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September Roses Jun 2018
Aghhhhhhhhhh
Why is everything so co.mpli.cated.
        Why is nothing how it should be

Nothing good lasts for ever
well it seems to me like nothing good lasts a ******* second

Everything is
Spiralling
Out
Of
Control
          
         Everything was good a week ago
    A month ago
    
Ok maybe not good but better

         Because this ******* life has
        given me the ******* lemons
And although I'm used to ***** lemonade
it's like life still enjoys pelting me with the leftover ones
      
          Until
        I want
    To disappear
Go away
Nameless Aug 2014
12 steps towards the top
Underneath the candles yellow drops

Lighting the way in a spiral fashion
The yellow flames burn with poise and passion

Shadows and reflections catch the eye
A beauty and grace that no man can defy

Gracefully she'll burn until end
Freeing herself to transcend
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
It was always going to be black and white
that's the typeface on my preference of late
defining day and night with your choice of tights
those fine dividing lines on your partnered limbs
wrapped tall in belts daring as a Lara Croft climb
a silky striped raggedy ann gone neat sensuous
tight strapped to a two striking sinuous princess
committed to lodge sins inside my Loveland challenge
hemmed in round towers together to never-never unhinge

at home we horse around and rub along together
boosted by the interplay between cotton twill gathered
pulled low one side then canter balance riding high
as you level up to a line up of outbound thigh
saddled with a lovely leg stirrup over here
and a lean waist wobble to match up there
eyebrow lifts to starch arrowroot attention
over the swings and sway of every action
so swift I play catch-up each morning
delayed by fumbling for ones gone matching
it's a wonder you don't just wander away
in a daze from my one legged hopping display

then I would travel far as a bee
long-legged as stilts could be
to sing to your nails and feet
and be spun free flaunting
our google
a red white and blue
pair of giggles unfurled like flags
in your slim line dancers' legs
dangling ideas like fair weather socks
to goggle one direction behind your back
unique like nobody else contains within
thin licked then rolled back ciggie skins
so I pinch holes in the bacci parts
sinking into slats like leaky wooden boats
your avoiding tiptoes gadfly and curl in return
my feet undoing knits with swats and swirls
toeing tinkling notes like piano keys
undertones pink tinged with tingling knees
and when a jukebox plays
my coins are there always
for I've got your pop socks in motion
your vox populi's united under my skin
with impressive pulled tight bands
embedding imprint elastic rings
inky red slinking down
leaving parallel links


ignore my pins and needles
alone in dead of night
longing for your leggings
luminous stripe tights
today it's all me put on the spot
today it's music you might hate
biographies of people you don't like
subtitled movies too deep to bother
blue jeans dull dyed against your garter belt
a one man team can't DIY a drill majorette
spiralling shafts that come to a threaded point
enthralling with alternating knee bend bit pants
so pretty poly soft I'm pulled up like a fool
fully mixed up by your weaving cotton wool
wave me down in your way of sweet patter feet
a patterned cakewalk for you to catwalk sock it
to me in a stand in posey kind of way
this way to stand outs knitted to fancy
uncross your legs and cross-stitch
my path with gaited kisses
closely
by Anthony Williams
Anastasia Webb Apr 2014
If I sung you to sleep,
what would you dream?
of mystery and madness?
of love and revenge?
of spiralling staircases, culminating
swiftly in a pool
of swirling fear?

Starfish –
sleep slowly,
sleep soundly.
Stretch bubbly limbs that
are kissed by the shore,
hugged by the sea.

This cove
of creeping creatures,
they slip and slime
like a plastic bag
of goldfish.

What will you dream?
of memories:
when you were swept
away from the sea
to dry on the sand
like a limpet?

