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karen dannette Jan 2013
CANT SEEM TO GET THINGS RIGHT
OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN
I LOVE YOU AND WANT TO SEE YOU HAPPY
BUT HE THINGS I DO DONT SHOW ANYTHING, BUT PAIN

AT FIRST, I SEEMED ALRIGHT AND YOUR SMILE WAS BRIGHT
LITTLE BY LITTLE, THE APPEARANCE OF JOY SHOWED FALSE
YOU SAW RIGHT THROUGH ME AND IT SCARED YOU.  
I SAW EVERYTHING AS IT WAS HAPPENING, BUT THEN IT WAS TOO LATE.

DON'T YOU SEE I'M DAMAGED GOODS AND YOU CAN'T FIX ME
CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I'LL JUST DESTROY YOU IN THE END..
FOR AFTER ALL, MISERY LOVES COMPANY.
EXCEPT, I'D RATHER NOT HAVE COMPANY THAT FEELS LIKE THIS.

ITS LIKE IN A MOVIE WHERE YOU SEE THE ACTRESS WALK TOWARD HER DEMISE
EVERYONE, BUT HER, KNOWS SHE IS GOING TO DIE
YET, SHE WALKS ON IN TOTAL IGNORANCE
IN TOTAL AND COMPLETE SURREAL STUPIDITY

INSANITY IS LIKE A TINY WORM
EATING AWAY FROM THE INSIDE OUT
YOU KNOW ITS THERE, BUT YOU CAN DO NOTHING TO PREVENT IT.
INSANITY IS MEETING ME AND THINKING YOU CAN CHANGE WHO I'VE BECOME.

SLOWLY, THE PICTURE FINALLY FOCUSES IN ON THE REALITY THAT IS...
BUT, NOW IT'S TOO LATE TO FIGHT.  
I HAVE TO RUN.  I HATE TO CAUSE PAIN.  BUT I HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE
SO, THERE IT IS.  YOU KNOW MY SECRET AND YOU PROBABLY WISHED YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN BEFORE.

**** ALL THE ROTTEN, SICK AND TWISTED INDIVIDUALS THAT MADE ME THIS WAY
**** ALL THE SADNESS AND PAIN THAT POURS OUT OF MY SOUL LIKE A TSUNAMI
EATING AWAY MY FLESH, LEAVING EVERLASTING SCARS OF MISERY
**** ALL THE WHIRLWINDS AND DUST DEVILS THAT MAKE MY BRAIN UNABLE TO THINK CLEARLY

SO HERE I AM AND YOU ARE TOO
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT, TOO EXHAUSTED TO CONTINUE MY JOURNEY
TRASH IS A NAME THAT COMES TO MIND WHEN I THINK OF MYSELF
LOVE IS ONLY SOMETHING YOU CAN FEEL WHEN YOU CAN LOVE YOURSELF

THAT ISN'T POSSIBLE FOR ME ANYMORE
TOO MANY MISTAKES HAVE CAUSED ME TO HURT MYSELF AND WANT TO HURT OTHERS
THAT ISN'T THE WAY IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE, IS IT?
FORGIVE ME, GOD, FOR I CONINUE TO SIN AGAIN AND AGAIN

MAYBE TO NUMB THE PAIN FROM BEING TOUCHED WHEN I DIDN'T WANT TO
MAYBE TO NUMB THE AGONY OF FAKE *** ******* THAT BEAT ME DAILY... AND THOUGHT IT WAS OKAY.
MAYBE JUST TO TRY TO SURVIVE IN THIS COLD, TWISTED WORLD THAT EVERYONE ELSE THINKS IS NORMAL.
MAYBE, I'LL NEVER GET ANY BETTER AND THIS IS THE BEST IT WILL EVER BE FOR ME/??

I SKIM THE **** FROM MY GLASS WITH A CERAMIC STRAINER
IT BARELY CATCHES THE TOXIC POISON THAT SHOULDN'T BE CONSUMED
I CHANGE THE CHANNEL A MILLION TIMES TO A MILLION DIFFERENT CHANNELS
BUT ALL I SEE IS RACISM, LIES AND THE LATEST GADGET A FAMILY HAS TO BE IN DEBT FOR.

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO OUR RACE.... TO OUR PLANET?
IS THIS REALLY THE PLAN THAT GOD DEVISED FOR US?
CAN THERE REALLY BE A PLACE CALLED HEAVEN
AND WILL ALL THE PAINFUL MEMORIES BE ERASED WHEN AND IF WE CROSS OVER TO THE OTHER SIDE?

