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Kathleen Sep 2016
Happiness bled all over my bathtub.
Silliness dried at my feet.
But maybe it's just the parts that we're made of.
Maybe that's all that we mean.

And dreaming suddenly preferred me.
And themes suddenly addressed me

Mirrors and make-up, tripped over playing cards.
Drowned in the chivalry,
Heroes and worshiped gods that were made up,
furrowed their brows at me.

And dreaming suddenly preferred me.
And themes suddenly addressed me.
The walls I build around me, keep me at bay
they are for my protection, I like to say
staying pure to myself and my lives
a guardian of kindness and love

Then suddenly after many years exiled
I find myself in favour again, for a favour
all I lost I have gained
the rules now have changed

So now I have been giving my lands
to her glory that was planned
breaking through the barriers
all the barriers of doubt

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
It was here before I knew it
For some reason
The rain clouds parted
For the first time
In 8 years
And soon
The sun
Was out
The skies
Were blue
The music
Was loud
The air
Was warm
And I was smiling
For real
I was at dinner
With an acquaintance
And I wasn't nervous
I wasn't nauseous
I wasn't
Afraid
And as I drove home
I gazed at the stars
And realized
I was happy
Really happy
No fake smiles
No masks
Happy
I had forgotten what that feels like
I can see
Clearly now
That things...
*Everything is going to be okay
I am officially medicated for my depression, and I had my first counseling appointment on Monday. It still feels...wrong... different. I forgot what it's like to be happy. It still feels temporary, but I just...I'm happy and I know it won't last forever, but I feel warm in my soul. I want to read and write and go on adventures and hike and I don't know how long this feeling will last, but it feels...like safety.
Aaron L Osgood Jan 2018
Jhynda you gotta to be kidding me!
How dare you! become silent just suddenly.
We were chatting 2 fast 2 furious.
Now I’m idling at a red traffic light just furious.
Sitting in this car waiting for that green light to Go!
I’m not sitting in a car but I’m letting you metaphorically know.
As you sleep we stopped our speech.
Oddly you asked me “Wyd?” And we just started to speak.
Time is still moving and I’m still up.
The wind outside is blowing strong and I’m thinking “What the F*!”.
Listening to music now as I text you this message.
Expressing myself it’s about to get interesting.
Maybe I should stop this poem note.
I don’t want to go no further my friend.
Since your sleeping maybe this could be the end...
Although as I’m awake this new day of mines just began.
I have a long way before my day ends.
You have a short time as you sleep before your day begins.
Laying in your bed cuddle up with your bear.
And Brownie on the floor or on your bed laying near.
I shouldn’t be thinking this thoughts as I text you this.
As if I’m standing right there at the end of your bed just looking.
Waiting for you to wake so we can continue the topic we left off.
Before you became silent at 8:26pm as I viewed.
For you it’s 8:16pm your last text to me.
I understand I guess...continue to get your beauty rest.

BYE!
From: Aaron L. Osgood
To: You b.k.a. Jhynda Perpignan
September Roses Mar 2018
Little house
Timeless street
Childhood garden

The scent of your preschool playground after a storm on a Wednesday in may

The distinguishable noise of your parents' doorbell

The weepy feeling looking at childhood photos and knowing you'll never get those moments back

The melancholy moment you realize the book you're reading was your favorite bedtime story

The second the atmosphere shifts and you're suddenly thrown back to memories of your mothers embrace on a stormy night

The suffocating feeling of revisiting tales thinning at the ends as your recollection slowly fades

The slipping grip of what once was that will never be again, slowly turning faded and acid washed until its nothing but a feeling you cant put a name to

Nostalgia
Sophia Jun 2018
As we sit down to our dinners,
as we open our romance books,
people die.

We sip our water;
their guts spill open.
We study our notes;
their planes crash.

We live;
they die.
We breathe;
they suffocate.

We are testaments to chance,
to luck, to possibility.

We are not products of God.

