Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kurt Carman Jun 2016
Memaw & Pepaw ..Mason Dixon Saturday night,
Just sippin' muscadine wine by the Tennessee moonlight
Rockin' chairs...Zenith Black and White
Roy, Buck, Minnie Pearl a Hee Haw delight.

Crickets a chirpin' and a Frogs a croakin'
Toe tapin' rhythm's got em all in motion.
Corn fields swaying like a metronome
Watching those two dance to cotton eye Joe!

Sunday mornings best at the Church of Christ,
Me, I'm Thinkin' bout Memaws country gravy, my fav-o-rite!
Fried Chicken, taters, eggs sunny side right,
These are the memories I like to recite.
I sure do miss you both. Hoeing okra and and mustered greens on Sunday afternoon. That **** rooster Ichabod having his way with those Rhode Island Red hens as Cecil and I laughed our ***** off. Making a sign for your hen house that read "Martins Chicken Hilton" and the day you died doing what you loved. I know your out there Cecil and Drewetta. I'll see you someday soon!
Ira Aug 2018
The Fire-Brush is alive As The wind blows around,
Causing there seeds to be flung abound.

The wind turns red and seeds shred the sky,
My face is filled with ****** specks and I see the wind dance with the red and blue July.

The blush of the tree I sit in shakes,
As the firey skies make the blue trees bark quakes,
And the crimson seeds overtakes.

The wind then blows pass with all the fire brushes spawn,
Letting the sky clear beautifully like a new dawn.
I, swaying in the blue trees red leaves smile,
as I take off all the seeds from me.

Then I looked up to see the cloudless sky,
And gaze at magnificent red, yellow and blue sunset.
The seeds then glow red in my hand, and I smile,
because now I have a night light waiting for the dawn.

I look down at the brush and see the red gone,
All taken by the wind, all the seeds to be spread on,
All to be thrown across the world for the brushes lineage to give spawn.

Now I wait for the dusk and the moon,
Letting the Fire Brushes seed shine,
As I wait for that faithful dragoon.
I based this off a picture I was shown by some random internet ******* Chatous. So I dedicate this poem to her.
I hear my heart
singing out loud-
I feel my heart
swaying to the beat-
My heart knows
the tune it hears-
My heart knows
the movement to this dance-
This lonely song
has gone on too long-
Not taking a chance
to break and crumble-
I wanna sing
to my love song-
I wanna sway
to my love dance-


COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
DivineDao May 2016
Your paws are comforting.
Furry forhead leans on my arm,
and strokes me in a cute cat caress.

You highlight my after noon, highten
my senses, you open your closed eyes, rising your friendly head, giving me one long stearn glance, which I capture directly and take it within my main focus, melting a bit, forgetting the world and its ***** duties.

Absorbing your shimmering love, your momentary devotion and reciprocal adoration: I thank you, beauty-eyed-cat! Thank you, cosmos, for this magic-meow-pal! For all of them!

Then you swirl and spin around me,
and wager upon the books on my right bedside.
Not appealing much, from the cuddly, resting point of view: hard and edgy are their corners.

When your purrs finaly find the nearness by my left hip, your puffy tale starts swaying up and down in a content slow motion.

I gently grab your lynx-like ear and shake your elegant head; most lovingly, whispering silly little things, only you and I would understand.
Books on the right:
- "Song of the Deer"
- "The Mastery of Love"
- "Eat, love, pray"
- "Indian fairytales and legends"
Cress Rosario Jan 2017
You would find her underneath the oldest tree
Paints on her hands; dreams in her head
Stroking stories she never told
Painting a world of her own

You would find her lost in the deepest part of her heart
Swaying under the sun in an open field
As the sunlight showers down her face,
Her heart drifts her away and away.
morrigan Aug 2018
pulsating underneath my tingling human flesh
trillions of red blood cells dancing and swaying
simmering underneath my dreary basset hound eye bags
flaming fire and desire born out of my own need for sleep
shaking are my cold and violent hands
while my body pouts that it does not get its way

if my physical manifestation were free
it would spend a million dollars on things it doesn’t need
if my legs broke out of their rightful imprisonment
they would dance until they were drenched in a sticky humid sweat

chains bound my wrists to prevent my imminent collapse
from the rush of a mind blowing high i did not endorse
i will sit in silence on the edge of my seat and wait
for the rollercoaster ride from hell to end
Morgan Kelley Feb 2015
And while I leave the docks,
they like to linger with me.
Motion beneath my feet
CZ Sep 2013
You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because, in one of the