I GUESS WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY IS I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I'M ABOUT TO DO TO YOU
I'M SORRY THAT OUR PATHS HAVE CROSSED AND YOU HAVE TO ENDURE WHAT I HAVE COME TO KNOW
I HOPE THAT YOUR SCARS AREN'T NEARLY AS DEEP OR EXCRUCIATING AS MINE ARE
I DO LOVE YOU, AS MUCH AS I CAN POSSIBLY LOVE SOMEONE WITHOUT EVER REALLY HAVING SOMEONE TRULY LOVE ME.
tread Apr 2013
Tossed. It was
tossed from the
trash and into the
treasure. Tossed.
michelle reicks Aug 2013
lately I have come dangerously close to contacting you
so i will write this,
in hopes that you will not read it.
I simply need to write to you,
because i feel as though my heart is imploding on itself.

so first thing is first.
I miss you.
I miss you every day.
At first, I had this feeling of missing a relationship.
I had soft memories of you,
memories of making love with someone that cared
memories of your body next to mine
but lately,
the memories have become clear and crisp
i no longer miss being in a relationship
I just miss you.
I have put those feelings through a strainer and kept the ones that make the most sense.
so now, i can't stop thinking about you.
everything reminds me of you.
I made asparagus for my parents the other day.
it made me think of you.
I drank some Mike's the other day.
Made me think of you.
I swear that every time I go into the hallway of my building, Chicago is playing on the loudspeakers.
It only reminds me of you.
And then there is everyone I ever cared about from Mankato.
Everyone reminds me of you.
And when I say "reminds", I mean that they all bring back vivid memories of us.
Of times that we were really happy.
And I miss us being happy.

I want to call you.
I want to hear your voice.
I want some sort of reassurance that you are out there.

But I know I can't.
And even if I did,
nothing good would come of it.
I would tell you that I miss you.
I would cry.
I would tell you that I love you.
I would cry harder.
And I would be secretly happy if you said that you were miserable in Texas.
I want you to be miserable without me
because I am miserable here without you.

I have progressed past the point where I normally would rebound
into someone else's arms.
I am strong.

And yet,

I feel so ******* weak



Anyway,
I've been doing okay.
I've been trying really hard to get out and meet people so I'm not lonely all the time.
I've made some new friends here in the cities.
I wish you could meet them.
I wish I could meet your friends in Texas.

I am turning 21 soon.
Really soon, actually.
Everyone keeps asking me what I want for my birthday.

I don't really know what to tell them
because there's only one thing
I want
but it's the one thing I can't have

just  a phone call.
just one call.

just to say "hi"
how are you
how is texas
i miss you
did you read my poem
thank you, yes i had a good birthday.
it would have been better with you here.
i wrote you another song
i got another job
i'm transferring schools
how is your family
how does your brother like college

i miss you
i wish you were here
i love you
yeah
talk to you later


I'm sorry for writing all this down.
I think I need some sort of closure that I still am not getting.
I am still holding onto some sort of hope

Hope for what? I'm not quite sure.
Mostly that you still care about me
and that you miss me as much as I miss you

because I've never had to "get over" anyone before
and everyone told me how hard it would be

but I didn't think I would wake up every morning and burst into tears
I didn't think that letting go
would take this long

I am, however, so happy that I am still single
REALLY single.

not dating anyone
not interested in anyone.

I wonder if you are too.
and if you are,
if it's because you miss me.

or if you just haven't found anyone that you like yet.

I realized pretty ******* quick
that you set my bar really high.
and it will be really hard for someone to meet all the standards you helped me create for myself.

my family is doing okay.
I got rear-ended a couple of weeks ago.
so we got a new car.
It's a white two-door honda.
i can't believe how sad it makes me,
because it looks so much like your car.
my dad hasn't been doing very well.
sometimes i feel like he doesn't want me around.
i feel like he wants me to just move out and get an apartment,
but i'm not able to right now. not financially.
but i feel a lot of self-shame
because i "moved back home".
my mom has started crocheting.
so she has made like 6 different hats, and a bag for me.
both of my parents have kind of laid off of me, in terms of religion.
They kinda let me do my own thing and have stopped trying to convert me.
Has your situation with your folks gotten any better?

Did you hear about the passing of gay marriage in minnesota?
of course you have.
august 1st was such a day of celebration.
I wish i could have taken you down to the courthouse in the capital to watch all the weddings happen.
it would have been so much fun.

i guess i'll wrap this letter up.
I know it's probably silly to write it because you said you would stop checking this website.
but, if you're anything like me, you check it anyway.
sometimes i un-block you on facebook just to look at your pictures.
you are still just as handsome as ever.
and once a week, at LEAST,
I check your university's website to see if they have a "staff profile" of you up yet.

So far no luck.

In the past two months,
I have let myself make a lot of mistakes.

But on the other hand,
nothing has changed how I feel about you.

I miss you and I care about you.



Don't take this the wrong way
but I love you.

don't call me.
I need to keep on keeping on.
I just needed to get this all off of my chest

maybe tonight
i'll be able to fall asleep without keeping myself awake crying.

