Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sean Hunt Mar 2018
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time
Nobody says what they think, these days
Every word’s got to be weighed
Our mouths stay shut most of the time
It’s too easy to commit a crime
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Candid camera has your back
and has your front too
You have no secrets anywhere
Someone’s watching you
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Paper trails track you down
from town to town
Your mobile phone knows where you go
where you run around
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Your Facebook trail tells the tale
of you and all your friends
who you know, where you go
the beginning and the end
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

If you take a lady for a ride
and your car’s a little fast
make sure that all your windows
have some tinted glass
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Every iris is different
like a bullet from a gun
Soon an eye in the sky will be
watching everyone
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time
Nikki Nikos Jan 2020
Some people long for a life
full of adventure, to have that heart racing,
full of adrenaline, to push forward.

Some people just want to be loved.
The hopeless romantics who sit down,
in the coffee shop, coffee steaming,
music playing, misty eyes,
as the next romantic novel
sweeps you off your feet.

As I delve into these worlds of
romance and adventure,
every step is like walking on a tightrope
each page is me,
walking on a tightrope,or on broken glass,
careful to not spill....careful to not fall...
fall into the pain and despair of heartbreak.

Between book and real life,
In a book it's so much easier to
fall from that tightrope,
to delve deeper and deeper
into the beautiful and passionate love stories,
and to never rise from them again

but then the wave of water crashes down,
slapping me back to reality.
back into real life.

Each time I fall in love,
I don't vow to give some of my heart.
No.
Like a tightrope, I stretch
and all my heart
LOVES , it stretches to love
every fiber and flaw of that person.
I dive in, not afraid to drown,

I leap into a new adventure of love,
as my feelings unravel like
a spool of thread....
walking on a tightrope, I do dangerous leaps
with my heart each time, risking heartbreak,
risking sadness and despair,
all for that little thrill..

I'm walking on a tightrope each time,
the tightrope of my heart, as it leaps
into another possible heartbreak.
Each rejection hits me, and I fall from that
tightrope.

Practice makes perfect, they say.
So as I vow to not ever step on that tightrope again....
to vow that my heart has shriveled up and died....
It somehow never does.

So I prepare my best smile.
Guard and patch my heart,
once more as I pray now.
As I step on the tightrope,
once
again.
Make them suffer, fall in love
Words dripping with emotion
You're the singer....alchemist
Words and Music are your potion
Make them cry, laugh, and sing
Make them react to every line
Stir the *** some....Alchemist
On a tightrope made of rhyme

One chance is all you get
Working without a net
No one will hear you fall
You're tightrope is made of words
On stage at the Bluebird
You've only one chance...that's all

Write your thoughts out, share your dreams
Do it in three four time
Put it to music, bring them along
On your musical tightrope line
Go out and sell yourself, nightly
And make them feel what is inside
Remember, you're up on a tightrope
And each night, is a completely new ride

One chance is all you get
Working without a net
No one will hear you fall
You're tightrope is made of words
On stage at the Bluebird
You've only one chance...that's all


There's no support but words and music
At the Bluebird, you're on your own
Make them a part of you, do the best you can do
Make them all family, sing to them each...alone
Don't forget don't look down, just focus on the light
Come on now, Alchemist, stir the *** some more
Make them all cry again, make them remember when
Sing from the tightrope and they'll fall in love once more

One chance is all you get
Working without a net
No one will hear you fall
You're tightrope is made of words
On stage at the Bluebird
You've only one chance...that's all
Seraphina Jan 2019
The Tightrope
I know I said he's my favorite
And it's true.
But, he can't always attend to my needs
He can't always do everything
Like I want him to do.

Because he has his own life, you know?
His own friends
Who he likes better than me

And I get that, really
Maybe you don't understand
But take this for example:
During a birthday party, he was there
I didn't talk to him at all
Why?
Because he acted so happy
Shouting, "Why is this game teaching kids to do drugs?"
When someone yelled that he got "four-twenty" coins playing Super Mario Kart
And I didn't want to ruin it.

Because I'm afraid
Afraid if I do something
I'll tip the candle
And break the tightrope

But you're like, he's not like that.
He'll still be your friend.
Whatever you did.
He's not that mean, right?

