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Jester Jun 2016
If you are the healer lay your hands on me, I am diseased you can set me free. If you have the will I have the desire, if you collect ashes send me into the fire.

If you are the liar then I am the fool, I wanna hurt myself by being close to you.

So catapult me into the sun and I'll burn baby burn, catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.

If you are the liar I am the fool I will survive to be used as your tool.

Ten pence piece lays heavy on the heart, loose change love affair that's falling apart.

so catapult me into he sun and I'll burn baby burn, catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.

Breakdowns and shakedowns got me bruised by your heart, it wasn't the words it was action from the start! You are the seducer I am the user together we feed off of each other.

so catapult me into the sun and I'll burn baby burn, yes catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.
Taylor St Onge Aug 2015
[NEW]
Scientists know more about the
                 moon
           than the ocean.

[WAXING CRESCENT]
Light can only dive 200 meters
            down into the ocean.  Below it,
the “Midnight Zone” glows in the dark.  
(By standing in your shadow,
I am hoping to become
                                         bioluminescent.)

[FIRST QUARTER]
Life has a tendency to thrive in hostile environments.  
                                                 ­                        For this reason, Jupiter’s moon,
                                                           ­              Europa, may be able to support
                                                                ­         life within the global ocean of
                                                              ­           liquid water that is hidden
                                                          ­               beneath the ice at its surface.
(This is why I am able to bloom in the dark.)

[WAXING GIBBOUS]
The ocean bows to no one but the moon.  Turn
off the lights.  Turn up the stars.  Low tide wants to
fold back inside itself and lap against the
                             shores of the Sea of Tranquility.  
High tide just wants to be noticed.

[FULL]
But a heated black body sunspot,
                (isolated from the rest
                of the photosphere),
still shines brighter than the moon.  Wolves should
be howling at the sun instead.
written for my poetry: intermediate course. prompt: stages
Will Justus Jun 2014
She tiptoes through the woods like a pilgrim through a cathedral
The great wooden pillars meet above in leafy arcs
Dappled light dances across the mossy carpet
The brightest sunspot,
Swirling and swaying in the rhythm
Her wide eyes close to take deep breaths
Only to have them stolen away on the breeze
I watch in a dream and she turns,
Eyes stormy with a smile playing at her lips
Not sure how much I like this one. I think the images are nice but the lack of structure goes against my grain, though maybe that's the point.
Taylor St Onge Feb 2015
sunspot
sunrise
sunshine
moonshine
i lick you off my lips like strawberry
                                             pineapple
                                             grape              ­    juice
                                             a fine wine that i’ve never drunk.

asteroid belt
orion’s belt
daddy’s belt
i am opening the door a crack for you only to slam it in your face—i am
waiting for you to knock
             to pound your fist against the gate
             to break your hand on the wood
                                 i am waiting for you to say that you love me
                                 and i am waiting for myself to believe it completely
                                 (i think you do but i am still afraid you might leave me)

((jupiter has 67 moons and i think that i might be
                        each and every single one of them)).

oort cloud
smoke cloud
the burning ash of my father’s lit cigar flicking onto my hands
i am awake at night and thinking about how you no longer taste like lung
                                                                ­                                       mouth
                                                                ­                            kidney        cancer.
my grandfather almost died of prostate cancer
my friend is dying of brain cancer
my father will probably die of liver cancer
                                                          ­ there is not enough space in the cosmos
                                                          ­ for all of us, is there?                   … God?

meteorite
meteoright
i am trying to sleep without your face in the back of my neck
                                                      hand on the back of my hand
                                                      leg tangled around the back of mine
i am trying to telepathically whisper my secrets into your ears
                                                       but the only problem is that i have not yet
                                                             ­  mastered  this  form  of  communication—
          i think that everything would be so much easier if i just didn’t feel.
language poem I wrote for my poetry portfolio last semester.
Pearly Whites Feb 2013
I marveled at                            every sunspot,
every freckle on            your naked body.
With my fingers,
I traced them
as though I
were plotting a map,
and I had               set a course
which led to                      your perfection.
Courtney Joy Apr 2012
Let me taste the sweet dew
That envelopes the casting glow
Reflected from the summers eye
Dropped below the exile of life
To where the water once ran

Beyond where sight can see
O'er the sturdy branch of elk
Perplexed between the sunspot
Of the shadowed stump
and summers eve peach
I see your face

Catch glimpse of early morning
sunrise, sunset.
Written in every sky;
lines that vaguely shape the horizon.
Of today, tomorrow.
Outlining clouds of present fate that unravels
within my fingertips.
No longer countless petals plucked
for seemingly this day
gives answer to my dedication.