-michelle
i go through this daily plot
waking, working, trudging
first world ease, office walls
wheeled chairs

afternoon run
tupperware lunch
dinner the night before

home again, dinner
dishes again,
play again,
daughter picks up
new phrases, new looks
vegetable strainer toy
"umbrella," she says

i see those eyes, my wife's
and i wonder

what is this place?
these walls, these roads,
those sitka pines and shrinking
glaciers?

how 'm i supposed to be a father
with all these things stretching out
vaster than reason, than comprehension

those talking heads, ranting this or that
liberty's *****, freedom's snatched,
the world warms, the world cools

Filipinos scream in the face  of angry
winds, the prim cut weatherman wildly
gestures at a colorful map, powerful
he says, historic
he says

more dripping mouthes,
government want guns now,
more money to ****** our phones
to send unmanned drones

our president's muhammad,
or jesus, or kenyan, or raciest
a genius or incompetent
everyone knows

just back home
a tiny algae grows and foams
thrashing in the autumn water
brown oxygen choking life
never found on our shores before
kills fish,

i imagine so much more

i hold my daughter in my lap
reading mother goose,
run my hand through her
thin smooth hair,
sometimes afraid
of what she'll see and hear
with her mother's eyes
and her father's ears
jjcsm Apr 2012
The cat, black as midnight, perfect in from and feature, lay before an open hearth,
     as though resting, in death, trussed, like a roe deer carried home from the hunt, legs lace.

Cat lay, having ceased her struggles, staring at the fire, as though contemplating her
     eight lives, stoic, perhaps merely exhausted, resigned, retaining dignity in the certain death's face.

The Queen found this way to amuse herself, withe the men away playing at wars,
     a charm for invisibility, she, too empty to take any great art seriously, even the Black grace.

Queen Morgause knew that magic ran in her blood, as a member of the Old Race.

Into the cauldron of boiling water, at the hearth, the Queen flung cat, then stood watch,
     the horrible convulsions and a single dreadful cry as cat quickly passed into death, on the boil.

Queen Morgause of Lothian and Orkney sat before her cauldron and waited,
     occasionally she stirred to poke the cat with her wooden spoon as the stench did uncoil.

A watcher in the night would have seen, in the flattering reddish glow of the peat fire,
     what an exquisite creature she was tonight, with her deep, big eyes, glistening hair, quite royal.

She practiced her magic, before the iron cauldron, with the candle and a sheet of polished brass,
     not so much as for a need of invisibility, more an excuse for standing long before her mirror loyal,

Queen Morgause knew that was the undisputed beauty of her era Medieval.

The cat had come to pieces, leaving only a deep **** of hair and grease and gobbets, the white bones
     eddied in the broth, heavier ones lying still, the others lifting gracefully, like leaves in an autumn blown.

The Queen, wrinkling her nose to the stench, strained the liquid into a second ***, leaving
     on the flannel strainer, a sodden mass of matted hair and meat shreds and delicate white bone.

She blew on the sediment and began turning it over with her wooden spoon, prodding them
     to let heat out, soon she was able to pick out the delicate bones and place them in a neat pile grown.

The Queen knew that every pure black cat had a certain bone, which, when held in the mouth after
     boiling the live cat, endowed invisibility, but nobody knew which bone, hence the need of the mirror shone,

The Queen sought not indivisibility, truly, as she felt herself to be far too beautiful to disappear.

The Queen scraped the remains of her cat into two heaps, one of bone and one of steaming meat
     daintily she took one bone between her teeth, stood before her brass, looking at herself in sleepy pleasure.

She threw the bone into the fire and fetched another, standing, turning, and reaching,
     placing the bone in her mouth and looking to see if she had vanished, a look in one long measure.

She moved so gracefully, as if a dancer, pacing out her patterned steps, most beauteously,
     she moved as if someone was there to watch her, or, rather, as if it were her reflection she did treasure.

Queen Morgause lost interest, before testing all the bones, and stretched herself, as a cat, before the fire at leisure.
LeaveThisLife Sep 2014
A good metaphor for life is a man trying to eat soup out of a spaghetti strainer
He goes super fast
Cause hes trying to get the good stuff
But no matter how much he gets
He just ends up with a bunch of soup off over his pants
And then he dies of old age eventually

I am not good at metaphors.
Bella Oct 2017
I wear no sunglasses that Shield my
   eyes from the realities
       of this world
that put a Valencia filter over the
    things that I see or a sensor
        over the things that I hear.
I do not push the news stations
    through a small strainer only
        allowing the ”easy to
             handle”  stories to reach my
                 cup for me to consume.
I know that red is this world's favorite
    acrylic,
black it's favorite oil paint,
and blue it's favorite watercolor.
the painting of our world has red
    splattered across every
        building and seeping out of every
            wrist,
black in every sidewalk crack, every
     alleyway, and across
         every, screaming, mouth,
and blue welling in every eye.
I know this, but I have ripped the tape
    from my mouth, bandaged my
        wrists, and wiped my eyes
I have become comfortable.
opening my mouth
Like pulling the trigger of a gun
Aimed at anyone trying to Paint those
    colors back into my life
shooting their thoughts down making
    pastel bullet holes so the light can
         shine in.
I have become too comfortable.