I'll have to remind you
It wasn't always like this
It took a long time
For us to be even friends.

I mean, think about it
I thought he hated me for half a year last year,
And at one point, he really did.
Not even that, look before
All those years
That had passed

And remember,
When there was a barrier?
That may have changed
But only for one part:
Online

Because I'm afraid
Afraid if I do something
I'll tip the candle
And break the tightrope

I should be grateful
That we got this far
How he still cares
Even if only a little

I shouldn't be sad
And so I distract myself
From dreams
That could never be true
And then I wake up

So I'm afraid
Afraid if I do something
I'll tip the candle
And break the tightrope

And blindfolded I'll fall
----------
The Candle
You may be the blindfolded tightrope walker
That can fall if you tip the candle
But the candle is just another car crash
On a highway, as
The candle never burns fast enough
To cut the tightrope
You may get to the other side
And the rope is only singed
Besides, I can be the net below you
So don’t be afraid
I'll always be here for you
eliza bonnet Jan 2014
Im walking alone on a tightrope
and nobodys noticed im not home
i wish it could be simple
like an answer to an easy riddle

but i know
that you know

were all walking alone on our tightropes
with no where to go
and no one to hold
and all alone on this tightrope
we're falling apart
just fall in place

i've been everywhere
ive been here and there
but that doesnt mean that its all okay
no its not okay
because we're all tearing apart
and its breaking all our hearts
but alone
we stay on our tightrope

just one step to take
and then it will be okay
i will love you through life and death
and honor you till your last breath

you got me all alone on my tightrope
we're alone
but we're almost home
Eevee Feb 2018
I am walking a tightrope,
it's all an adventure,
with a breath taking view.
I am walking a tightrope.

I will lean to the left,
and fall,
fall into the bottomless pit,
i am walking a tightrope.

I stay in place,
i will leave,
to never come home,
never to fly away from the nest.
i am walking a tightrope.

I will not stay in place,
but i will not,
lean left,
or right.
i will fly,
but i will go my own way.
i am walking a tightrope.
This is part of a song, it is from the greatest showman. Sorry people.
Some people long for a life that is simple and planned
Tied with a ribbon
Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land
To follow what's written
But I'd follow you to the great unknown
Off to a world we call our own
Hand in my hand
And we promised to never let go
We're walking a tightrope
High in the sky
We can see the whole world down below
We're walking a tightrope
Never sure, never know how far we could fall
But it's all an adventure
That comes with a breathtaking view
Walking a tightrope
With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
With you
Mountains and valleys, and all that will come in between
Desert and ocean
You pulled me in and together we're lost in a dream
Always in motion
So I risk it all just to be with you
And I risk it all for this life we choose
Hand in my hand
And you promised to never let go
We're walking a tightrope
High in the sky
We can see the whole world down below
We're walking a tightrope
Never sure, will you catch me if I should fall?
Well, it's all an adventure
That comes with a breathtaking view
Walking a tightrope
With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
With you
With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
With you, ooh, ooh, ooh
With you
Never sure, will you catch me if I should fall?
Lilly White Feb 2011
Everyday as I walk down the street,
I see a boy walking on a thin rope
He is ***** and very skinny
His clothes are wrinkled
His hair is scruffy
But I could see so much in him
The people watch
As the tightrope walker walks
Yet I stare amorously
Trying to figure out his story
I am in love with the tightrope walker
And one day,
I will walk the rope
With him...
And I will tell him
What my heart is telling me
Because past that tightrope walker,
Is a boy I once knew
(c) 2011 Lilly White
SøułSurvivør Aug 2018
She rolls along the high wires
Tightrope walkin' moon
She graces life's big circus
She is gone too soon

Huge! A glowing fairie
So luminous! So bright!
She's suspended on the ropes
The performer of the night!

I watch her intently
As she's held aloft
Then she slips toward the hills...
... she is fallin' off!

But she bows down and curtseys!
A smile on her face
She's lost not her dancer's poise,
She maintains her grace.

Finally she exits
The horizon sets the stage
She is only a faint glow
The night has turned the page.

I'll remember her with fondness
As she danced to Claire de Lune...
In her sequined tutu

Tightrope walkin' moon.


