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Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
      overwhelms  unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge


A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace


Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed


The ***** truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
     unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind


An emotionally enslaved  heart
tarries,  marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
     lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless


Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate;  vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake


It's getting harder and harder
   for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
   climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree


  Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp


A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“  
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil


Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas



Jesse Stillwater
June     2018
Notes:                                                                                                          
a friend sent  a link to a deeply thought provoking modern classic 70's song about Vincent Van Gogh and the complexities of imperfection some of us relate .... i'd listened to the words prior but never heard before now.

  Title is last final lyric line from:  "Vincent" (Starry, Starry night) 1971
Writer(s): DON MCLEAN, ENRICO NASCIMBENI,
ROBERTO VECCHIONI
Jenay Jarvis Mar 2018
You sleep now
Soundlessly,
Memories that make us remember-
Early mornings, the smell of school, crisp clothes, the fall of your jewelry, the sound of your shoes.
It's immaculate.
I can see it.
(and) Seeing you weak makes me weak.
As if the loss of one is the loss of many
And it is.
A tribute to my grandmother who passed this morning.
Medusa May 2018
rain love fell a dream tonight
you were not there, but felt close
seeing nothing in mist of trouble
walking cloud of forgotten shrouds

no one, dank street, cruel houses
no dry place no cats about
wearing red and yellow slickers
long while cats hidden entire

wandering one wet world
slick pavement sky so asphalt
empty windows gaped calling
out deceptively catch the unwary

windows, concrete, no trees
mother's voice laughs soundlessly
no signposts, no streetlights
oddly forlorn, my hometown

unmarked, without direction
darker than ****'s moonless night
this is my town, my place
one learns, find a way

feel the way, march in tyme
crawl slowly out the pier
knowing bay so full tonight

use poet radar
you will not
fail
Taking a walk in my town is strange, there are literally no streetlights, no sidewalks, and a bay at the end. On the many foggy or moonless nights you could swear you are on the dark side of the moon, not a car or person in sight.
PurplePanache Oct 2018
The sky glares at my form
                            beneath
                        ­            the
                                       stars
i let the wind ****** my hair
as he gossips away of his ex lovers, the shrubs
(although i know he loves them more)
if blackness was a song, i wish i could play it
but violins have feelings too

I am the veil of the moon
I am Light
Her darkness I hide in scratches of pen
I slither soundlessly among hives and chirps(aviaries, if you know what I mean)
But the words, oh the words
they will not let me go, they are Loud
Like the roars of a tumultuous ocean
Like the fury of a thunder struck sky
Like the silence of Love and the silence of Death
They are loud

I am the Ballad of the Bat Orchid
I am the Ballad of all things dark
And here I am to stay
Here I am to stray
Catrina Jan 2018
I remember the horrifying day,
like it was yesterday.
Being jewish,
And living in 1940 Germany, was the worst thing you could do.
My name is Lucy, and I will tell you about the day,
when my everything was taken from me
And seven years ago, my family and I had
struggled to find food,or even a warm piece of clothing.
Then my mother and father put my little sister and I into hiding.
Let me begin with this;

We haven’t heard anything from our parents in 3 1/2 years.
I honestly think that they are dead.
-Three years later-
My sister and I have little
to nothing at all,
but I go without so that she
at least,
has a chance.
I give the  warmest clothes that I have
to my little sister,
Sarah.
Sarah is my everything
I’d do anything to keep her safe,
She is so thin,
even though I give her most of my food,
she could be paper.
We were hiding when it happened, Sarah was in a little space
between a wall and a wardrobe.
I thought she would be safe there.
But I soon learned
that the decision I made, cost her,
her
Life.
BANG,BANG,BANG!!!! Is all I heard as the soldiers begin
to raid the house.

