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Patricia LeDuc Mar 2018
Behind the majestic maple tree
The sky changing to gray
I hear the deep rumbling warning
From thunder not far away
There is a thickness in the air
A sign it’s coming your way
The rain comes
But to my surprise
When the rain stops
A beauty of nature
Sparkling on the pine tree you see
Little droplets of rain diamonds
Shine on
The wind wrestles with my hair
And fills my cheeks with pink.
The thickness of the day
Surrenders to the coolness of the night.
Fleeting hues of violet and yellow
Set my heart on fire:
A promise of warmth.
The world is still,
But the fire goes out and the shadows flood in
Unveiling the deepest depths of darkness
The stars scream out:
The sun will rise again,
The sun will rise again.
Saint Audrey Mar 2017
Under the mantle of this world
The thickness of the storm clouds
Perpetual, thorough
Meeting the foam crest of the waves
Dark enough to hide intentions

Walking along the tired rocky shore
A stretch common, tasteless to all but the vaguest sense
Some spray, felt deep along the sides of the tongue
The sobering corpse, I found
Still clawing at the stones

I can feel the tears well in my eyes
There is nothing I can do
Empathetic thoughts blow through my mind
Cold strains of tainted breath
His voice is cold air, so dissimilar
And with every trace of dogma
Such overused platitudes
Yet I hold fast to that stringent emotion  

He knows me
He knows what I used to be, and what brought me to who I am
I watch him

He tries to pry, bone exposed at the fingertips
Why did this come to me
Filled with pity, I bend down
I comfort him

The host burst
And now I feel it
Moving though the back of my skull
It's tendrils become rooted
The eyes see though my own
And it swallows what It will

The desperate remains inside me scream at it
But it's just rotten flesh

And there's nothing left for me
Now and forever
Behind the membrane
in total darkness
now open your eyes
let the light in

thickness of the eyelid
more or less
the mind of the racist
Hindered by progress, or the idea of progress:
evolution-in-waiting bellows me to hide,
tattering becomes ruination.

Animism creeps,
not-yet hands pushing at dim velvet.
Peeping one-eyed through the past
where had borne such potent promise
immutability lain intact
flumped into snowy thickness
and thrown hard against Georgian glass.

Here comes the stealth of unillumination
thankfully blanketing
they were tied at the hips
and neck,
then wrapped as old mirrors.

That door went nowhere
it always does
those Victorians, forever meddling,
will folly themselves into any trouble.

You haven’t changed one bit!
I say to myself,
showing you their brand new niceness
***** as copper pans.
Go on, spit in my fire
the hiss is the thing that’s real.
Hayley Aug 2016
Being normal is so overrated
Everyone's in pain everyone is jaded
The realm of creativity
Is the place to be
Flowing and feeling the energy
Dispense your sixth sense
Onto humanity
If your third eye is blind
You have to open your mind
To the channels we have inside
That connect with the universe and combine
Our thoughts and our words into something divine
I promise normalcy is a sickness
Do you feel your aura?
If there's a thickness
Then you need to clean it out
Speak with a whisper, there's no need to shout
It clogs your soul
And you need to know
How to let go
Of whats not really you
Deprogram yourself, become brand new
Wipe off what society has done  
Face your problems, don't just run
Step out of the shadows and into the sun
Feel yourself and close your eyes
Feel your energy and become more wise
Free yourself for just a moment of your time
Just sit still, stop trying to climb
This present moment is all that is real
No past, no future, no time, no wheel
When I say everything is an illusion it's not an exaggeration
We create what we want with our imagination
If that's the truth, what reality are you making
Are you being true to yourself or are you just faking
The paranormal is more real than what we see
Not believing institutional lies is the key
Be true to who you are
Show off your love and show off your scars
Your clothes are worthless and so are your cars
The realest you is made of pure light
And it flickers and dims when you're trying to fight
No need to resist
Put down your fist
Open yourself to what's all around
Pull yourself up off the ground
Nothing is against you but your own self
Become the books on the library shelf
Full of perspective, depth, and knowledge
Don't be programmed by a government run college
Think for yourself and don't stop growing
Expand as big as the galaxy and don't stop flowing
You're the micro of the macro, which is the universe
Save the world, but take care of you first
You can't save anything when you're drowning in doubt
Your soul knows something is wrong that's why it's trying to shout
It's telling you that what you're doing needs change
Don't you realize you're feeling a little bit strange?
Take accountability for your co-creation
What you're seeing right now is of your own manifestation
You're not a victim, you're actually in charge
If you don't like how you're feeling then open your arms
Give yourself a hug and stop all the hate
Love is always the answer, it's not a debate
Love yourself, the world, and everything around
528 hertz is the life changing sound
The vibration which is the frequency of love
Feel it, embody it, wear it like a glove
Magic happens when you're totally in tune
Come sit with me beneath the moon
We will make a new intention and set it in motion
Make waves of change in this consciousness ocean
Find love within and stay unique
This society wants to mold you and make you weak
Protest them by knowing your soul
That's the most potent power you'll ever hold
S I N 1d
Only outlinings you can see
Of certain buildings in the mist
And not even one single tree
Is visible as in the east
No sun’s bright rays even permeate
Through the thickness of this foggy grid
Jovanni Oct 2018
Past and present lovers all in one chamber united for a cause, Seconds seems endless and minutes like an eternity.
With each face an attachment of memory which intends to haunt my daydreams and nightmares.
Many a days pass by without a sign of those ghost and then this, my life seems to be lost in the glare of their eyes.
Each time I glance at them I see how the lust I felt is more like a forsaken blossom lost in the mist of a low lying fog, with its thickness it chokes at my throat never to rise and dissipate.