SøułSurvivør
8/26/2018
I'm up in the wee hours... I saw the full moon suspended on a telephone wire, and couldn't help but think that she was rolling along a tightrope! She is an absolutely beautiful apparition! Thanks for reading my whimsical poem. I'm glad to be back writing here again. I will be readings again soon...
verse Feb 2018
A man walks upon a line,
A woman walks upon a line

Crimson in the half light of the moon.

He walks like a tightrope walker does,
She walks like a tightrope walker does

Each step,
Precise and accurate,
arms held out at 180 degrees.

He wobbles here and there and,
She wobbles here and there and,

Holds his breath,
Holds her breath

Each time,

But he is sure of his feet,
But she is sure of her feet

Because everytime he swings his left foot around
Because everytime she swings her left foot around

In a wide arc,

Although the toes of his left leave the heel of his right,
Although the toes of her left leave the heel of her right,

It reconciles, heel to toe,
Again.
And again.
And again.
Such is the way of life,

One man wobbling along the tightrope of existence.
One woman wobbling along the tightrope of existence.
Sky May 2016
Dance on a skeleton tightrope,
Bones strung across a bottomless hole
One foot in front of the other
With spiderwebs holding your wrists prisoner
Pill bottles around the sink
Tapping on their tiptoes
Lined up to greet you,
To pour sleepdeathdarkness down your throat
A knife spins on its scarlet-stained tip
A weeping chasm divides the solidity of your vein
Railroad tracks on snow, the crows lose their voices
And drop feathers into the frost
Feathers fill your head so you cannot thinkspeakbreathe
A kiss of sunshine tries to wake you,
But you’re too far under
The frigid waves
Palms raised to the walls of the iceberg
Lips parted to sing a song of release me please
Hushandshush no one wants to hear you cry, deary
Stitch a smile into your lips
Hide the tears that dance on your vocal strings
No one wants to see the broken doll
Who dances on cracked limbs
Porcelain dancing on thin ice, watch it
S h
A
Tte
R
Watch her fall
No one really wanted to save her after all
Dance in a nightmare, cry in a dream
The pain will make me burst at the seams
I can see the blood spilling
Onto the tile floor
It stains my eyes, it stains my heart
It digs claws into my soul to tear me apart
The fog tranforms into laughing ghosts
Their faces are the masks of tragedy
Their eyes are everything I fear
These are not words that I want to hear
A boy with eyes the color of chocolate and mahogany
Is desperate to keep me safe
But I am afraid
Even the warmest kiss cannot melt the icicles lining my veins
Here I go, to walk the skeleton tightrope,
My tears fall into the bottomless void
Behind me, the monsters ask me to fall
Ahead my soul begs me to
Put one foot
Ahead of the other
Keep walking the skeleton tightrope, forward
Into the gleaming city of hope.
Peculiar Dec 2020
Lord how do i continue?
Thy carries the freight of past horrors and future possibilities,
Upon my shoulders
Such a sense of disquietude.

I may fall due to this Lord of Light!
as every step i take on this tightrope,
flashbacks of dreadful memories come back
putting me off balance!
Nay!

I must take a step back,
or two
or fall!

Put me out of my misery Lord of mercy!
As i wobble on this rope,
trying to find my balance
How!
When their is nothing beyond this tightrope!

Lord!
All i observe into the distance is fog!
the future is bleak for me if i continue
on this tightrope!

Hail the Lord of Forgiveness!
looking behind me i see fog
what if i just jump?
from this tightrope
Melissa S Nov 2012
Sometimes I feel like I am walking the length of a tightrope while you hold all the strings
Normally I would gravitate toward your end because of it being familiar
but I also want to just let go and see what the unknown below brings

It seems I have been underestimated since day one
yes I am small
yes I do cry pretty easily ~ it's genetic
yes I am naive...mostly about seeing the good in people when it is not there
but I also have a core strength inside me that is unrelenting in times of despair

So letting go of that tightrope does not have to be the end
Closing the door to some ...just opens the door for new beginnings to receive
Happier ones too.... it does seem
Pyrrha Sep 2018
He is afraid of his future
Unsure what path to walk
Upon his tightrope of pressure
He walks without a safety net