Bubbling, giggling,
blobbing starfish:
sleeping, sliding,
slipping out of place,
slipping out
of starfish dreams.
Paul Mar 2019
Over the bed, a ceiling fan revolves
elliptically. Yellowed walls speak
of anxieties inscribed by the lungful.
From his fingers the snaking upward blue
smoke of burning tobacco neatly describes
their spiralling tumult. She has gone back
into the world. And alone in their aftermath
he inhales as one grown distant in a moment
emptied of heroism. The sheets, worn and short,
rope round his ankles to recall a cellblock noose.
She'd done time, and for years. How she assumed
her role in the act, face to the wall, all ***, silent
and work-like. It was a thing they laughed about.
                                                                ­     He drew
deeply, and a ring of orange fire bloomed, briefly
proclaiming love remained a chance. Who
could know? Once upon a time he owned
more answers than emptinesses. A rhythmless
rock and swing of the fan beat the hot air back
onto him, the lone smoker, inhaling blankly.
The opened window, emptied of music, framed
a flawless field of sky blue nothingness
through which, into the parking lot,  its curtains
billowed like some wild tongue. And under
the window, in shadowless heat, a dog laps,
limp with thirst, at the drips that drip
from a rusty pipe.
a re-write and re-post. I've strived for meaningful enjambments and a sense of metre while attempting to sound contemporary
ryn Oct 2014
She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover

Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.

Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.

Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.

She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...

Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.

I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.

Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.

Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...

She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,

Despondence...
Lilly Gibbons Dec 2014
Keep it close, do not disclose,
That thought you had, don't let it be told.
Spiralling downwards, gaining momentum,
Familiar now, fermenting the unscented.
Just one step towards the darkest past,
Listen to what you once were told,
"Take two steps forward, one step back".
Letting fears unwind, twisting the truth,
A blanket of confidence unveiled,
Now that your no longer you.
Kenn Rushworth Jun 2015
A world in colour lies
                semi-distant, semi realised,
A near-forgotten future exsanguinates, yearning
              in the weakened glow, of infinite winter morning.
The voice, the voices, the voiceless, my anger, my age,
                Pan-millennial youth in coming years will fade,
It will carry duvet and pillow from hateful home
                to halfway-house until half way home
It will make all its hearts into the shape of cardboard,
                blemish the fire with chemical ****, **** hard,
It will seek forgiveness at the steps of screen,
                beat asthmatic chests, fingers, ribs and seams,
It will see itself cower in the horrible light of mirror,
               sail to the sun on wings of fakes lashes,
And it will burn, burn not in forgiving hangover sodium,
                but burn in the eye of a guilt yet to come,
And it will drown, drown at the blessing of the water,
               drown at its birth time and time over,
And it will wound, wound in scythe and cushion comfort,
                wound the waking dream in Siamese horror of sorts,
And it will leave strangled in the cords of its university hoody,
                leave alone at night, touch itself and cry.

Bursting rhythm from the panopticon, viewing all aspects
                of itself engulfed in ex-disney coloured acid
                spewing forth from the desired wreck,
Hurtling profound and profane into and beyond
                ******* and love and love and *******,
                *****-tinged snows lubricating seasons onward into each other,
Gut-busting, gut-busting, gut-busting societal downpour to harridan office
                from liquor dormitory, escaping and elevating
                on citalopram or selegiline,
The surgeons and nurses, the poets and builders, ever restless
                at the unbolted door, screaming into their unread palms,
                comparing varying hell to holy water lakes of others,
Sipping the dew from paradise wing, discontent with all
                in purgatory-England whilst licking the knee
                of America and imagined Europe,
Wanking itself dry at the lottery of thought,
                crude reckonings spiralling sugar into salt
                landing on the tongue of want,
Feeling crucified at the Atheist tea party,
                climbing the cross of trend
                supplying own milk and nails,
Unwanting in the chrysalis, ignoring coming candles
                but fantasising a thousand symmetrical suns
                to limited avail and idea.

