us,
And she doesn't understand why no one gives a ****.
She has wondered ever since she found the answer,
If you've known all along, and that's how you're so calm?

She sees the world in a completely new light now.
No blend of colours stretch across her skies.
The air is silent, the voices have left her.
But she suddenly remembers the colour of your eyes.

She recalls the hazel she once got lost in,
And all of those days in the Autumn air.
She doesn't know how she lost contact of them,
But she constantly wishes she could go back there.

And she has been frantic when she talks about
The reason she left you behind,
She was a dreamer, who was foolish
To think there was so many better things out there to find.

Because all she found were contradictions.
The world is just a massive kingdom of pain.
It broke her heart when she tried to fix it,
And now she's left with heartache she cannot contain.

The answer was sorer than the lies we are taught.
The grey and the silence have left her cold.
She sees no point in going ahead now.
I'm just telling you what I was told.

You gave her strength when she was weak.
You gave her reasons to dream.
You made her innately happy.
You fixed her fabrics when they tore at the seam.

You taught her love in a damaged world.
You picked her up when she fell down.
You are the person who made her who she is.
Now all that's missing is her crown.

She has sat you on the top of the world.
She looks up to you on your height.
You were the reason she got out of bed in the morning,
And the last thing she thought about at night.

The beautiful butterflies that once danced inside her belly,
Have become moths, eating away at the fabrics of her soul.
She wanted so much to hold on to you forever,
But then the springtime came, and the world took back control.

Will you bring the colour back into her world,
And show her proof that she is wrong?
The world may try to defeat us, but we are our only superiors!
And you have known it all along.
12 January 2017

Copyright © All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
Chris Jul 2013
Today we start again,
because 2 am does not define us.
Because sore hearts and even sorer eyes
will not shape our hurting souls.
And for every night we spent alone
the sun still rose each morning.
So today we start again.
As reluctant,
as scared,
as weak as you may be,
today we start again.
Greig M Oct 2012
Alright Mr. Weegie,
Calm the ******* beans,
I know it's ******* windy,
Just put on some jeans.

I can see it on your shoulder,
That masssive ******* chip,
That makes you think you're sorer,
Than a broken ******* hip.

That make you think you know,
About every ******* thing.
"What's that you say? Oh no no no,
I'M THE BANTER KING."

Your life's the ******* hardest,
And your car's the ******* best.
Your ****** dump is bigger
And better than the rest.

OH silly ******* weegie,
Just step off your box,
They're all the same everywhere,
Great ones, bores and *****.

This world is not against you,
Your city's not the best,
It's great I won't refuse you,
Just equal to the rest.

For it's man and mind that makes a life,
Not buildings, blood and steel.
And the mind contains the greatest strife,
So shut up and eat your meal.
David Ehrgott Apr 2016
Hannah Henna slinging hash at least
She's not the ***** who forty years
or more ago made me her
***** and my *** could be no sorer

I never even married her
I have no ring to blame
They forged the signatures to look
Then made me' look like such a schnook

I sorely want to knock up heather
But, all she'll make are crack babies
I don't know how to diaper them
At least she doesn't ******* men

Wish all my children, real and' pretend
Would one day forgive me for their mothers' sins
phil roberts Aug 2016
Those who are expecting
A metaphor for life here
It isn't

This is about the slides we made as kids
One of our winter sports
When the snow was on the ground
We would pick a place
And tread it down over and over
Until it was compacted and hard
Then we would slide and shuffle our feet on it
Until it became shiny and slippy
Then we would slide on it
until it became longer and glassy
By then it was a proper slide
And you could charge other kids
Usually marbles or conkers
To use your slide for a while
Capitalism starts young

So one day I was up and out early
Working diligently on a wonderful slide
And it positively gleamed in the morning sun
But I had made an unfortunate error
My slide was on the public footpath
Right outside our front gate
And along came Mrs Cooper
Naturally, the inevitable happened
It was, after all, a very good slide
Some might say.....lethal

Well, her shopping bag flew into the air
Closely followed by her feet
I don't remember much about Mrs Cooper
But I do recall that she was rather rotund
And wore enormous pink bloomers
Which in itself was rather scary
Obviously, I tried to help her up
But her weight took us both back down
She shouldn't have used language like that
In front of a kid my age