If he looks down he falls
If he looks up he becomes dizzy
His only option is to look straight ahead
Eventually he will reach the other side to safety

But it isn’t about the start or the end
It is about the journey and the adventure in between
It will work itself out
If he keeps a level head and his balance is set

He will see his future fall in place before it's met
And kiss the thin rope he had tread
As it took him on the path that showed to him
The meaning of destiny, fate, and chance
Nameless Jul 2015
Like walking on a tightrope
Thinner than grass
There's no nets below
Better save my ***
Keep your head up high and don't look down

I look

All i see are frowns
There frowning at me
Why are they frowning at me?
What did i do?
I've  been through so much, I think i'm almost there
But the tightrope it stretches
I'll keep walking, but its not fair

The people below want me to end my life
They say "I'm not worth it" "Why go through this strife?"
Death is not the answer
Not for me anyways

So I'll keep walking this tightrope
No matter how far
I'll make it, you'll see
*Just watch me.
Kaedon May 2013
You fill the void
That's in your chest
your heart will end
all done again

Before the win
You stop ahead
Bargain for words
you left unsaid

When you cry
You never try
These lost goodbyes
aren't meant to hurt

For the cause
That I shed away
I want to stay
in this tightrope dream that I portray

And you fill the void
That's in my head
i will begin
with someone's end

Because you fall
Thought out the day
This tightrope dream
that I portray

So everytime that I'm alone I think of you,
and the pain just ends.
Now everyone that is blind folded
just take chance, and fall off the ledge.

When the flames
Burn me away
My tear drops fall
instead of rain

And you turn on this
Big lies are stripped
Out through my lips
My chance has slipped

So everytime that I'm alone I think of you,
and the pain just ends.
Now everyone that is blind folded
just take chance, and fall off the ledge.
Florence Maude Aug 2015
Maybe I could walk a tightrope
Even when the strings all broke
And maybe I wouldnt fall
And maybe I didn't have to lose it all

Maybe I didn't have to dive so deep
Deeper than six feet
Maybe then someone could hear my screams
Maybe this time someone will save me

Maybe I'll learn to escape
As everything escalates
Maybe I can save my self
For I can't see anyone else

Maybe I'll wake up anew
With the sky so blue
And all the grays I've ever known
Fading away
For the sunshine is here to stay

But for now I'll walk my tightrope
As all the other strings break
But I'll do whatever it takes
To walk my way
Ruthie Aug 2014
One foot in front of the other.
It's not that hard.
It's life dear.
Balance.
That's all you need.
And tension.
Slacking will inevitably make you fall.
I guess that's what happened then.
That's why I lost my balance.
The second I saw you,
I stopped putting one foot in front of the other.
And I began slacking in my plans.
I felt as though I was floating.
Looking into your beautiful dark eyes.
Oh how wrong was I?
So wrong.
I wasn't floating.
I was falling.
The tightrope went limp.
And I completely lost my balance.
What now?
AW Jun 2012
She keeps on falling from the tightrope
That connects her heart with his
Every first step frightens her
Thinking about how maybe this
Could be just that one chance
To reach the other side
rebecca suzanne Dec 2014
When I was little my mother put me in several ballet classes in hopes to bring some grace to my stumbling gait.

I grew up walking on eggshells, wobbling to keep my balance on a tightrope that never really ended.

 My instructor pinched my thighs and shook her bony finger at me every tuesday and thursday for three and a half years.

4 am, I'm still tiptoeing around the creaks in the stairs as if anyone would notice an empty bed.

 This Christmas I came across the broken reminents of the ballerina ornaments my younger sister used to play with.

I never did master the delicate posture I was expected to adopt. My feet fell a bit too heavy, I suppose, on the ice tonight.

I'm not cold anymore, just exhausted from attempting to balance the wrong things for too long.

My life is flashing before my eyes, but all I see is a younger version of myself practicing Grand Battements on thin ice while everyone slept.
The Tightrope said to me
"Life's a walk!"
He also said
"Death's a trip!"
Though he be but a humble Tightrope
I believe he speaks the truth.
Edward Coles May 2014
The tightrope expires
And the skyscraper hollows out.
This hate is vicious and repeated,
Repeated; repeated on the news reel,
And in a Hollywood romance.