-(Our parents were down the street, hiding in a barn room,and we didn’t even know that they were still alive)-

My sister and I were hiding in “Aunt” Leslie’s and “Uncle” John’s house.
The soldiers came into the room in which I was hiding,
didn’t even consider looking under bed,
Seeming how from the outside,
It looked as if the bed rested on the floor.
but under the mattress was a hidden door,
that created a compartment two feet deep.
They left the room, leaving the door wide open.
I was able to see where my sister, Sarah, was hidden,
But that was a bad thing.
Sarah did not look like most Jewish girls her age,
who have round
almond eyes,
dark hair, and dark eyes.
with her
Long,
Wavy,
Blonde hair, and the most
Beautiful,
Sharp
Blue eyes,
She looks similar to a little german girl.
The only thing that set her apart was,
the roundness of her face,
and that she is short for her age of 14,
two years younger than me.
The soldiers were moving on to the next room,
-all except one.
Something had caught his eye,
as it had also caught mine.
My heart was thumping wildly against my chest,
I hoped that the soldier would hear it
Pounding, pounding, and pounding against my chest,
anything to keep him away from my Sarah.
The soldier had seen a
Wisp
of her
Golden locks,
from behind the wardrobe
He grabbed her and had her
down on her knees,
she was so strong, didn’t shed a single tear,
she looked straight ahead, not willing to give me away, showing no fear,
in her expression.
But I saw the fear,
in the way  her little fingers twitched, tied behind her back.
Then the soldier pulled out his gun and
SHOT
MY LITTLE
GIRL
IN
THE
HEAD!!!!!!!!
I was screaming,
screaming her name
Over,
and over,
and over,
and over,.........
And yet the soldiers,
did not hear or find me,
for I was screaming soundlessly
He shot Sarah,
My everything,
My little sister,
but most of all,
My LITTLE GIRL
Mom and Dad put us into hiding 6 and a half years ago.
They had  foreseen what would happen,
and for 6 and a half years,
Sarah was my little girl.
I would give her my food, I made sure she had enough sleep,
she was the reason I fought so hard.
And now, I
Have
Absolutely
Nothing.
I have nothing to LIVE for,
nothing to FIGHT for,
nothing to,
PROTECT.
My everything was taken away,
Sarah was taken from me.
And I can’t ever get her back
The soldiers left her there, she looked so cold,
the soldiers had been gone for hours now,
yet I was still in my hiding place,
frozen with
fear,
shock,
devastation.
I climbed out of my hiding spot,
Sarah, oh Sarah,
my little Sarah was gone,
her golden locks
stained with RED.
Her once bright, beautiful eyes,
Now only one remained.
For the soldier shot right above her eye,
so, nothing remained.
The one blue eye,
once beautiful,
Now cloudy.
I gently closed her eye.
I found a cloth,
went to wet it,
And began to cleanse the wound.
She looked better when the wound was not cleaned.
For there was a hole in her head,
I was able to see inside.
I cleaned her limp locks,
And did my best
to cover the gaping hole.
It was still not a pleasant sight to see.
But it looked better than it did before.
I start to clean the
ribbons of blood
on the walls,
And the beautiful, hard, maple floors.
I tried my best, but there
were still faint
ribbons,
staining the walls,
and streaking the floor.
I start to talk to her,
my mind
not accepting the fact that
Sarah
is
gone.
I try to keep her warm
Try, trying to keep the warmth
in her
lifeless body.
I repeat her name
“Sarah, Sarah, it’ll be OK,  y-you’ll be fine.
We’ll get through this together.
I’m sorry Sarah, I’m so, so sorry.
I should have given you my hiding spot,
And I hid in the attic,
I’m sorry.
I failed you.
I’m sorry.”
Aunt Leslie and Uncle John came in then suddenly,
took one look at me
holding Sarah’s
lifeless
body
in my arms,
and started to sob.
They had brought Mom and Dad,
to take Sarah and I
to a refugee camp.
They didn’t hear the gunshot,
that took Sarah’s life.
dad came over to me and told me to let her go,
Mother told me to be strong,
But she had tears,
streaking down her cheeks.
“Lucy,” Mom says, “we need to go,
And we need to go now.”
I look at the body,
in my arms.
Once a lovely little child,
now nothing but a cold corps.
I take Sarah’s locket that she always wore around her neck,
And slipped it into my pocket.
She always knew that I loved it,
she even told me once,”If anything ever happens to me Lucy, it’s yours.”
I had told her not to think like that,
But then again,
I thought the same things.
I apologize  to Aunt Leslie, telling her I did my best
to get the
ribbons of blood,
off the floor and walls.
She said it was OK.
I told Uncle John that when I was safe,
that I would write.
He said that he would miss me,
I did too.
After saying goodbye,
we hurried into a wagon of hay,
the driver willing to help us.
And we were fleeing once again,
for a place to be safe,
will be quite a ways away.
The nearest refugee camp was in Italy.
We will be safe there.
At least,
for a while.
Chloe Sep 2018
.                                                                                                                     .
          Are you okay?
          Yeah, I’m all good.