But idea there will be, birthed, blood-hungry
                gnawing at the heel ‘til bare bone,
And it will rip apart fat riddled arteries,
                Deconstruct, Reconstruct all the bodies and the cites,
And it will write and spell all the words wrong
                realising that what ‘they’ are selling is sign language for the blind,
And it will note of itself as harsh but not unkind,
                reject bribe bread and water be it divided or divined,
And it will say of cartography “No need as of yet,
                I have seen men lost in the lining of a suit,
Crying into their shoes, uncombed, unfettered, unfertilised, without hope,
                after laughing into empty lakes.”
We can each say “My God, my empty sky, my cartoon prophet, my local MP,
                I have seen everything and want none of it,
                I am alone in a narrow shape of time,
                watching us all unfurl to the scent of burning feathers and hair,
                to the sound of punctured veins.”
We watch silent litanies for graceful pardons of filth,
                in “Amen” then nothing,
We watch our age’s world rend lung
                through hollow cheeks and air in our bones,
We watch ourselves into eyes or no eyes at all
                watch ourselves read last lines and then
                watch ourselves realise and whimper
                from ulcerated gut, tongue or pen,
                the everlasting knell…

                “…And it will happen again…”
xeron Mar 2015
sing a song for your lover
of honeyed milk and seabird cries.
say a prayer for your lover
and hope to god she’ll listen.

burn for your lover
in the fires of your own joy.
drown for your lover
in the waters of your own misery.

dance for your lover
til your bones shatter and your lips split.
bow for your lover
til your hips give out and the roses die.

you love like spiralling souls:
around and around again.
is it true?
Zowie Georgia Jan 2013
Pretending nothing's wrong
her rage walks through her feet,
spiralling up to the expression on her face,
and the lack of.
A clown with many faces she is
but smiling now lacks feeling
because her happiness left
and only questions remain:
Does he still love her?

In her yearnings for an embrace
her arms are still unable to open,
as though her affections are preserved
to memories that cannot be bettered
because she's scared to be vulnerable.

Now they sit awkwardly,
though the longing of a touch lingers somewhere.
A distant look through an embellished picture
now a reminder of the connection they knew so well.

Met by her resistance before,
he fears more rejection,
through this frustration he shouts about life,
how he feels less attractive,
the mirror he too would drown in
if coughing didn't keep him afloat.

Breathing eachother's frustration
the atmosphere now speaks a foreign tongue,
the words that were once easily said  
now relics in the air.

His eyes well up when nobody can see,
because the love he feels for her hurts him inside.
Her anger hurts more everytime she ingores him,
and she can no longer dicipher who's suffering more.

What do you do
when Love's penetrated with too much power,
too much illusion?
What is to come
when the expression of One's divinity is too stubborn to say
**I am sorry
Marshal Gebbie Jan 2013
Heat beats down upon the street
Birds too hot to fly,
Blistered sand you cannot stand
Drenched with sweat am I.
Cows collect in shadow deep
Panting sheep hang head,
Goshawk flies in cobalt skies
Hills of grass stand dead.

Whisp of smoke, a puff of breeze
Sirens scream in air,
Running men in squads of ten
Emerge from everywhere.
Now the rising wind takes charge
Runs with leaping flame
Into crown of eucalypts
To rage across the plain.

Too late the tenders hoses pour,
Too late the fireman’s shout
Inferno hot has run amok
And all control a rout.
Generating mighty winds
The fire charges forth
Spiralling in furnace air
To incinerate for sport.

Vanquished men exhausted stand
Watch with useless eyes,
As raging flames consume their truck,
Inside a good mate dies.
A live thing in the burnished night
It writhes and spirals high
Across the flaring treetops
Hot, red smoke fills the sky.

As sudden as it starts, it stops
A wind change in the air.
Ravaged forest stark and black
Hot ashes everywhere.
Hills of cinders smoking now
Stock in death’s repair,
Homesteads rendered charcoal like
Farmers in despair.

A silence in the ravaged hills
Birdless in the sky,
Bushfire horror, death and smoke
Enough to make you cry.