And eyes open to see the textured ceiling and scent of myrrh brings me back to safety of my soft comfortable bed.
Tashea Young Jul 16
Dear Black girl
I love the graceful like movement of which you twirl
You are One of the only Real jewels in this delusional world
I love the Density of your mind and how it adds volume to the thickness of your Beautifully defined curls
I love the way The infinite comic skies glow within your diamond filled moonlight eyes
It’s like Watching the Sun set and Rise
You embrace your Inner G You speak your  colorful native tongue in vibes
So fluently
Pure Energy
You Are A frequency and you flow to the wave of your own ride
Black Girl I love the way your bodacious figure carries that sacred space called heaven safely between your thunderous thighs
I love The way your skin gives life to that blissful Melanin that let’s the world know you were sculpted and crafted straight from the Divine’s hands and placed into the womb of heaven
You are A Joyous Blessin’
There’s No Guessin
A whole Garden, a Goodness Of Perfection
There’s no word or picture that can capture the Power of your Magnificent Essence
You carried this deep within the fibers of your being every since you were just an adolescent
A Temple Of Gold
Walking Tall and Bold
That no naked eye could behold
Just So **** Mesmerizing and Beautiful!
You’ve been chosen from the vine like grapes to unfermented wine.
Never to age but the savoring flavor of your nature’s nectar it just gets better over time!
Nik Bland Oct 2018
I’m slowly losing hope in you
Possibly in humanity
And I might need to rethink my views
Or maybe my sanity
I’ve tried, applied, cried, and died
With more of the first in between the others
I build up visions and am finding they lied
And I’m left wond’ring if I’ll recover
I’m slowly losing hope in you
I’ve not falling, but it hurts to stand
As life steadily beats me black in blue
With my beating heart in your hands
And I’m tired. And I’m scared.
And I’m lacking from too many investments
And in waiting for you to be there
I’m succumbing to the elements

I’m slowly losing hope in you
Like shedding one tear each day
And as much as I want to leave you behind
I don’t want you to go away
It’s a syndrome, it’s a sickness
You’re my ailment and my cure
I am caught in this self placed thickness
With visions so obscured
And I am buried in 6 feet deep
Yet I can’t find the ground
The value’s there, the price is steep
And I fall to it without a sound
I’m slowly losing hope in you
I have not wandered, I have not strayed
Amidst the fervent treasonous cues
That cause the pouring of fermented rage

And I love you
But I’ll lose you
And I’ll suffer through and through
With soul and heart churning
First clenched up and burning
And my screaming for a simple cue
But I’ll stand there amidst tears, my love
Without a hint or a whisper of what to do
And you can see I’m fighting with all I’m made of
I haven’t lost hope...

...but I’m starting to...
Love *****... sometimes... most times... but there a few moments it adds up...
my world is a life boat,
a nursery rhyme construction
of wood and tired paint;
almost safe
almost stable
almost dry
almost real

I have crafted it from pure will
and grip tight with aching fingertips
even as I stare over the edge
at everything I want to know.

Everything I fear.

because the ocean makes no promises,
it is a story told in real time,
destination unknown

and I sip at the flavour of it,
let the rich and briny thickness
of it coat my tongue
and dry crisp against my skin.

And I pretend at understanding

With loving reverence, I curate tales
of its inky black mysteries
and full spectrum shining life,

I watch it flash and froth beneath the surface.
out of reach.

But I have never let it take me whole,
never let the rhythm of it press against my flesh,
never danced with waves from the inside,
never dared to open my eyes in salt water.