We’re skipping generations
Through faded vinyl sound
Of dust mite and crack;
I’m folding digits over chords,
Extinguishing lovers
By turning them to songs.

Oh, reality convenes, convenes
On the mind, and on the consciousness
Of fact. Don’t steal my job,
Don’t **** my land,
And never fall asleep
Under the sun.

There is poetry to mathematics,
Scaling the harmonics of the sound,
Some universal language;
Some bottled message to our brothers
Who are looking back at us
From the distance of the stars.

And, terror is called from every side,
Until we’re terrified to eat or breathe,
In the tremor of a terror
That can never come to be.

The tightrope fell down with the buildings,
But its idea, it still lives on.
We could be on the precipice of better times,
Or under the shadow of a nuclear bomb.
c
CE Thompson Sep 2014
algorithmic street signs
with altruistic elegance
senses and the sensible
of whom Socrates is enviable
a heron, preferring solid ground
but taking to the skies with pride
for she knows that she'll accomplish both
because when born she made her oath
"dear lord, they're all asking you
to give them what they have not
but all that i would ask from you
is to give me the courage not to choose"
and so today she sings her songs
metallic and melodic, perfect balance,
and she knows she's never going to fall
because if you're in the middle, there's no gravity at all
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
English Translations of Russian Poems by Vera Pavlova

Shattered

I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Seasons

Winter―a beast.
Spring―a bud.
Summer―a bug.
Autumn―a bird.
The rest of the time I'm a woman.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pygmalion

Immortalize me!
With your bare, warm palm
please sculpt and mold my malleable snow.
Polish me until I glow.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Scales

Scales:
on the one hand joy;
on the other sorrow.
Sorrow is the weightier;
therefore joy
elevates.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Muse

A muse inspires when she arrives,
a wife when she departs,
a mistress when she’s absent.
Would you like me to manage all that simultaneously?
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Stone Wall

You, my dear, are my shielding stone:
to sing behind, or bash my head on.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fluttering

Remember me as I am this instant: abrupt and absent,
my words fluttering like moths trapped in a curtain.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Flight

I have been dropped
and fell from such
immense heights
for so long that
perhaps I still
have enough
time to learn
how to
fly.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Three versions of Vera Pavlova's "tightrope" poem:

I test the tightrope,
balancing a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I walk a tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I test the tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Vera Pavlova is a Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. She is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications. Keywords/Tags: Pavlova, Russian, translations, epigrams, woman, female, shards, seasons, scales, tightrope, child, arm, sorrow, joy, shattered, heart, broken, glass, limp, limping, barefoot, snow, sculpt, mold, polish
Terry O'Leary May 2013
AWAKENING

Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell

12 DELIRIA

1st Delirium: COLLAPSES

Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice

2nd Delirium: DESCENTS

Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted ***
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb

3rd Delirium: FATES

Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks

4th Delirium: LOST SOULS

Sunken cities, pilgrims peering... gawking,
squinting eyeballs, blazing sun
Janus facing, shepherds chasing... stalking,
friends embrace before they shun
Tearooms steaming, tumult teeming... talking,
lovers listen, poets pun
Broken stones unanchored, quaking... rocking,
slipping, falling, one by one
Beaten pathways, footsteps marking... mocking,
wedged in webs which spiders spun
Circus shelters, big tops tumbling... locking,
people pacing, soon they’re none
Numbered exits, zeros numbing... knocking,
midnight daylight’s days undone
Moon blood shackles, shivers shaming... shocking,
starlight striders streaking, stun
Hushed but harried hermits waiting... walking,
restless rainbows on the run
Pixies, elves, and echoes bouncing... balking,
fading fast when dawn’s begun
Bantum butterflies are flitting... flocking
sometimes conquered, overrun
Hocus pokus, seers focus... squawking,
voodoo wavered, witchcraft won

5th Delirium: INTROSPECTION

Sundown furnace, fires fading... coughing,
dusky dew drops drain the air
Empty chalice, sipped in silence... quaffing,
thirsting shadows unaware
Looking glass and lattice scorning... scoffing,
local loser gapes and stares
Faces covered, dancing naked... doffing,
peering inside, hope despairs