Marshalg
In support of my Australian brethren and their torched nation.
30 January 2013
Poetria Oct 2017
big smile for the crowd,
yes, you smile for them now,
those eyes aren't allowed,
green eyes, they're so loud,
bitterly sweet, green,
laughing at me,
I'm spiralling now,
yes, I'm spiralling down
a staircase with ends
that could never meet,
and she's pretty, so pretty,
it seems meant to be,
it seems you could never
be meant for me, green.
I know, it's nothing profound.
JN Cole Aug 2018
I.
Oh!beautiful was
the Big Bad Wolf
as he stared down
into the spiralling
city from up the
London Eye

city                     s    p  i  r    al  l i   n g
                      down
        and                    down
******* the
good out of
¡cIviLizAtion!

II.
we must ****
him, musn't we?
the savage!
**** the savage!

everything is
r-r-r-r-rotting
becoming
a r-r-r-r-r-rio-o-o-ot--
we cry
oh how we
cry rivers
of bloodSave us!
Save me!save me
from he
who does
grin
who does
have dull
eyes of
jaded adulthood
cynical
delusional
xxxxxxxxxxxx...s-s-s-s-save me
from the hissing
serpent
                            hang him on a tree

III.
we *****
we try
we *****
the sins
of our
forefathers
the sin out
of the fruit
none the more
righteous
nor holy
the fruit
bringing
the carnal
out of the divine
save us from
the
                                         lXrd Xf the FFffffliXs

IV.
why must
you **** our
saviour

twinkle
twinkle
little star
we have come this far
bring us back
Wynken
Blynken and Nod
climbing cakes
of pink granite
please!do not
call us your children
do not call us
your slaves
do not stir
the black tar from
our pit traps
escape
escape
escape
the beast
in the broken mirror

V.
twinkle twinkle
we wait on
the rapture
we wait on
we wait
we
as we wait
on the rapture
spare us
and keep
us alive

VI.
twinkle  twinkle
little star
twinkle twinkle
on the scar
escape
the black hole
twinkle twinkle
the spiralling ride
down and down

VII.
must we *****
our hands
to flee
this scar
where he who
does grin
says his
island is
bigger
than we think
he who
winks
dull-eyed
at us who
stare back

GIVE IT BACK!

VIII.
twinkle twinkle
little star
we have come
so far
beautiful was
the big
bad wolf
as he howls
at the moon
on the platform
of the Sound
hypocrisy
we light
our fires up
on the mountain
waiting on
the overkill
the overspill
over the brink
of humanity
cheryl love Feb 2015
I'm like the wind
rushing brushing leaves against my will
until I find
I'm spiralling
into a never never land
without demand, without the real me.
Just disappearing down my own little drain
I shall not complain but just disappear.
Scarlett Aug 2019
I am spiralling down a dark well
mortar and stone grazing my knuckles and fingers
in their desperate plea to find a crack
a divet
anything to stop the spiral
but I continue to fall
black upon black
grey upon grey
deeper and deeper
the water is at my ankles
sinking
sinking
sinking now
into putrid sludge of what I do not want to remember
swept into the dark ocean cave
of my mind
heather mckenzie Sep 2018
i don’t think I found myself in the poetry, i think i am finding myself in your arms
under the gentle pressure of your fingertips and the velvet embrace of your words.
they think I found myself in the halls of the airport that it walked alone
but
i think i am finding myself in the kitchen of your flat, waiting for the kettle to come to a boil; in cups of tea nursed at the table and I hope that’s okay.
i sip in the same tentative manner that i reach for your hand in the dark; you may have the effervescent beauty of a tree in the autumn but right now i would like to lace my fingers with yours and be human together. i hope that’s okay.
you are like literature and myth; a deep and sprawling spectrum of contradictions and complexities. i feel like teiresias; blind and trapped within my own self-made cocoon of spiralling thoughts.
eyes closed i reach for your hand.
i almost miss my stop on the last train home spilling out sweet words about your everything.
her hair straight out of bed with soft eyes and parted lips, sculpted by aphrodite; carved from the finest marble i want her to pin me down,
to the bed, to reality-
her lips, to guide me
from her waist and back
to sanity. early in the morning
when she wakes up tangled in sheets
with her eyes peeking up over her phone,
soft smile on her lips.
the world stands still in the soft glow of flickering street lights like visible heartbeats, glowing and not glowing in tandem, and the windows are frosted along the edges; worrying a cracked lip between my front teeth i realise this may be the most I have ever thought about tea.
our fingers
tangle, grasp sheets or cheeks rosy
with first-kiss smiles. eyelids
crinkle.
you are butterflies in my stomach, fear and exhilaration, honesty and hope
you are
listening to the same song on repeat; your laugh is the song stuck in my head, every song i’ve ever loved,
the only song i want to listen to.
Druzzayne Rika Jul 2018
Colours mixing with each other
there is a new colour born
a new shade
taking the new shape
blinding the landscape