What's beyond those eyes
A tragedy? A fallen corpse?

Nothing at all.
Drunk from too much water,
Rolling behind your daunting head
the mystery of yesterday
the tragedy of today
That cracks the inside of the well
until it runs dry

Wake up
I've been waiting for you,
for the moment it all gives way
to crumble and expose
my deepest regret.

Waiting for the ground to heal itself
the stump to blossom its early *****,
And embalm the diurnal course of life.
I want to push away
clear away the pain,
taste the poison distilled from your root.
And drink in today.
Retreat the core,
and bring me closer.
I can save you when I save myself.
Not easily understood with one read.
Read it again and get a second opinion :)
A hopeless romantic that seeks the identity of herself through the companionship of others. This gal needs a lot more than love to save her from herself; to reflect and accept her past as it is, to enjoy life for what it is; a single moment.
Samuel Feb 2012
Sock-less in the winter turned
spring for fear of
                  freezing over

      every inch of
          things you treasured and
  couldn't wait to leave behind

              just months to go and
still
no snow-white to
build upon blazes
that come with new faces
and
kindle friendships as
roads are
dubbed exceedingly dangerous

time is a friend to those who
tri-p-let their way to the flatness of
it all, world and walls waiting
for a




break in the traffic


waiting for a sunspot in the year's
star mural,
                    wandering in parking
                    lots where people hint at that
mysterious intersection of dreams
and the sensory
Cassidy Mae Jun 2016
i didn’t think i’d live when he fingered me so hard it hurt and i tried to sit up but he pushed me back down and told me it was okay and to be quiet so his sister who was right upstairs in her bathroom wouldn’t hear and when i told him we should stop he laughed like i’d said a joke and i laughed in return because i didn't believe what was happening was actually happening.

i didn’t think i’d live when i was lying half on and half off the couch in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the living room with an eighteen year old man sitting on my chest and my pants undone and my shirt pulled up while he whispered things like ‘it’ll be over soon’ as he held my jaw and ****** himself into my mouth so hard my eyes watered and i gagged and tried not to throw up and said no around his ***** as many times as i could and he just insisted that it was his turn now whatever that’s supposed to mean.

i didn’t think i’d live when i couldn’t figure out what to do about the ******* he’d so kindly left in my mouth and when i thought about spitting it out i realized his sister - my best friend - would see the mess and i didn’t want her to know what he had done or have to worry about cleaning it up so i swallowed it like a champ and the taste of him still lingers in the back of my throat 15 years later.

i didn’t think i’d live when he sat me down with tears in his eyes and said that we needed to go to the bishop for what we’d done and begged me not to tell my parents and held my hands in his as if he was truly concerned about my well being and i nodded dumbly because i couldn’t believe this had happened to me.

i didn’t think i’d live when i ran home weeping and showered until my skin was raw and red and my hands were shaking so hard i dropped the soap three times and i screamed so hard my throat bled.

i didn’t think i’d live when i laid down in the sunspot on my bedroom floor and sobbed hysterically until my younger brother who never cared about me finally timidly knocked on my door and asked me if i was okay and i couldn’t find the words to tell him i’d been ***** so i just told him i’d had a fight with my best friend.

i didn’t think i’d live when food became a burden and my stomach turned on me and headaches plagued me because the weight of what had happened to me and what had been taken from me had become too much to bear and my body was slowly collapsing underneath it.

i didn’t think i’d live when i told my mom and dad what happened to me with a choked voice and tears streaming down my face and my mom told me she knew what i was feeling because my uncles - more than one - had sexually assaulted her when she was a little girl and to this day i cannot look at them without wanting to *****.