I only come to this realization when I
    hear gunshots coming from a hand
        who does not know what it is
              holding
when I hear seemingly Innocent
     Voices say
“Well, why does it even matter,
if you've given a blow-job before, what's the hesitation to doing it  
     again?”
“ Because I said no.”
“ But you've already done it, before.”

I've told you, I do not wear filtered
     glasses.
but sometimes I forget that people are
     programmed with black paint on
          their brushes ready to cover over
               your mouth again.
I remember that as soon as I learned
     to rip the tape from my mouth
I realize that I can't just watch them
      bring the tape closer until they
           push it over my lips
I have to scream, as soon as I see it,
Because that is what my mouth is for.
And I have to fight to keep it of,
because that is what my hands and
      wrists are for.
And I have to look- not like the prey
      trying to stay out of sight,
but like a warrior with eyes like
       swords
and a mouth...
like a gun.
Avestani Sep 2021
Blackest nights and hearts of hearts
As the feeling hits my bones
Vast illusions take their hold
Welcome evil to its throne

Embrace the stars that guide my fate they've often burned when I arrive too late
It seems I'm running in a vector leading myself back to what I hate
I picked the crown from all the roses, chose to drown yet dreamt of floating, spending precious time just hoping, loves a drug so now I'm doping, heart so broken no use coping, all this ink black blood is flowing, spilling from my tongue it stains the ground pollutes the mud

Wasted words, from wasted tongues I think I've fallen out of love and now this freedom cuts me open just to rip out all these pieces, voices, words, and thesis I've been Clinging to this life, God should just hand me the knife, I'll carve myself a new beginning.

Stab myself with a thousand needles to drive it home once more that there is no growth without pain and from me all the hues of red and black come pouring out in a catharsis of the self inflicted damage I've pursued in the twisted notion that accepting this pain will leave me with nothing left to lose and everything left to gain but as it turns out the gods were never so cruel and never so kind as to let me weather the entire storm to prove to myself that I was truly alive.

No.

No.

Take me, break me, shatter my illusions, drive my mind into confusion, take from me everything I hold true and run it through the strainer that's
you, God of wisdom take my hand and drag me through the burning sands, and take from me right as I bleed through every wound you set me free, crush my faith, tear out my eyes, if I don't make it death is fine, gifted wisdom from divine, is worth this anguished mortal life, show me death and show me light, show me plenty show me strife, cast upon I beg of thee, make me listen make me free.
David Barr Dec 2013
The perforations within our assumed wisdom, lay bare the essence of our very folly.
Similar to the tea-bag, our prestige fills a void which lies below the strainer of presumption.
Will we ever count the cost of our labors? Is our money invested in the wrong opinion?
How unique truly are we, in the midst of mass conformity?
Bellie-boo Nov 2013
Beep-beep.
Beep.
Bee-bee.
Water splashes as it bubbles over,
steam rushes out from under the ***'s lid,
Tender pasta arcks out into a strainer from the waterfall of boiling water.
The aroma of fresh cut vegtibles pollutes the air,
Herbs and spice fill the *** as cream fills the gaps between pasta,
Chese coats the top.

Children make a muck  in the garden's grass,
Caked with soil they tromp  past the hall,
So much bleach will be needed tomorrow.

Smooth jazz comes from the apple shaped speakers in the kitchen
A spiral of spices flit through the air.

All sit,
The sun setting low,
Lights luminate our table's  surface,
puppy licks at your toe,
The food passes round,
And there's a happy glow.
Raj Bhandari Jun 2019
Have a big heart,you will be a big gainer,
Afterall, boy, the heart works as a
strainer!
Sarah Jystad Feb 2010
Here is the situation,
As unfortunate as it is,
You no longer have a significant part of my heart.
Once there used to be a time, twice a time, when thoughts
bombarded my mind and chances were they concerned you.
But now my eyes, as reluctant as they are, can see you,
You unintentional enchanter.
You accidental seducer.
You oblivious snarer of infatuated captivation.
You are the alpha of canker blossoms.
You are the epitome of everything that frustrates me.

I used to live in a house where the
Walls were your voice and your face.
A mental institution in which I was never voluntarily admitted.
A house of mirrors in which I couldn’t see myself or anybody else,
My thirst for your infatuation reflected,
Mocking smiles of every kind.