spiralling out of control
not in hold
spilling its content
without intent
ripping over
and under
unclear
emptying till it disappears
it is gone now.
Jesse Adams Jul 2015
I looked to heaven today and I found God, to my surprise
He was pointing at me and laughing
Watching me spiralling.

He thought it ironic how I said I didn't believe in him.
He wasn't offended even a little bit
But he let me know that he didn't believe in me either.

I can't blame him, I don't reach out or try to talk to him anymore
And the only times I say his name are all in vain.
Even now, I'm slightly ******* him off by not capitalising "H"s or calling him "Lord".

Then again, I doubt he gives a **** about grammar or what I think.
Yesterday was a long day with no relief; today is likely the same.
rosalind Jan 2018
thoughts spiralling down
distorted into darkness

telling me i’m not
enough, that
i’m a failure

i know they
aren’t true

but for
some
reason

i still
believe
them
idk if i like this one :/
Kite Aug 2012
I am like a firefly in a jar
Never feel that I am getting far
My light burning out, flickering
My screams turn to shouts, slowly, bickering.

I am like a firefly with heavy wings
Around my eyes lay dark rings
I can't lift off, my light is fading
My skin will forever be your shading.

I am stuck in a jar, gravity killing any chances of flight
And lately I have noticed that I never get things right
I am destructive to myself and to you
A deadbeat firefly with nothing to do.

I set up this jar with my own mind
You look for me but will never find
I'm sorry I don't fly for you
I want you to know that this love is true
But you deserve better than a firefly stuck in a jar.

I thought you had mended my wings
But now I see the broken things
No one can change
I don't want to lose you
and everything you do
but you deserve better than this firefly stuck in a jar.

It's not that you aren't good enough
It's that my cracked skin is too tough
Like a second firefly stuck in the same jar
I hold you back when you can go far.

I want you to know that you are the best thing that has happened
But my light will always be blackened
Nothing unjust has given me this
My thoughts lead me spiralling into an abyss

It's not fair that you have to look after this firefly stuck in a jar
After all, I am not going far
You don't have to be stuck with this firefly in a jar.
LJ Chaplin May 2014
Thud thud,
like the beat of a battle drum,
Hallowed cries of victory
Within the capillaries
of your body,
A faint pulsation of adrenaline,
Fresh from the free fall of another
Spiralling of self control,
Beneath layers of fair, smooth skin
lies the undulating tide of blood
and oxygen,
Cascading down narrow slivers
of your veins.
each shuddered breath
is another catalyst of
Life,
Another slam on the accelerator
that surges you further down
the fast lane,
Those faint pulses of yours
Never cease to amaze me.
samasati Apr 2013
I am one of the lucky ones that has a high sensitivity to malignancy
I still wear it myself like a cape in the cold
but I can detect a sick person almost right away
some say that’s not very nice to say
though I’d rather know who’s a waste of my time than find out later when I’ve invested my heart & soul into the person
that’s part of what makes me a sick person,
investing myself too much in other people
and isn’t it funny
how we forget about these people that meant so much to us
once
obsession has its terminus
there are cusps a person trips off of that leave them falling,
spiralling into a new obsession or phase or life
or numbness
that’s why memory is so beautiful
even if it hurts a lot
it reminds us we are never going to be the same as we used to be
there’s something peaceful about that
though the sick find it tormenting
Pagan Paul May 2017
Gliding
Serenity in a crowd
Deft glances and secret smiles
Promised whispers of the future