i didn’t think i’d live when my dad got so angry that his face turned red and i didn't recognize him and he clenched his fists and muttered something about his gun under his breath and i knew he’d **** the man who ***** me if he had the chance but in the same breath that held those threats he broke into a thousand pieces and held me together like a fragile broken doll and wept into my hair and i just wanted to tell him i was okay and i was still his little girl but the words were gone.

i didn’t think i’d live when i told my sister about who had ***** me and she felt sick because she had dated him to make me jealous at one point and it had worked and we’d fought over this selfish ******* like sisters do and she wondered how could she have done something so cruel to me with someone who would in turn treat me so cruelly.

i didn’t think i’d live when my ****** called me a **** behind my back and my baby brother my endless protector confronted him at four years old and asked him if he’d really called me a **** even when he had no idea the meaning of the word only that it had wounded me deeply.

i didn’t think i’d live when i told my bishop and hoped that he’d understand and that something would be taken from this man who had ***** me so he’d maybe feel a little of what i was feeling but it turns out he got off scott free and everything he worked for was given to him including his mission and going to byu and my bishop still believes it was consensual even when i told him the story over and over again.

i didn’t think i’d live when i realized that i still wake up every day for the past 15 years and think about him at some point and the smell of a wooden door in the sun makes me want to throw up and the sound of maury povich’s voice is a trigger and sometimes i wish i could tell his wife what he did to me and how he never apologized and never admitted what he did just continued to call it consent over and over again even after i told him no clearly and plainly and how his sister knows now and we’re no longer friends and his other sister thinks i’m just a **** who tried to ruin his life and how sometimes *** still scares me so badly that i want to die and sometimes i still wish i had that day.
Tom McCone Feb 2013
call up in spring, maybe maybe maybe
                                          maybe,
I've caught mine in the stream:

                 hollow things.

hollow, hollow, seeing and free
directions, contortions
cool down, riverbeds of
flowers that sun made
in dark spot phase turning to
alive alive alive alive alive
breathing cold warm cold, nothing

  any
                                            more

ripples like the stilts feet fell through to
carve square pegs in the holes in my
skin and feign ignorance to let up
sunspot light fading writhing
keeping me alive alive
alive alive alive
all through
this gold
cursed
night
Kate Deter May 2013
Blue and yellow arcs
Of pure energy,
Pure electricity,
Dance dangerous footsteps
On the thin wings
Of the butterfly.
Is it protection?
Or is it a curse?
Helpful or harmful,
Not even the butterfly knows.
The dangerous beauty
Holds audiences captive
As the energy arcs and leaps
To a tune others can’t hear.
Up and down, the wings flap
While the energy glows eerily
In the dark, (un)dreary night.
A flash of azure,
A sunspot spit out—
The black midnight body
Lit up by the light all around.
Lynne Sep 2017
the way the sunlight hits
the empty space in my bed
warming the sheets
kissing my cheeks
how extremely serene
to have this detachment
without the influence
of a shadow in my bed.
amante Mar 2019
i try to watch the sunrise,
but when i blink my eyes it already passed by,
the sun it mocks me from where it rules the sky,

i hope to watch the sunset,
but when i open my eyes it already left,
the moon in it's place laughing and waxing in my face,

will i ever see the worlds wonders? will i ever stay awake to see them? the spots on the sun, the spots in my memory, i hope to see a beauty and am knocked out suddenly,

the world outside my window is so big, too bad i'll never leave my bed.
this is about dealing with a sleep disorder if you're wondering.
Graff1980 May 2015
I like to love her from a distance
My dear daylight poet
The sunspot
So **** hot
Tan skin
And spectacles
Smirky smile
Deep intelligence
With a certain spiritual resonance
Pulls me from the pit of despair
With her deep thoughts and kind airs
Twisting language to wondrous purposes

I like to love her from a distance
Letting her dark words wash over me
Inspire the higher functions of my creative brain
Unshackling me from the dullness of society
Inducing, immersing, and freeing me to see the beauty
In the horror of our descriptive language
Pale skin dark hair piercing eyes of creative Fury
A cold fire that inspires desire and respect