My body sways, moves out of my control, thrown around as if I were a leaf in the wind. Waves of dark water crash over me, enveloping me from head to toe, stinging my skin and sending pulses of cold pain through my bones.

          What’s wrong?
          Nothing, don’t worry.

I struggle to hold myself steady, to hold my head above the water as currents threaten to drag me down, as waves crash past my head, filling my lungs with water.  

          Do you need to talk?
          Nah, I’m fine.

As if a tendril had reached up from the depths and wrapped around my ankle, I felt a hold on me, pulling me down. My head goes under, and its black, and its cold, and my lungs are frozen.
Figures swirl around me in the darkness, blacker than black, whispering and taunting.

          You’re a ****-up.
          It’s your fault.
          Why don’t you just disappear?
          You’re a waste of attention, you’re a waste of money.
          Why do they bother? There’s no helping you.

I kick and writhe, I scream soundlessly, I try to pull my way up to the surface.
But I can’t.
My body goes limp, and the words devour me, and my tears are lost in the black water around me.
That black is all I am.
I am nothing but dark thoughts.
I am nothing but anger, and sadness, and jealousy and hatred.
I’m never gonna see the sun again.
It feels like forever.
And it’s so ******* tiring.

But...

          Hey, relax.

I begin to float, the tendrils loosening their grip on me.

          It’s gonna be okay.

I kick. It hurts to, but I kick.

          Just breathe.

I break through the surface, gasping for breath.

          I love you.

And I look up, and I see the sun.
.                                                                                                                     .
his voice makes me feel safe.
Rayven Rae Sep 2018
i’ve been told
that time heals all wounds
i have found that little nugget of wisdom
to be complete
*******

time is cement
turning things you wish weren’t true
into concrete

time is scarring
wounds scabbed over
ready to be torn open repeatedly
at the slightest
remembering

time is an *******
20 years later
walking through hallways i had hoped never to see again
to look up and see a face
i had hoped never to see again
a face i still see in my nightmares
a face
his face
your face
i name you
nate tollefson



i had traveled 18 times
around the sun
when you shattered my night
the dark took on a new meaning
for me after you

locked door friends pounded on
yells ignored
the fact that i was unconscious
ignored
me ignored
you saw me as an easy target
what you did to me that night
fundamentally changed the way
i let my lovers touch me
to this day
i can’t sleep in clothes
fight or flight can’t be tangled up
when danger arises
i can still feel your weight on top of me
when i wake up screaming
soundlessly
nightmares you handed to me on a silver platter

i kept silent about you
rumors flew after the party
everyone wanted to know what had happened
had we hooked up?
i would just close my mouth and shake my head
afraid of the words that would tumble out
trying to name an act
i couldn’t have stopped
an act i didn’t want

i had been a ****** that night
i wasn’t after you left that room
i bled for 3 days after
torn and hurting
suffered in silence amid the swirling gossip
whispers behind hands into eager ears
until something more interesting
than you and me
a locked door at a party
bloodied calvin klein underwear
grabbed their attention away
they may had forgotten quickly
i still haven’t

after all, you were a star
football and wrestling built your pedestal
a warrior decorated in red and gold
walking like a god among men
why would you need to ****?
yet you did
**** me

i had to look at your face every day
for the next 2 1/2 months
only once after the fact
did you even acknowledge my presence
i was nothing but a number to you



i am now 39 years old
life has led me far from you
yet the stain of you has remained
you handed me a life sentence that night
one you will never know
yet you handed yourself one as well

no matter how successful you are
no matter how much money you make
no matter how beautiful your wife is
no matter how charming your children
no matter how perfect your white picket fence

you will always be
a destroyer of night
a stainer of souls
a robber of trust
a murderer of innocence
a ****** of bodies and hearts
a ******
you
nate tollefson

— The End —