And I wonder
if I have resigned myself
to growing old here?
CarolineSD Oct 18
You are sitting alone by the tallest trees of the forest,
Perched quietly on that stone that was turned over by the erosion of silted banks;
The wild river, a little ways off,
But still the roar of it fills the air.
Your hands are clasped in front of you
And your backpack is slung to the side.
Above your quiet form,
The mountains rise like citadels
And their alpine slopes abound with pines
Like sentinels, watching,
Hiding the yellow eyed wolves
That dart within.
But they will not approach you.
They also attend the dusk,
And the secrets it brings.
The singing of the coyotes
Calls the stars out
One by one,
Emerging in a deepening blue,
While the fire of the sun’s descent
Subsides too,
Into blackness.

The night birds call.

I am here, my love.
Can you see my silhouette against the moon?
The darkness between us thickens
Like blood from a wound.

Reach for me

High above you, a white owl alights,
Beating its ragged wings against the thickness
Of the wilderness;
The dark shadows of the pines, motionless,
Yet, I shake.

Reach for me

You shift your weight and turn to face
The space where I stand.
You lift your hand as if
To gently place my hair
Behind my ear,

Remember how you always loved to do that
When I was here?

You touch me, almost!
We are so **** close!

You are crying now, alone,

The night birds sing to a ghost.
aj Dec 2018
I experienced
and I wrote:

When I think of you I feel like I am going to cry.
Well, I don't cry
but my stomach decides to cave in and collide with some sort of fluttering that feeds into my lungs
my heartbeat turns into more of a tick

into my stomach a small rock is dropped
it rolls around at the bottom
slowly it gets hot
the heat spreads up my throat and across my chest radiating down to where my elbows meet the inside of my forearms
from there, the energy pulses to my fingertips
its like buzzing but with the addition of tiny little ******
I feel that in my wrists

The heat grows heavier on my chest
now I feel it a bit behind my eyes
my hands that pulsed now throb along with my thighs
now the rock in my stomach decides to put press up on my spine
it tickles in a way that makes me want to laugh to relieve the pressure

I laugh but laughing leaves me feeling winded
my esophagus now thinly coated with a foggy thickness
the word that comes to mind when I think of it is dread

my spine is now a magnet that my ribs want to meet
I breathe out
they sink back towards my spine, reaching for something
my breathing feels forced but at the same time I can't control it

my thighs feel warm and almost swollen
my feet are already cold
each hair on my head seems to gain a pulse
certain ones even feel electric
the stinging in my nose tries to curdle my expression
I try not to let it
but my nose wants my cupid's bow and my jaw wants the corners of my mouth

the rock shifts around again, renouncing itself
my ribs suddenly collapse causing my to inhale my own exhaled breath
the stinging in my nose rides up behind my eyes and

(this is where I usually stop it, often with speech or with another laugh
images carry away sensation
I place them back into those mental pictures of pastimes and things potential and things yet to come, replacing the label with "sadness" with "hope"

knowing now that the rock is just my heart, it finds its way back up to the tiny box where it beats on the walls, constantly trying to find its way back out

I remember that hearts do good
I remember my lips, only then do I realize that they had gone numb
I think of warmth

the stinging in my arms, the picks and the pulses in my fingertips
those are the only things I can't beat
the energy at the inside of my elbows goes back up to my chest and  hovers over my heart

the hovering feeling never goes away

but I remember this energy is mine to live with and move on)

but if I don't stop, if there is a sense of weakness to my day
I feel the urge to smile almost
the burning in my eyes gets hotter, it usually comes in bursts
my vision turns to stained glass
the rock starts punching its way up my spine
my lower eyelids want to sink back towards my face, my eyebrows try to tie themselves in a bow
I try not to blink

If I'm lucky, my eyes tear up
If I'm not, tears roll down

my stainless masterpiece ruined by a contorted, conflicted smile-frown

I feel air on my tears
I breathe out and remember thought

my hands want to hold
my arms want to hug
my lips are numb but they know jut as well

that the catalyst has come full circle on this one, love
With this poem (monologue?) I had no intention other than to report with words the physical side of emotion. I just wrote as if I was reporting objective, physical sensations. My hope is to make this a series, maybe reflecting in this way within contrasting moments? Or maybe have other people report their own descriptions? Who knows where it will go. But please, enjoy.
Nwanyibuife Dec 2018
A silence like death
Breezed into my soul
And kindled flames of oblivion
One so deep and dark shadows thinned out
A thick cloud of darkness
Clung to me
Even in the blinding rays of sun
Like a pet serpent would to its mistress

In this darkness
Nothing else existed
Not the silver streak of moonlight
As it peeped to earth
Through thick clouds of rain
Nor sweet singing of nightingales
And melody of trees dancing in the wind
Not a single life; a dead existence