Flirting
Beauty before the eyes
The dampness of licked lips
An invitation to taste comfort

Melting
Duality in a single act
Spiralling heat and falling fast
Naked truth of the now

©Pagan Paul (12/01/16)
.
David Barr Feb 2014
It dons a hat of seeming sophistication, in the manner of a Boston gangster where cross-cultural expressions gather at Gaelic mouse-traps of East Coast dominance.
It is a heritage, my friend.
There is sophistication around Italian restaurants, and I have no regrets. Yet, I must say, that I have experienced minimal fun amidst this political Anglican black-comedy where integrity is often confused with connected colours of red, white and blue, and the colours of green white and gold.
This is a picture of illegitimate power, where brethren gnash their intellectual mandibles and covet recognition at the price of their very soul.
Delusional quests for superiority remind me of downward spiralling staircases with blazing torches, where the echoes of scorching souls can be heard to resound throughout professional circles.
As I carry this blazing torch through spiritual levels of command, I ask the question: whatever happened to humanity?
Marshall Gass Jun 2014
We don’t know whether we are connected
to heaven or hell
yet we can move effortlessly
between these two domains
taking with us those bits and pieces
that can re-create passions in the vault
of our memories. All we need to do is put
the jagged pieces alongside the disputed ones
and ***** over the past mistakes
with fresh earth, the green grass of forgiveness.

And even before we know it
we will have climbed the stairway
to heaven where waits long passionate memories
tactfully chained to the other end
spiralling to hell.

Its really upto us
to race upwards
or slide down the stairwell
in this wonderful balancing act.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
KiraLili Feb 2018
I want to listen more
Be conscious and uber aware of what I make and feel as I make it
And hear it
Engage in the valuable conversations that surrounds this art and all arts
Reflect on the journey that each creator takes
What does the content mean
Where does ones awareness take there pen or brush
When it crashes through the fog of our societal cocoons
Into new growth spiralling from our cyclical existence
There I want to find
To experience often
The moment of cohesion
When the spark in our soul
Sets aflame
The genesis of artistic creativity
kattrinsart Feb 2015
Ruffle your feathers
And spread your wings
You don’t have to feel anything
Floating up there in the sky
Spiralling up ever so high

It makes me feel so flat
When you act like that
I wish I could be like you
Spiralling in the sky to

Ruffle my feathers
And spread my wings
I’ve learnt to feel everything
Floating up in the sky
Spiralling up ever so high
Superpowers,
superheroes,
Humility,
vast,
Ancient,
great,
Small,
­solving,
Twisted,
en vogue,
Gregarious,
modest,
Active,
undeniable,
unrecognizable,
Sp­iralling,
Spirited,
regal,
Challenging,
Loving,
bearing,
unleashe­d,
Audacious,
Horrible,
gentle,
True,
beautiful,
Ferocious,
super­natural,
Colossal
familiar
Beyond human
Humane.
Marco Carlos Aug 2018
Over coming my short comings.
Initially so plentiful, now nothing.
Your naked body clothing my thoughts.
Like leaves to trees.
Like pouring vinegar in the wounds I once bled, I continue to ponder you,
they continue to bleed.
Alone I walk in paradise, the shrivelled memories faulting to mere dust.
The air in Eden, a little colder, the water stained bitter, turning hardened steel into rust.
Spiralling up in a whirlwind of desire of what once was, consuming me whole, and ridding me of trust.
My inevitable demise,
I knew what you were, I chose to bite the apple , why am I surprised.
love hate
C J Baxter Mar 2016
To no-where I go in the nothing I feel,
Spinning like an old coin or a wayward wheel.
I tumble as I twist, throwing myself on
through the falling mist of the new red dawn.
Battered as I bounce, I trip on with zeal;
Spiralling, Spiralling, Spiralling on,
till I’m spiralled from anything I thought to be real.  
Till concrete crumbles and the green grass is gone.