We are blind goats trotting on our path
before we perish, suddenly,
and vanish into death.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
forgiveness not by epiphany or stealth
but slow dawning through pain's night
thorny ever-conscious struggle for love
which suddenly breaks on wings of light
"I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night."  
~ Khaled Hosseini
Srijani Sarkar Jul 2018
I am having writer's block
and experiencing all this anger
and hunger and love and regret,
I feel like I just don't have a bowl
for all these incredible feelings.
I just don't have enough respect for words anymore.
I want to make a cake out of this psychedelia
and I don't even have a sweet tooth.
Where do I put all of it?
Not how.... where?
I feel like drinking water without pills is vain.
Air left in my stomach
makes my mind a ****** stalker
who'll chase you down the road
suddenly have concussions and die in front of you
and make you call the police for a whole new different reason.
Writer's block is ghost town
and I am still human without a soul.
How to die beautifully?
Perhaps when the sun shines the brightest in the dusk
burning everyone more than ever.
L B Jul 2018
I cannot pick a color
I love more
Each is thrilling
and some seem
the breath of life to all the rest
I loved my crayons
They became my escape
from misery
the contrast to any given day at school

Any excuse to use them all
or just one
to avoid that lowest reading group
the monstrosities of math
If I couldn't sing it
there were no letters in the alphabet
I could not tell you A from Z

But you see--
That day was
purple!
That was all that mattered
I loved its richness and its depth
its mystery
its royalty
King Midas would have liked it, I was sure
almost a religion
Vestments of the priest
in the times of expectation
It is the explanation for

the last of day

As a five-year-old
I drew my love for purple
Passionate
and outside all the lines-- off onto the desk
I was so proud!
But--

Miss Platt, so horrified
asked,

What is it
I was trying to do?

I didn't know....

I was suddenly ashamed
and frightened too
This may have been the first time I actually touched down in reality.  Been trying to take off again ever since.

The religious times of expectation were Advent for Christmas and Lent for Easter.
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
The fall came suddenly, almost by surprise
With just a slight twist of an old unforgiving hip
Against The Wind

Unceremoniously, He lay prostrate in it
Face down in a pyre of leaves
A pile of autumn, and since the fall
A heap of _ _ _ _
Against The Wind

How easily he was raked in
By Jack Frost, the apparition of breath
A cool and colorful caller
Always calling with and never ever
Against The Wind

Stillness lay within the leaves
Each one a day in His life
A harvest of days
Blessed or cursed, but fully lived
Against The Wind

His nose spoke first and led The Way
Tickled into sneezing he inhaled
The mossy joy of his youth
When falling into leaves was sport
Ah, to fall
Against The Wind

Then his mind wandered to
The fried green tomatoes of summer
That yellow zoot-suit from his prom
The sweet kiss of ruby red lips
The amber of those moments
All golden sunsets birthed by the night

He rolls over to look at the sky and trees
There are yet a few leaves on This tree
He stands to face the rake
He knows will turn into
The ache of the snow shovel
Yet again, another season
Against The Wind

He leans on the rake
He looks head on
Into The Wind, and says:

Should this winter bring
The Ides of March
So be it, they will come, as always
And should the angels come for me
So be it, I will sing with the angels
Should the demons come for me,
So be it, I will drink with the demons
And should the light come for me
So be it, I will bow to the light
And should the darkness come for me
So be it, I will burn like leaves
To warm the darkness
Eternally
Against The Wind
As appearing in my book Time Travelers, psalms of fern, v2
Also as re-published in The Watershed Journal
Carter Ginter May 2014
sure she's likeheaven but angels stillfall
sometimes
the risk is worth it all.
perfection or illusion
what an enticing delusion
nonetheless
the question proves a fight
do i potentially complicate her life
further
my thoughts reach oscillation
certain until uncertainty's persuasion
descends
a thought like no other
and soon follows another
quickly
they bounce through my mind
now it's even harder to find
a decision
left between cognitive dissonance
then suddenly in this instance
Nothing.
The (mostly)single word lines an go to both the preceding sentence and the following one. You could read it either way but those lines are intended to be read almost twice, in a way.
*the only reason the first line has words morphed together is because i needed the verse to stay within one line.
It was a cold, wintry December day.
I was at home,
sitting by the fire.
The fire was hot,
but from where I sat,
it felt like a warm blanket.
Suddenly,
my ******* started to lactate,
uncontrollably.
I did not know what was going on.
I lifted up my soaking wet shirt,
and put my hands over my *******,
in an attempt to stop the lactating,
but it did not work.
And then,
it stopped.
I squeezed my *******,
to see if they would lactate again,
but nothing happened.
I went to bed,
hoping this nightmare would be over in the morning.
But it wasn't.
When I woke up,
I went into the bathroom to perform my daily morning activities,
when I realized something on my chest.
A third ******!
I tried to rip it off,
but I couldn't.
Later that day,
at dinner,
I was eating a juicy, tender steak,
when suddenly,
all three of my ******* began to lactate!
I tried to stop them,
for they were lactating all over my steak.
Then, like before,
it stopped.
This proceeded for many days.
Everyday,
I woke up with another ******,
and everyday around six o'clock,
they would all lactate,
until one day,
the unthinkable happened.
I woke up.
I could not move.
I had no legs.
No arms.
I was a giant ******.
"NO!" I screamed.
Then,
as usual,
I began to lactate,
violently,
and then I exploded.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I was listening to a poet
reciting his poem “Times”.
He was pondering, could
it be like this and that?
Suddenly my cup of tea
happened to taste so sweet,
made me wonder why
wasn’t it such an edgy,
a while ago any time
before now just as tasty.