Yet I loved it
Its deadness, nonexistence, secrecy
Its soft cold bite of the silence
As it sliced every piece of my heart to bits of bits
Its thickness
Coated the evil that lurked within and without
Sparing myself and others
The gory sight of my decaying mind
And foul stench of my rotten past reeking of mistakes

It left me lonely and broken
Yet rocked me like steady waves
In its cradle of safety
A chip off a diamond rock, it was
Broken but beautiful

But that was before you
Before dawn broke its way into my soul
Melting away the fence of ice
That kept my beating heart
From straying in search of warmth of light
Showing flowers; with their splashes of colour and fragrance
That in the sands of my mind
Lay a home fit for growth

Before you came
And showed me that darkness
Could never draw the last breathe from my pain and pasts
Nor could silence
Devour the crackling of flames that burnt within
Rather it made nothing of my broken pieces
Causing me to disappear in bits to oblivion
I had always hated thunderstorms when I was younger.  The thickness in the air combined with the way the clouds blocked out any light and, of course, the thunder.  They always made me feel uneasy, or even a little bit afraid.  They gave me brutal headaches, which my mother always reassured me was simply a side effect of the rise in air pressure, but I always associated the pain with the storm itself.  Thunderstorms gave me a sense of hopelessness, a sense that was I trapped and that there was nothing I could do about it.  At night, they kept me awake, huddled underneath a sheet, while I held onto a sliver of hope that the sun might rise and break through the clouds, and that the storm might end soon.

As I’ve grown older, however, I’ve learned to love thunderstorms.
They’re so familiar, and oddly enough, rather comforting.  The darkness has become something that I can hide behind, rather than something that was trapping me in.  The brutal headaches have become something that I can make disappear with a few extra shots of espresso, even though my mother always tells me to lighten up a little on the caffeine.  These storms have become something like the sheet I used to hide under when I was younger, something that almost protects me from the things that make me afraid.

I hide under the thunderstorms now.  They are my favorite part of summer.
Travis Green Jul 15
I loved the way his ****
made me feel in the midnight,
how its strong instrument made
me want to cuddle and caress
its blazing cityscape, how its
supreme existence stretched
in the air like a beautiful rainbow,
like a scintillating skyscraper.
His breathtaking thickness
moving my body in various places,
my brown skin all sweaty and covered
in his tantalizing pleasures, my eyes
bulging, lips wanting, longing to be
a strong syllable pressed against
his pulsating *****, to stroke
its hard surface with my hands,
lathering it with spit as I ******
the deepest layers of it’s appealing
world.  And I wanted to take in
everything from the depths of his
exuberant head to his majestic *****,
luminescent literature I could fall
in love with and never stop
reading, a glorious city street
filled with numerous masterpieces,
riveting attractions, dizzy stoplights
shining bright colors, deep definition,
notorious nonfiction, jamming basslines,
heavenly equations, and sophistication
gravitating towards higher frequencies.  
His trigger flaming **** reigns supreme
throughout the nation, the birth of an
astonishing king bringing funky vibes
across jazzy constellations, amplifying
drums rocking and rolling away, lost
in the good times, lost in the diamond
language soaring in the sky, all timeless
escapes, swaying rhythms, sound movements,
islands of the brightest desires where artistic
creations shimmer like a fascinating fireplace.
And all the electrifying energy reaching
incandescent galaxies, pouring sweet nectar
out from the fountains of boundless love,
the smooth ******* erupting, crushing,
luscious, smoking soul of jumping
engines, poetry of passion, infinite,
sensual, meaningful, phenomenal
patterns reverberating in Saturn.
When the light will tell the thickness of poems,
When the rain washes the letters,
I will come from ancient times past
A mechanical rusty doll.

On the wall nakalabay a few words.
I even will not be enough.
About the others, gone before, fighters,
The ones that are gone.

It won't be the eternal "punks not dead".
We're not that *****.
We're stuck with corks in our stomachs.,
We're just tin cans.

If someone reads my text on the wall,
The creak this song will.
But there's no difference in footprints.
The prints of the feet of we the people.
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. -- Percy Bysshe Shelley

The nightingale sings to itself.
But its melodious message flies
far from the bird's tiny tongue.
The song soars beyond her beak;
catches fire in another's nest.
Like listens to like; that is the mystic
chord of the forest, in which singer
and listener unite, trading nuance
and beauty for nuance and beauty.

The nightingale sings to itself.
But only one self grasps her poetry:
the Oversoul of nature; the universal
spirit of art. There is no bird
ululating in isolation; its voice
penetrates the darkness, the thickness
of the forest; it echoes in the twigs
of empty nests. Music always flees to
another's ears, forever reverberating within.
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