Here, I stand, in those bizarre acres of mine.
Where geometry fails in the plans I design.
Where math melts like memories of my boyhood,
and the laws of motion ******* to be understood.
Come falling upwards, plummeting to the sunshine.  
We’ll swing and we’ll sway on the old wise wood
of trees that hang from the skies like a shrine
to nature in reverse, and truths in falsehood.
Jacob Sanders Aug 2014
This is the last time I write about ships; the mighty seafarer, clasping in the deep. The last time the esoteric tides capriciously change their erratic minds, left torn between rousing up to fight and solemnly crawling into the shapeless night. I’ll haul, I’ll haul. Outward bound, I’ll haul away from the safety of the buoy, through a thousand spiralling knots, batten aground and set anchor upon the recondite bay. I’ll avast the journeys where the compass takes an unprompted turn, where celestial proves consort to nautical woes, awoke awash amidst the darkened shallows.

This is the last time I go back and fill vast depths, bearing right, then left, across the beating breadth.  This is the last ring of brash audacity resonating in chime with the gull’s hooded pride, the last of the salt and sway commandeering the longitude of each tumultuous ride. I’ll roll, I’ll roll. Hanging on behind, I’ll roll with the salted souls of Nelson and Hook as they furl and collide, hand over fist, drawing the curtains from their chariot’s majestic height. I’ll gybe and set back to sail, quarrel with the rushing sands, and grace every fractured notion that tooth and nail can siege the devil’s rest and forge currents capable of hustling both vessel and man.

This is the last of the gallant endeavours, set adrift from buccaneer’s voyage to a solitary pulse at the end of storm’s tether. This is the last stern embrace of Poseidon’s harrowing howls, the last of the rapturous applause mordant as it rises and swirls, the last time I wrestle away from his scaly hold. This is the last time I change tack and set course into the path of the sound, where finally, the tides settled

I’ll release control of the helm.
Rhian Williams Jul 2015
Warm, soapy water,
Filling a dented sheet of metal.
Heat escaping.
Slowly,
The spiralling steam surrounds you,
Smothering you.

The warm, soapy water
Is not so warm anymore.
The steam leaving you cold.

Soapy and cold,
The bubbles vanish,
Leaving a sting in your eyes.
There is no warm, soapy water.
Just a murky, cold memory.
nivek Mar 2017
evening comes quickly
***** out all the light

spiralling into night
one more time

one wonders a lot
how far is left to travel

how many more times
around the Star
Jessica Fowler Mar 2012
There are crackles and scratches woven here;
bridges and highways where little things run.

Over tangles of brambles and berries
a bud’s coming out; a hand lying open in grass.

There is bracken crisping; brown and dry;
shaded by waxy leaves where water ***** roll.

There are bees in the air, flitting around.
Air which is thick with nectar and pollen.

It’s dense in here; cramped thorns twist,
ears are twitching, claws scratch on bark.

When the light goes away eyes start to shine,
the scurrying gets furious, noises in darkness.

An owl glides down and a mouse hurries up
but quicker than light, he’s swept from the ground.

Spiralling up from his hawthorn nest
He’s stolen away; into the night.

Sparrows whistle, a feather snags on a branch
and the moon bows down to the lilac dawn.
Kathryn Bowen Jan 2014
sinking drowning dying [spinning] throwing going

down

around inside my head it unfurls

the fire unleased and spent and taken

by surprise I’m falling spiralling twisting-

turning and dizzied by the lack of breathing

Picked UP and lost in the hustle of going

going being seeing buying lying through the

truth becoming clearer by nights of   w a r p e d

mirrors and powdered lines in scheming minds

of the bad choiced losers of our time.

Shaking hands and sleeping bands the drum

pounds a beat in my head that I can hear as

I leap from incandescent memory to horror

film in one swift turn of phrase.

Goodnight and goodbye stars and constellations

That once played an intricate role.

you have been most helpful –

— The End —