Where on a stony thorn
was it stuck this long?
It had to bloom just now,
so sweet a rose!  
No one predicted whether it
will rain or not, it just drops.
The sun, shedding clouds,
suddenly swims so low!

Pondering me, I could
then only digest it
accepting a truth:
It doesn’t matter when
the bees love to come out,
sit on the rose and fly.
For the time, its best bard
only sings on time!
Paul Hansford Aug 2016
Still waters, deep,
surface like glass reflecting green above;
and below are trees, sky,
shadows, leaves, sunlight,
moving and motionless.
Here silent images shimmer now,
and - air breathing suddenly - break.
Unbidden feelings confuse
reality and fantasy.
Which is which?
Fantasy and reality confuse;
feelings unbidden break, suddenly breathing air;
and now shimmer images,
silent here, motionless
and moving....
(sunlight leaves shadows).
Sky, trees are
below - and above -
green, reflecting, glass-like surface.
Deep waters, still.
This is a reflection in three senses - (1) it is about a reflection in a lake; (2) it is a reflection, or musing, on the scene; (3) it reads the same backwards as forwards - in the manner of a palindrome.
I have seen many verses claiming to be palindromic, but very rarely one that fully obeys the definition. This one is the only one I have achieved.  I have never written another one, and would be surprised if I did!
A Voice recording masquerading as a video is available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXrSZpBg2WI&feature;=youtu.be
The echoing sound of seagulls
Flying above the sea
And leaves upon their branches
Such a wonderful harmony.

Nature's inspiration was it
The reason for his call
From a humble shepherd on the land
To packing out town halls.

Music there within his soul
And words inside his head
Singing was his only goal
His future, good as read.

He sang his songs every day
He was asked to join a choir
Little did he realise
His fame would grow much higher.

He made a massive impact
Wherever he would go
Although he never wrote a song
His voice would steal the show.

He found himself a little band
They became like family
He treated them like brothers
The way that it should be.

Suddenly his fame was over
The result of a tragedy
Sadly he left us
Leaving behind his legacy.
Dolores Jul 2018
The feelings muffled by the pain,
Like a smoldering bonfire
Covered with damp leaves.

The dimming flame of affection,
Like the pieces of wood
Emitting sinuous smoke.

The infatuation hitting suddenly,
Like the bitter smell of carbon
Inspired with its blackness.

Quenched by
The heavy rain
Of experience.
Cress Rosario May 2014
I saw you standing there
I know you cannot bear
With weary eyes and skin so dry
You looked down wanting to cry

You want to hide in unknown places
Kept running away from your fears
Covering up your ears
To the words you don't want to hear

Storming days suddenly passed
You didn't moved until the sunlight flashed
You looked up and surveyed the sky
Finally found a reason to smile
A new chapter in life is a simple reason to keep people stronger than before.
O fast day that trembles at the sight of Moon -
when will your warm arms bend again
the night's thick armor
that shades the world of joyous muse?
 
It is most facetious in its illusion,
that renegade of pale indifference,
when daylight dwindles and leaves more to imagine
than can be seen with naked eye.
 
Beneath the gaze of Her taunting face,
people do not walk as done in light -
suddenly, trudging and stumbling are the hip style.
Faces covered in guilt, remorse, fatigue -
all the things Sun can wash away with a simple,
lucid grin.
 
If brightest light were set ablaze in midst of night,
would not the people be plucked from false sanctuary
which darkness so convincingly provides?
Then many a Lost could be freed;
if only to see clearly through effervescent haze.
 
O blessed Sun!
With your arousal, Truth and Freedom will also reprise -
until again that blank stare casts its malevolent glow on
Delusion.
Prose from a street-lit bench.
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