Two angels of a sort
Ying and yang light and dark
Sitting on my shoulder
Even when I say
That they are tucked away
From a safe distance
So I can love them
From within
From their words first
Watch their beauty burst
Like bloated rainbows
Breaking beams
Shooting mercilessly
Piercing me
To set me free
Not lustily
But as fellow poetic human beings
Whom I will never meet in person
touka Dec 2020
snow of smoldering flax

tow of peach fuzz down the small of his back

I wonder
Jonny Angel May 2014
I was blinded
by her brilliant light,
a wisp of a woman,
she was hotter than a sunspot,
radioactive,
she started a meltdown,
singed
my parted lips,
scorched
my searching tongue,
seared
my wanton body
& charred
my aching bone,
then left me,
burnt
to a crisp.
Thanks for the title Bob Seger!
Jonathan Surname Aug 2018
For when the sun burns and turns colden,
The bright yellow spurns from beauty golden,
to a lack of interest for a system
relying on light to pour; listen
though sound travels less
in haste, it makes our bodies bounce.

For when the girl is burned and trounce
The bright mind spurned from evening gown
to a lack of interest to assist him.
He relied on her light to pour; her to listen
though sorry travels, lest
after distaste, it makes us pronounce.

For when a mistake is burned into history.
The stone cold as etched again, and sought.
Good will may be borrowed, entrusted, stolen,
but rarely bought.

For when a daybreak creeps into horizon.
The stones thrown as glass houses brought
Goodly upon their foundations,
in the naked eyes of all sunspot.

May those coloured fractals of which lurch deftly.
Return to shared *****, directly, swiftly. Freshly.
suddenness of a mood turned vacuum
lirau Jul 2018
gasping, panting,
the wind penetrating my pores.
eyes watering
I dash through the morning sun
a black blur,
free and wild as a sunspot

at ten past ten
peeking past my curtains I see
a dim blanket covering the sky
I fell from a sunspot
to the darkest reaches
of our coldest moon
and from there I observe
with the patience of a god
until it's time again
for me to fall.
EVA gone wrong.
helios Aug 2019
the seeing eye can predict movement of the oceans,
turning of scattered stardust,
silence on the moon.

my two eyes watch the spinning of
his red pen, pointed
while the rattling chamber-room of his mouth
collapses.
  coiling harder, the spring tightens around
the cold pit of my stomach.
burning already, a sunspot.

when the second hand stops its revolution,
my two eyes melt
into the sea.
Tom Shields May 2021
My friend, it feels hard to breathe today

your open arms receive the burden of my pain

sharing more of me, the more of you I take away

this sunspot umbrella unfurls the evil on my brain

I'm writing to you like a journal, in solitary confidence

ignoble in my intrusion, with selfish insolence


Are you anymore a friend than the medicine that sedates me

calms and quiets my anxiety?

If I use you all the same?

Am I any less in need of help if my reputation predates me?

And I am both a label and a name?

I am choking on my misery today, lungs filled with lead

spread my disease, inhale the smoke of my fire and fill yourself with dread.
write
please read and enjoy
Third Eye Candy Nov 2018
The feral corona of my precious sunspot; sings from the heart
of a collapsing star… without moons or harmony.
Only the perfect sound of a  Lost Hope
building a fire to defy it. A fire so cold it yearns to conflagrate
like an imperial furnace of wishful thinking…
A life, become an Om -
Like an Omen,

{ a bluebird choking on a song }

And winking.
Third Eye Candy Jan 2020
whiskey neat in a thumbnail chapel on the edge of the world
coated in black honey turning blue for a cause.
scribbling on napkins of unkempt self-harm
while garnering the empathy
of a dead god.
praying to the withers of a horsemen
for the lack of women
on the ranch
your stars are
sleeping on,

coy chattel herding thoughts of a flume
marching against clear skies.
slaves to our miracle.

sipping sparks through a straw.
we are all the Other one.
summering in the ramparts
of our descent
as we winter less
in the sunspot
of our acquired
tastes-
so long, lives the waste
of our time
till each tick
is a boom
whispering the egress
of a locked door
on a cliff of
lost sky.

how beautiful my wounds today-
As long as the Healing
Lies -

like the truth of It
Unkind.

— The End —