spun sugar fragile sequences of the events in your life, it works

out. There is a place, somewhere amidst star stuff and cosmic

collisions, where you are not the problem daughter or the

biggest disappointment or the most regretted kiss. There is a

place where you sink into a desk in your eight a.m. class and

a boy with bags under his eyes and a hole-y sweater pulled

over his knuckles says, "hi." There is a place where your father

comes back from the war with sand grit in his eyes, blood

under his fingernails and lets you save him.  There is a place

where you live in India, where you aren't afraid to love, where

everything hurts less, where you stopped punishing yourself for

the faults of your parents. You are a girl. Not a dart board or a guilty

verdict or the final, desperate ****** of a sword through

someone's chest. You are made of the same stuff as Marie

Antoinette and Catherine the Great and Elizabeth, and you

can command the winds too. You aren't going to **** yourself

tonight because no one ever asked you about the scars on your

thighs but that doesn't make them nonexistent or unimportant.

You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because you've grown:

stronger in some ways and weaker in others, but you are still

a result of rhapsodies in violet and trees bowed to the sea

and soldiers with wind burn on their cheeks. Tonight, you are

going to wrap your own arms around your own chest and

breathe, swaying silently to no music. You are going to

memorize the sound of silence, and you are going to listen hard

for the even, jagged, pitter patter of your heart. You are going

to thank your body for waging war against itself, you are going

to apologize to your head for bruising your heart. You are going

to feel the roughness of the floor and the vastness of the entire

world and all of the eventualities spread before you. You are

going to remember that this is only one, that atoms and

molecules are flighty, whimsical, prone to selfishness and

longing for the promise of stability. You are going to press your

lips to your own wrists and know, as surely as Anne Boleyn

knew when she walked to the guillotine, that no one can save

you but yourself. You aren't going to **** yourself tonight

because you are not an accident of the multiverse. You are

purposeful and beautiful and young and reckless with your

feelings, but you are not a mistake. Listen to the trembling

of your heartbeat and breathe. You aren't going to **** yourself

Gabrielle Isa Apr 2017
Deep breaths okay?
D E E P  B R E A T H S.
Turns on sink tap
Its okay, I'll just rinse it off
Then I can really see how much damage is underneath.
Holds head
Its fine, its fine, I'll take the pain killers later.
After...I'm clean again, yeah, after.
Looks at arms
Oh thank gosh! None on the arms,
I don't have to wear the long sleeves again
Starts to sway
Why am I swaying?
I've taken worse before, just a few more minutes
I can do this, deep breaths, okay?
I've got this.
Washes face and murmurs
I should leave, I really should
I don't deserve this, I can do better, I can...
Lips tremble
But maybe I can't, maybe he's right, maybe nobody can love me.
What if nobody will love me?
Stares into mirror
No, no, I won't leave, not yet.
Said it was the last time, but thats what he said the first time,
And I...
Continues washing face
No I'll stay, its okay, just a little bruising
Nothing I can't cover up.
I can do this, I can do this...
Its okay,
He Loves Me.
I've been thinking a lot on abuse in relationships and so I feel like making this a series, will explore different types and aspects of it.
allanbrunmier Nov 2019
While the sun is daying
trees are swaying
now, clouds are greying

doesn’t heaven ever sleep
has the sky begun to weep
tears started to leap

wow, the gods are really sobbing
they have my emotions throbbing
Lot May 2017
Every queen must have a throne,
but mine is cheap and flimsy.
A plastic chair made in China,
worth less than a dollar,
swaying under my weight.
To stay from falling,
whenever I sit,
I keep myself light and fit.
I stay perched in reticence,
balancing the paper crown
upon my jaded head.
As tendrils of brown hair,
fall to the floor in plain.
Hands and feet crossed,
bound in leather and chains.
Try not to be your own worst enemy.
Catalina Oct 2018
Oceans of swaying arms
Holding skateboards or coffee

Remember, passerby’s eyes
Are not the same as horizons.
I move
Like I swim
That is to say
I know how to still my body
Long enough to float.

Gospel screaming to me
Through broken headphones,
Foghorn booms
“I’ll die when I’m mother ******* ready”
“I’ll die when I’m mother ******* ready”

Remember, upturned chin,
Never to stop.
When you find
Sunken feathers that cling to pavement
In unforgiving embrace,
You will build an alter,
And continue

To move
With two feet
And no grace
Emma Feb 2017
A small clearing surrounded by trees,
Everything is bright and vibrant.
A crisp breeze blowing,
Swaying the grass.

The ground is covered by rocks
Of various shapes, colors, and sizes.
Bladed grass and ivy-like plants
Growing in the cracks of the stones.

A small white butterfly fluttering about,
So full of beauty and life:
Like the sweet-smelling flowers,
So simple with a fragrance of purity.

A soft breeze blows rustling the leaves,
Seeming to shush the world.
All is still, obeying the command,
And all around is at peace.
Written June 2016
Next page