I cried blackened tears that fell to the
Ground and then flew into the sky like
Bleached ravens, like childhood dreams,
So carefully groomed by the mommies and the daddies,
Collapsing into little liquid drops dripping through the desperate holes of a strainer.

I cried because you seemed to find it
Necessary to seek interests in other girls
And never me.
I am not a bruised apple;
I am not a crushed autumn leaf;
I am not a discarded baby blanket;
And I am not unworthy.
So why in god’s oh so deemed holy name
Have you not seen me?

Or maybe you see it right on my face,
Like I’m a displayed canvas as easy to
See as red blushed from a pale, void surface,
And you are just messing with me.
Playing with me
As I am your spaniel and you can treat me as such?
Like I am a doll whose string you pull
And receive a pathetic voice pleading,
Love me love me.
Am I below your standard of interesting?
What could possibly be so wrong with or about me that repulses you?
Not you really, but more your interest in me.
At this moment I am wound tighter with exasperation
More than any moment before.
You will always be a tug of war in my life.
If only I could simply expel you,
The nuisance you are.
12/22/08
maybella snow Jun 2013
|         |                  
a bridge                  
boards spread          
firmly              
but rickety            
more holes                
than a strainer        
uneven walking        
handrails          
required                
spanning a long        
distance              
. =-=~==--=-        
sometimes the wind
or fog              
can block      
or sway            
our distance bridge
|          |            

build on love    
in our hearts      
for only            
our souls to cross

the fog is blocking me                      
from being able to see you          
our bridge needs repairs                    
at both ends                
.|. /
Loewen S Graves Mar 2012
There is a delicacy
to her hand falling
onto his thigh,
pale edges curving
onto the denim,
shining there
clear as glass

Her tongue
sheltered against
her cheek,
painting clouds
onto the roof
of her mouth,
she's breathing in
the thickest fog

Their fingertips
in the dust, etched
onto the windowsill --
someday they'll be
blown away,
curious children
or anxious mother
clearing away the dirt
of their past

Her dreams
poured softly
into a Mason jar,
his ideas
sifted coolly
through a strainer,
their ghosts pass
through the kitchen
faint as shadows

The bones of her hips
bowl like cradles,
carrying the grief
of impermanence,
sheltering the hope
that someone will remember
the days that have passed

Dots of paint
staining the carpet
will preserve her breath,
folding out into the fog
Jack Nov 2013
Lost without direction

Empty as that crumbled pack of Marlboro lights on the ground

Lonely, a single towel on the line to dry…in the rain

Wasted like left over pudding in the sink strainer

Shredded, an unimportant document in the wrong stack

Destroyed in a crumbled mass of quivering stone

Crying beneath a flowing river rising

Torn apart, a ticket stub to a missed concert

Scared half to death with the other half waiting

Cowering within each breath I no longer want to take

Fractured like grandma’s Hummel found by a wagging dog’s tail

Dead, wearing a disguise of the living…and a poor one at that

Desperate to know that which I won’t

Lost without you
pat Oct 2014
Did you see the trees, the way they separate?
Did you see the air behind them, all oblong and jagged framed?
Each branch turning into another,
separating and connecting,  again and again.
Slow, complex growth.
It was natural progression at its finest.
and didn't you feel the way I looked at you?
or did you see it?  It was nothing.
No, it was something. It really is.
The way you are, the way we act,
How we want to act.
The little things I bring you , all those gifts,
they mean something too.
I could say it, but I try not to.
I said "I can't help but keep you in mind"
I meant to hesitate.
Everything I do, there's purpose behind it.
The feelings aren't complicated.
It's a situation,
far from ideal and clearly exciting.
It built up.
The tension felt like long years,
patiently watching in some sort of humble admiration.
But the way you do things, it's getting to me.
It's this appreciation,
for every cell, every action, and every opinion.
It's all so fascinating and it's been filling my head.
Thoughts tricking me in my sleep,
turning life into wondering days.
Your ways, should they be complimented by my ways?
Because, I always found this exciting:
not knowing, not doing,
never asking.
I thought maybe it's enough, what it is.

