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Aiden Williams Feb 2013
A sweet nicety
Though only tasted by those who deserve it,
Sharp as a thorn
If you ever mistreat it,
Then there is no way
that you can receive it.

Sweet,
Sweeter still.
Spice,
You'd strive to feel.
Sugar,
Only one can taste.
Love,
For only one's embrace.
A blessing,
Just to see her face.
Her eyes,
Of the purest light.
To wake up,
Within her sight.
A lift,
Akin to the highest height.
kMargaret Oct 2012
I want a book to fall into.
I want to be a part of someone else's torment
A head congested with negativity and a distracting certainty of that which I cannot know for sure
Is in itself a truth
I want to tumble into pages
Fall between the words and hang on to a question by the tip of Q's tail
Conquer U, E, S, T, I, like monkey bars
And slide myself through "O" down the rabbit hole
Taking me far away to a land unlike this one
Where a distressed and questioning mind are put at ease
Where rabbits have pocket watches, cats grin, teacakes make you taller and smaller
And boys still want you
Forget the "N" because that would mean we've reached the end of an unanswerable question
One I'm tired of asking.
I wrote this poem when I was going through a really rough time in my life (with a guy, of course). I was anxious and feeling claustrophobic in my own skin. I wanted to do anything to escape what I was feeling and I just remember wanting so desperately to be a part of someone else’s story so that I would stop plaguing myself with these paralyzing questions that I didn’t have the capacity to answer.
Alexandria Hope Jul 2015
She crawled into a little door, her hot tears cast an ocean
Pinnafore and teacakes red as blood and torn
She's alone inside her head, in little orange bottles with gin
And he's the squiggle of lines clambering for attention
A bright cacophony of dreams and warped fixation
Sometimes chained and desolate, sometimes rambling with a grin
It's always him, and he can be quite charming
One's own mind can be a nightmare,
Madness always makes a precious friend
Sam Dunlap Apr 2014
Storytelling is an art
There are many ways to do it
Singing
Preaching
Playing an instrument
Dancing
Drawing
Painting
Writing
Prose
Poetry (heh)
And the one thing they all have in common
Is that
They all
Describe emotions
Not just situations
And the stories they tell
Are portrayed
Without words
Or manipulating them
(That's called connotation, by the way)
Each story is its own
Different each time it is repeated or read
And interpreted each day it is spread
Over teacakes and chipped manicures
Over paper cups of water
Cans of Coca-Cola or Pepsi
Every day is a new day
And a new story
Yes, I know, very random. Sue me.
I forgot to look at my Facebook memories,
will that become a memory too?

ah
those things we did and do not do
won't **** us.

Intermission.

who would true Calor be
all gas and gaiters.

There's a wind blowing in,
bringing in something,
probably
not the sheaves
of corn,

but hymn or her
because
She'll always be there
we'll be warm.
When?
well, then
when?

Questions we ask
from behind the
mask.

I asked them
then
asked them again

no one talks to me anyway
and anyway it's just another
isolation day anyway.

Late lunchtime,
crunch time
just for a change
I'm eating the pasta raw.
(april 2020)

.day 40..

i hear them say that it is the solitude of lockdown
that brings these words

perhaps they are right
who knows really

there is that word again
even on my shopping card

a sticker so that i recognise that
it is not the other one though the

accounts merge into one these days

she takes it when she goes shopping
on tuesdays in the little coin purse
with the bow

it is that detail or dots which attracts me

she needed a more precise description than

buns

so i explained that not being fussy hot cross ones
teacakes or plain  will be nice
suffice
and she got extra large
some beans and tinned
peaches

left in a bag
in the shade

with the receipt
tucked neatly

you see james how deep the thoughts this
lockdown
said sarcastically
with careful spelling

i am still drawing joan now with summer attire

i am still drawing james

a longer walk to the toll along the old railway track
long gone

saw the herons balancing the tops of trees at hengwrt
skinny legs and battle cries

stood the bridge a while
remembered

(stay safe
eat your veg)
(April 2020)

.day 40..

i hear them say that it is the solitude of lockdown
that brings these words

perhaps they are right
who knows really

there is that word again
even on my shopping card

a sticker so that i recognise that
it is not the other one though the

accounts merge into one these days

she takes it when she goes shopping
on tuesdays in the little coin purse
with the bow

it is that detail or dots which attracts me

she needed a more precise description than

buns

so i explained that not being fussy hot cross ones
teacakes or plain  will be nice
suffice
and she got extra large
some beans and tinned
peaches

left in a bag
in the shade

with the receipt
tucked neatly

you see james how deep the thoughts this
lockdown
said sarcastically
with careful spelling

i am still drawing joan now with summer attire

i am still drawing james

a longer walk to the toll along the old railway track
long gone

saw the herons balancing the tops of trees at hengwrt
skinny legs and battle cries

stood the bridge a while
remembered

(stay safe
eat your veg)

— The End —