6th Delirium: THE VOID

Tales of taboos, mystic mythos... missing,
windows shuttered, bolted door
Kindled candles, tongues and anvils... hissing,
heavy hammers, echoes roar
Dark deceivers, raven charmers... kissing,
draging demons from the shore
Hopeless hollows filled with doubters... dissing
standing empty - nevermore

7th Delirium: SEARCHING

Martyred monks haunt runic ruins ... waiting,
banging broken bells below
Vaulted hallways, voided voices... grating,
churning Chinese chimes aglow
Granite graveyards, spectres spooking... skating,
blackened bushes, roses grow
****** dwarfs seek mutant migrants... mating,
packing parcels, ice and snow

8th Delirium: NIGHTTIME

Throbbing drumheads, fingers blazing... steaming,
coins of copper, beggars plea
Rusty residues of resin... streaming,
opal amber filigree
Orphan shades in shallow shadows... teeming,
steeping twigs in twilight tea
Cloister doorsteps, Prophets gaming... scheming,
tracing tracks of destiny
Blacksmiths blanching, horseshoes glowing... gleaming,
partially sheathed in black debris
Phantoms feigning, nightmares scathing... screaming,
dusty dreamers drifting free

9th Delerium: EMPTYNESS

Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum

10th Delirium: ALIENATION

Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why

11th Delirium: JETSAM

Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found

12th Delirium: RELIEF

Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony

REAWAKENING

Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
Eriko Mar 2016
dear to the dreamers
acquaintances to their
wallowing burning light
rummaging inside the pockets
sewn with the webs
of memories thought
to be dead and gone
yet time melts into
the streaming glare
of setting sun,
and these things
never truly bleed away
stuck between the
fear of heights
the bad and the ****** up
walk across the tightrope
you know you have
done it before
Mia Eugenia Sep 2013
My writing is a pool of unattainable thoughts
Trying to find explanations where there are none.
I wouldn't expect you to understand because I don't myself
And
Like my words
I am floating aimlessly
Because my goals are unreachable
And my dreams are undesirable
Closing my eyes
And catching flies
Will only get me as far
As their wings can take me.
I am forever glued
To the spot you left me in
When you told me you'd see me again soon.
Lies.
All lies.
Liar.
I was warned and I continued because
I trusted in the man
Who I thought had
The heart of gold.
I was right
You do have a heart of gold
But it makes you greedy
You concentrate on how your happiness
Is immensely more important than
The people who loved you
And I say I understand
And I plead others to have reason
But I have limitations
And you are testing my tolerance
And your balance
Because
Trust me
The tightrope your walking on
Has two ends
And I am only holding one.
Allison Apr 2018
I hold the feather’s weight of your artery in my pick-ups,
and tiptoe the tightrope about which life and death abuts.

You’re a 2 AM trauma and we still don’t know your name,
the social worker’s thin lips had mouthed: “estranged.”

I read your anatomy like a text as you flat-line:
your hands turn blue as your heart falls still in mine.

The monitor hums "out of time," but by Epinephrine,
and Grace, your chest resumes its rise.

I leave trauma bay in prayer: for the surviving, not the knife;
for the closeness of my hands in your chest, our joining in this life.

Tonight I see you at the Kroger, buying TV dinners and beer.
I hide behind cereal, admiring the life I’d held dear.

But you look so tired, and my heart breaks for how when you died,
I would’ve sold the shoes off my feet to buy you more time.

I wish you knew how precious was each of your heartbeats,
I wish you the wisdom of my view:

How fragile the stent is where your veins meet.
JJ Hutton Nov 2010
It's funny when you need someone to be free.
When the steering wheel isn't liberation,
when you spot smiles from your so-called friends,
and they only put you on pins and needles,
when every word you release must walk the tightrope of judgement,
as starving eyes wait on tradgedy.

It's hard to stay happy when your lover isn't around.
When all the guilt and high crimes circle like vultures,
when your distant relatives keep asking, "are you sure you're okay?"
When everyone paints you as bitter and self-loathing
because you want life to mean much less than this.

It's the memories tying us together.
"Soon" becomes the lifeline, the encourager.
Future prophecies of coffee, blankets, catnaps,
bad movies, and late night discussions subdue the hours.