But for an instant, everything changed.  
Passion and desire took physical form.
The experience, the moment,
it was fast and intense,
and that reveal has wrapped itself around me ever since.
Apprehensive ways were filtered into something else.
Bad undertones, caught in the strainer and set aside.
We could be so innocent,
and we can enjoy what's been neglected.
A mutual leap, hand in hand.
Hands strong and without hesitation,
moving your skin like raw clay,
pushing, clenching.
Comparable to a surgeons precision.
Confidence backing every movement.
Fluid, and naturally rough.
Rough, like the way I pulled your hair.
Precise, like the way I bit your neck.
It was exactly where you'd have me.
Almost harder than you'd ask.
Face to face. My lead.
Me against you.
Your back against the wall.
A strong and careful force,
moving my left to grab your throat,
while the right falls at your ready hip.
The spot I've been dying for.
It's just the way they look.
Smooth skin over hard bones.
Smooth skin that leads into your jeans,
and travels up into your shirt.
Places I shouldn't go,
but there you are, and I see how you feel this.
It feels like you want it to feel.
I feel that way too.
Excitement is at full throttle,
yet, overall comfort is keeping me steady.
A grip on your hip pulls you in closely,
face to face, lips touching lips.
Not just touching, but for the first time.
Not kissing, but desperate to.
That feeling revealed.
This is what it's like, and this is what it sounds like.
Your voice, only raspy air.
Sort of like a whisper.
Not words, but sounds of enjoyment.
Warm breath meeting mine.
Exchanging.
Feeling control, then lightning strikes.
You playfully bite my lip causing me to exhale.
Caught off guard
Completely high off you and the way you feel.
At the peak of an experience, almost overwhelming.
Everything led up to that moment,
and if I could have stayed there, I would have.
It was too much and it was not enough.
MST Oct 2014
Why is it that every time I finally get it within my grasp,
it slips away like water through a strainer.
So close to what I need, desire, admire,
willing to drop everything for that one chance,
but every time.
Every God ****** time,
it slips away,
out of my hands,
onto the floor,
where it crashes; painting the floor with my failure,
over my other fresh coat of dreams.
Ricknight Oct 2010
beauty is something
that cannot be defined,
beauty is something
like love
you know when you
see it,
beauty that I am
talking about
isn’t the sunset
so beautifully painted
or a picture perfect
dawn,
its in the lines
that cannot be drawn
its in the self aligned
rain drops
weaving a symphony
its in the birds
choosing a perfect
spot to nest
its in the bees
buzzing for attention,
its on a sunny day
when you are staring
down the sun,
its in the coincidences
that leaves you
without a reason
its in the winds
commanding the trees
calligraphic words
on the invitation
for the change of seasons
its in the quiet stares
on the rocking chair
looking for introspection
its in the child
losing his way
begging for attention,
its in the tears
that refuse to cooperate
and thats because
we have difference of opinion,
and then we reconcile,
its in the waves
testing the rocks
and then the rocks lose it
and send the waves crashing
its in the disappointments
and the clock keeps ticking
what you thought was a setback
was a disguised blessing
its in the rhymes
that are beautiful liquid
my brain is a strainer
the beats couldn’t be perfect
make your soul feel nourished
its in the female body form
alive and post dark room
that curves got you stumbling
and by form I didn’t mean shape,
its in the feeling
when you come back home
from a vacation
knowing the best view
is from your bed room window,
beauty is something
you seek
when you find
beauty is nothing more
than a state of mind
beauty is...
Katelyn May 2021
I’m stuck in a rut
unable to escape
Full of shallow words
with no rhyme or rhythm
lacking structure
scratching the surface
with no hope of redemption
My words carelessly strewn
leave nothing to the imagination
as deep as a gutter
as full as a strainer
as meaningful as my life
will i ever get out
Kate Lion Nov 2015
9.
Are you raising plants from the ground
Are you coaxing foxes from their dens
Are you waiting for the sun to be confident again
(for it to stop hiding because it thinks the moon shines brighter
and it is ashamed)
I need time alone
Need time to sift my thoughts through my spaghetti strainer brain
You took a ****-whacker to my youth, too
And somehow I survived
So I will be still
And close up like a flower
When the darkness comes.
simo Feb 2017
i taught myself to be who i am
perhaps my life isnt always all that it seems
weeks i cant remember, but it's easier to recall my dreams
the literal, not future

because what future can be seen
when there is so much in the way?
my thoughts are like a strainer
holding the negative
and watching all the positive drip through
maybe ill feel better when the ticking stops
when the little hand meets the 3 on the clock
maybe when my weight starts to dust itself off
or when i fall in love
when I finally feel satisfied enough to just sleep it off

its getting harder to stay awake
to make my running thoughts run away
its getting more difficult to feel much of anything lately
Don't tell me what to do
Because it's not all about you

I'm an independent woman
Trying to be with a good man

It's hard to let things go
Just load the dishwasher up like I do bro

Oh you washed clothes
Well you didn't sort the loads

Thank you for cooking dinner
Oh but that's not the way I use the strainer

Vacuum all the carpets well they don't look touched well I think you're nuts
I have to let the little things go no if ands or buts
Written by Denise Huddleston
maybella snow May 2013
my heart is a glass of water
sometimes its boiling over
other times it expands and cracks
and it freezes me from the

i n s i d e   o u t

if i'm feeling confident
that you will look after
my heart
i will pour it out, a
   t
    r
      i
       c
        k
          l
           e
to begin with
then as it falls
faster and faster