You won't be surprised to read
That I suffered the consequences
I'll bet my **** was sorer than hers
And I was made to pour salt
All over my beautiful slide

                                     By Phil Roberts
phil roberts Nov 2016
Those who are expecting
A metaphor for life here
It isn't

This is about the slides we made as kids
One of our winter sports
When the snow was on the ground
We would pick a place
And tread it down over and over
Until it was compacted and hard
Then we would slide and shuffle our feet on it
Until it became shiny and slippy
Then we would slide on it
until it became longer and glassy
By then it was a proper slide
And you could charge other kids
Usually marbles or conkers
To use your slide for a while
Capitalism starts young

So one day I was up and out early
Working diligently on a wonderful slide
And it positively gleamed in the morning sun
But I had made an unfortunate error
My slide was on the public footpath
Right outside our front gate
And along came Mrs Cooper
Naturally, the inevitable happened
It was, after all, a very good slide
Some might say.....lethal

Well, her shopping bag flew into the air
Closely followed by her feet
I don't remember much about Mrs Cooper
But I do recall that she was rather rotund
And wore enormous pink bloomers
Which in itself was rather scary
Obviously, I tried to help her up
But her weight took us both back down
She shouldn't have used language like that
In front of a kid my age

You won't be surprised to read
That I suffered the consequences
I'll bet my **** was sorer than hers
And I was made to pour salt
All over my beautiful slide

                                     By Phil Roberts
J J Nov 2023
Another delay, another day wasted and no permission needed
My fingers bent out of shape everything aching and I look to my side:
I see grass frosted. My feet slap forward

Over pavement icy as the irises
Of opioded eyes.


Greenishgoldyblueishblonde.

She will come and she will linger
Sorer than a bruise.

I felt so ugly and lost for more than
Half of my life

And like a pale saviour:

Her eyes struck my chest like a match first time we met.

There was much between those years I couldn't let go of.


I used to walk home on two sprained ankles thinking of our unborn child; pain is where we grow.

I got home aching,limping and no one's here to look after me until I'm better; I can't do it for me.

Where are you?


A month after everything ended I screamed your name and got no response

Where are you?!

You're gone.

For good.

Yes.

And it's not even deep into winter and everything just gets worse by the day.

Yes.

This is the freedom I wanted.


She was there long before you but she wasn't you.
She had an accent just like you but she wasn't you.
We spoke and laughed for hours but he wasn't you.
She kisses better than you but she's nothing like you.

I wanted to become you.
I wanted us to meld
And never split like
We promised when we
Were younger; I became
Yours when we were kids
And we were untrusting strangers
That last year or two

Yet the comfort never left

Until it was time to leave

And I think we both outstayed

Our welcomes. I'll never stop

Being in love with you. Too late.

I no longer hate you, I see that we had two different paths and ways of getting to the inevitable
The memories meant so much but what can memories do for you?
You were just an opportunist and I refused to see the worse in you.
I needed you and you knew that.
I miss you like a kid
I now embody every bad habit
I tried to change in you,
Now you are a comfort forever
Out of bounds but I don't mind--
Just get over it.
I hope you're happy.

Pass through faux company

For something to do

Passing the time,I'd prefer

My own place while I wait

'Til the fix is in, then I can dance

A shuffle step or two in my room--

But I trick myself into thinking

The need for fresh air outweighs
The freezing cold, but it doesn't.

That listening is worth it if you get
The chance to speak; but it isn't.

I'll decide if I'm ruined another time
For now I think it's just better if I am
Left alone.
Tiktok fried ur brain and the drugs didn't help
I never stopped loving u i just stopped hating myself.
Withdrawaling in winter is no fun. I'm in pain constantly and have no one and this is the only state I can rely on moving forward. I hope ur satisfied in a life without me. Lost til death do I part.
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
a little more pain
from yesterday
a little more rue
a little sorer
my pores are open wells
a bottomless cavity
of lost hopes
and dreams
wanting to fly
but no place to land
sitting as a vegetable
susceptible to
be canned

— The End —