So,
I'm sorry if I seem coarse.
I'm sorry if I seem vengeful.
But terrible thoughts abound,
when my freedom is away.
Copyright 2010 by J.J. Hutton
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
Walking and saying
Things our wellbeing
The soul needing love possessions
Have absolutely no meaning

Playing and praying
Overstaying and Under-paying
Rising sun and Symphonic searching

" Is this the way it is?" Tis the season

But the tightness no business like
searching business
  She is combined and mixed like a song
fully lined both with keynotes somehow
we declined
The feeling that you cannot breathe
or  trust both of us
 we can  bearly **** it all in
My music playing just click my belt buckle
Will start to begin

The soul is not a crime or just a rhyme
I barely cannot breathe
I am in a chuckle, you see his
smile raising up his dimple

Ms. Thumbelina cobblestone
narrow-minded street your
in the tightrope symphonic beat

But its dark outside your ringlets
Waved him on got excitedly mesmerized
His Goblet of wine she curls up in
his body heat brilliantly dazzled
The sky to your dreams he is
reaching your
soft side skin
whats actually within
our souls

So  hooked into your ride not to slide
better grades and goals
The awesomeness symphonic hatter
Victorian divineness
Her paper cut out hearts as real
as they come
The Eastside Symphonic tip of his
Heavenly Bliss private Quarters
What becomes of the broken hearted
Heads or dimes not landing on her stone
Floor heart
The Duke of all trades of the hat he's smart

Cool running ******
Addictions to the mind so fanatic
What a good soul sometimes
He overexaggerates about
love and fate darkness drives him demonic
What are you kidding me
She doesn't rest her heart on his
soul for the burning desires of food
for thought
She keeps piling his poems like any sport
He's her everything she learns to be taught

Searching lips pricing
Red bloodshot eyes of crying onions
She is so fierce controlling
Musically like a Tiger roaring
He is like a design of graphics tattoo
The earring piecing the sweetest taboo

More soul searching
She's the snake purse
to his snake eyes fancy,
he took a ride
Upper-false teeth
The upper west side
have some prideThe dark side
became her thing
The wildflower not to stand to
bloom and bang like her band

Westside sounds came deep
his pride and joy like a parade
and wickedly dark his charade

It was  sneaking up on her backside
And the other side was just hiding
and smiling
She definitely saw the light lamp post how
the smells came stronger the darkness of desire
she was famished not to have vanished

Feeling like a *** roast love continued
She had a gift for her lover, not the
toast who would brag to boost
Two ****** British what
divine glasses at a cost
The symphonic soul
captured them like the
Dark-Knight of words
Symphonic sounds came
hearing names
soulful hummingbirds buzz-net

And there weren't any more
words there was silence
Eating shepherds pie table was set

Taking over another soul that's a lie
just like magic searching for a love
so long ago became tragic
You need more perseverance
Her true love gave her
an incredible sixth sense
of deliverance
The top seat at the concert
classical wicked taste of music
candescent erotically sonic

She had this certain quality
He was a symphonic love bounty
Her lips moved so fitting fantastically
The flower shops caught her eye
She couldn't sense what was real or a lie
The fast pace of the people all worked up.
What a soulful smell music sounds
she faintly known

To her ear wanted to hear only him shown

Besides the faintly illuminated
shapes evergreens were
heartily trimmed
She stood out bright as the ground
She was turning gray losing reality
not to be found or heard
So soulful her lips speak
she was walking with her head up
in the air fancy dancey
How those men could speak.
You could smell all the ethnic
flavors of foods
She felt the search for something
of a Saint, she was trying to
hard to be good
What a Haydn, his wife
was the mad hair driving

Miss Daisy soul of hers crazy curled
inside her book
She's the lady-like curler
How he played through her hair
Hunchback of Notre Dame who was to blame?
How his eyes wondered playing
and observing
But she was holding his stare

like a womanizer and his eyes flew
what a haunting moon
But Samatha the harp shady tree
He said, my fair lady,
He's stringing something together

What! creepypasta but sometimes her powers were weak
The symphonic love potent every other week