you   c a t c h   it

with a strainer
instead of your own
glass heart

my love continues to flow
unsure of its destiny
and away from

y o u
Jack Nov 2014
~

Lost without direction

Empty as that crumbled pack of Marlboro lights on the ground

Lonely, a single towel on the line to dry…in the rain

Wasted like left over pudding in the sink strainer

Shredded, an unimportant document in the wrong stack

Destroyed in a crumbled mass of quivering stone

Crying beneath a flowing river rising

Torn apart, a ticket stub to a missed concert

Scared half to death with the other half waiting

Cowering within each breath I no longer want to take

Fractured like grandma’s Hummel found by a wagging dog’s tail

Dead, wearing a disguise of the living…and a poor one at that

Desperate to know that which I won’t

Lost without you
Ok, I just thought maybe you might be tiring of all of the love poetry. :)
Sarah Nov 2017
you have taken a strainer
to our melting *** of a nation.
you have divided us with cruel words
and just a sprinkle of hate.
Written 11/16/17
Alisha Isabell Apr 2016
I don't know how,
Such sadnes could fall into
Such empty hands,
And still feel like progress.
Like sand through a strainer
Piece by piece perfectly
Fitting.
Yet falling through.
Truth lies in the small spaces
Between the metal weaving.
Spinning.
Snowflakes falling on pavement.
Cement
In my room. A draft
Under my bed
Like the monster in his eyes,
When he tells me
His love for me
Is slipping between his fingers.
Whenever I see you in the ***
My home comes to my mind
My mother’s haste of preparing breakfast
My father’s stress of being late for meeting
My brother’s crying for food
And I am waiting for you to be cooked
With strainer in my hand
I remember I threw your thin slices into a boiling oil
Which is my mother’s skillful hands sliced
Then I added a pinch of salt because
You know, I and my brother don’t like you without it

How would I know
We were related to our pain
Both of us are feeling the knife in our neck
Both of us are flaming in the fire
The only difference is
You suffer in the ***
I suffer in my heart

Now, I changed
I don’t care if you are
Sweet or insipid
Crispy or soft
Salty or saltness
I just want to eat you from my mother
And with my family, in my home
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
Startle response! Wake--

When danger is ante
cipated,0h
--0n
lego-h-overedge aver
age
verbage re sighin'

clinging vines from debunked strings and
threads twisted wit'em.

Assume, if ye may or plea or will as
ye wont, pray means ask.

That's all.
Here, wit'afewmisstook aitches and spaces:
here is what we got,

a fresh secret story, un concerning anything you
believed you believed of/from/about idea ifify ie able ity ness

Reason requires response, Will Robinson.
Hidden persuaded, almost,
but lost...

Really,
what sacrifice bought
young John Carson to sublimnal
top 0'the mind status,
for the first two tv
generations?

Who do you trust? Carson's tv game
show debut, aimed at after school,
junior high, latch key,
wait staff on swing shift or graveyard,
the entire set of doin' nuttin'
'round Tea, fancy goin'

head t' head wit' Mickey Mouse Club,
on all the UHF stations out west.

It's 1957, who do you trust?
Time's man o'the year,
The Hungarian Freedom Fighter Idea,
the first stiffed
equal-value re
belicose cold war victim
of the famine for the grammar
of kindness and good sense
associated with DNA,
little green apples, puppy dogs,the
straight up command to love them that hate ye,
enemies and other words for folk
who would just as soon **** you
as hear one more word
about peace.

VOG,
words were scrambled,
christic crypt vacuum
tube
signal to noise ratio, caliber calculater pro
jection on to the rerewall o'yeardamnedbrain,

VOG Cancel
Bozo. This ad will **** for us. We can own the
'earts and minds of every grammar 'ater ever.

Since Babel, since Eber 'is 'ebrew ef-
fective, fervent...strainer at jots and tittlishit
self.

This ad makes mistook rules po'man laughable,
punch'n'judy'ishit:

Whom
do you trust, the grammarian so like so many
Deweyish proguess
edumacated teachers, you had this teacher,

squint, wrinkle nose, tight jibbs
frameless wire rimmed specs, a greying bun,

flower print dress wit' the weest bit o'lace,
lipless snide corrector's face. A trope archetype,
heroes re
bel
on demand, that was the plan. It
started with

AN AD. Who do you trust? Black and white,
Here's Johnny standing under the billboard,
y'know,
for the show, standin' like *******, shoulders
shrugged, palms up, elbo's bent

(contenintal suit, note the skinny tie, why?)
Who do you trust? Innocent grin, wordless
"Who knows?" or "knew"?

Whodjewtrust, in 1957? Cronkite, nicht wahr?
See the USA in the USA

in yo' Chevrolet, ole!
Yew should try Ritalin, for pep.

Take Serutan tonight, and sleep, safe and restful,
sleep, sleep sleep

VOG (Scourby) and, remember Serutan is Natures,
spelled backwards. Cue the choir,

safe and restful, sleep, sleep fade away

----
Where were you in 1962? Off t'college,
watchin' Johnny of Johnnies,

Johhny Quest, Johnny Lighting, Johnny Carson on

Tonight, there's more...
after the news, the dayroom in the dorm,

this is whence the quips in the quad were to be
sharpened wit'

fashion able ible tips, to fit the Esquire *** Hef
uniform dress code of mutual hidden

persuadeds.

Some souls were spared the spread of the
original tv virus, VHF, couldn't penetrate
the canyon...never subjected
to Howdy Doody,
our brains were spared the
complexes planted via the sit
com cowboy war subplot
phase of novus ordo
secluremishitistcal
experiments in
alientated
mind control.
We lived in the desert, in a place

a lot like Oscar's Oasis,
a wordless Korean Cartoon
set in a desert much like mine. On Netflix, 2019.

I did not watch the mandated ten thousand hours,
even when the deadline for party affiliation

mental ascent was ex
tended, circa 1985, pre-
tending to be a measure of de
fencing public universities from the
effect of rock and roll,

since about 1964

with folk like Dylan and Baez and Hallelujah
Jubilee and Jambalaya on d'Baya,
Herb's brass on the Baja, where all the girls
work it,
like 'otel Kali phornia, sticky,

sweet, like a taste of Honey. Mr.Bond,
meet Miss
Galore. OH GOD, in the car from the speaker
she heard the idea the meaning

in the name, oh god, she squeezed my hand.

Honor Blackman plays that role, she whispered.

Trust me. It's a good plan. We got these kids!

Mom and dad just won the war, had six kids in five years,

Levittown di'n't work out, couldn't go home,
mixed marriage, from the war.

Things hap, cajun catholic wannabe aerospace engineer spy guy,
lands in Alamagordo and environs,
Summer 1944.

Here we are, Equinox, loosing season, 2019,

so some prayers were for real.

Red somthin'r'other butterflies are riding a rare breeze
from the south to the north through my
makepeace home. My peace I give,
he said,
all that passed is unexplored, take all the time

you can imagine.

My wife knows the names of those butterflies,
that's part o'm'peace. Knowin' she cares to remember
such improbably beautiful things;

soul possessed in patience, is she.

footnote 1: Despite Ciba’s efforts to market Ritalin as a ‘pep pill’, the stimulant failed to become a best-seller.  But that was not the end of Ritalin’s story.  As early as the 1930s, psychiatrists working at a children’s psychiatric institution in Rhode Island, USA had noticed that stimulant drugs could have a positive effect on the academic performance and behaviour of troubled children.  Although few psychiatrists took notice of these observations at the time, by the late 1950s, escalating concern about the educational abilities of American children during the height of the Cold War encouraged Ciba to consider a new application for their drug: underachieving schoolchildren.  They received approval from the American Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to market Ritalin to children in 1962 and, almost immediately, it became a best-selling drug (google it I didn't write the footnote pard but I forget where I got it.)
Forgive the flood, but my dear reader, I rode this wave when I noticed you on the page, in life's book. I did not know your name.
Alexandria Hope Aug 2016
The fidget, restless, ache
Starting to diffuse,
New tea from a lemon-wedge strainer
Rough, cheap sheets, earthy brown,
Tame, welcome
Hard bed, steady fan, gently blowing the blinds
Back, forth,
Reading a good book, eyes laze to, fro
Soft music, lavender sleep mask,
The dead heat, heavy air
It's not perfect. It's home
And more importantly, it's mine
b e mccomb Sep 2016
"how do you
do it?" you
cried suddenly
as we walked.

"do what?"
i asked.

"balance things
on things that
shouldn't stay
but they do."

"i don't?"
i said
and remembered
that i do.

we decided
it must be
some vague
form of magic

that bowls never
fell off of tissue boxes
i never knocked
glasses of water
off of my bed frame
that terracotta pots
stayed put on water jugs
and the way i can
load a dish strainer
shouldn't be possible.

well
scratch that

because today at
eight a.m. i spilled
half a cup of
fresh coffee
all over my blanket
sheets shirt and ipod

nothing was
damaged just
smelling very
columbian

but i guess i'm
not magic after all.
Copyright 9/16/16 by B. E. McComb
kfaye Mar 1
the perfectly machined manipulation of each digit
each photon of light bouncing off the wet fingers doing important
work
tendons in tandem.
melee melodies.
hands doing.
Drain me of my blood
Let the acid drip further down.
Watch my corrupted heart
turn my blood to toxin.
It doesn’t matter
Where I’ve been,
Just listen to the pitter patter,
And avoid the noxious splash.

Drain me of all I have,
Leave me with nothing.
Maybe I can start again,
Learn from my mistakes.
Exile love from my mind, then I won’t hurt anyone due to my ****** heart.

— The End —