Some Gothic man symphonic music started
Playing Rossini Opera he could stand on his head.
She was pinned to his eyes
Pinterest such interest
she was all bloomed like a fly

By witches, flower came he passed her and he knew exactly who she was as is but wait not his?
The pleading the beg humbug far from her tunes of the ladybug

Razzamatazz all body of Jazz jitterbug
He winked she-devil
summoned him on
What a binding spell
She wiped the sweat off her face
She was beautiful with pale
porcelain skin
So alluring walking
with her parasol
This is my darkness of a read I hope you enjoy flowers even if they perk you up if they are the darkness stay alive to bloom there will always be a flower like you
Toni Sep 2010
i want to be so angry right now; i want to yell, i want to scream
i want to feel pain, anything would be better
than this feeling i have right now
my body is shaking, my mind is quaking, my heart is breaking
i have never felt this way inside, for i have never really cared
i walked the tightrope, and you cut the string
i had fallen in love, i was head over heals
i was over the fact i was acting like a love stricken fool
i didn't care what they said, i didn't care what they thought
you did though, you cared a lot
their words stole you away, their judgment was too much
you walked away, and didn't look back
you held your head high, you didn't even say goodbye
i want to be angry, but yet all i can do is cry
copyright 9.05.10 tlb
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Vera Pavlova: English Translations of Russian Poems by Vera Pavlova

Shattered

I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Seasons

Winter―a beast.
Spring―a bud.
Summer―a bug.
Autumn―a bird.
The rest of the time I'm a woman.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pygmalion

Immortalize me!
With your bare, warm palm
please sculpt and mold my malleable snow.
Polish me until I glow.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Scales

Scales:
on the one hand joy;
on the other sorrow.
Sorrow is the weightier;
therefore joy
elevates.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Muse

A muse inspires when she arrives,
a wife when she departs,
a mistress when she’s absent.
Would you like me to manage all that simultaneously?
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Stone Wall

You, my dear, are my shielding stone:
to sing behind, or bash my head on.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fluttering

Remember me as I am this instant: abrupt and absent,
my words fluttering like moths trapped in a curtain.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Flight

I have been dropped
and fell from such
immense heights
for so long that
perhaps I still
have enough
time to learn
how to
fly.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Three versions of Vera Pavlova's "tightrope" poem:

I test the tightrope,
balancing a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I walk a tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I test the tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Vera Pavlova is a Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. She is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications. Keywords/Tags: Pavlova, Russian, translations, epigrams, woman, female, shards, seasons, scales, tightrope, child, arm, sorrow, joy, shattered, heart, broken, glass, limp, limping, barefoot, snow, sculpt, mold, polish
Nigel Morgan Nov 2012
After the painting by Leonard John Fuller

I had promised I would arrive in good time for afternoon tea with Edith and the Aunt. Angela was nervous.
     ‘Edith scares me,’ she said. ‘I feel a foolish girl. I have so little to say that she could possibly be interested in.’
      She had sat up in bed that morning as I dressed. She had frowned, pushed her hair back behind her ears, then curled herself up like a child against my empty pillow. I sat on the bed and then stroked the hand she had reached out to touch me. She was still warm from sleep.
     ‘They are coming to see you,’ she whispered, ‘and to make sure I’m not fooling about with your mother’s house.’
‘I’ve told you, you may do what you like . . .’
‘But I’m not ready . . . and I don’t know how.’
‘Regard it as an adventure my dear, just like everything else.’
‘Well that had been such an adventure,’ she thought. ‘When you drive off each morning I can hardly bare it. It’s good you can’t see how silly I am, and what I do when you are not here.’
        I could imagine, or thought I could imagine. I’d never known such abandon; such a giving that seemed to consume her utterly. She would open herself to this passion of hers and pass out into the deepest sleep, only to wake suddenly and begin again.

Angela felt she had done her best. They’d been here since three, poked about the house and garden for an hour, and then Millicent had brought tea to the veranda. Jack had promised, promised he would look in before surgery, but by 4.30 she had abandoned hope in that safety net, and now launched out yet again onto the tightrope of conversation.
         Edith and the Aunt asked for the fourth time when Dr Phillips would be home. How strange. she thought, to refer to their near relative so, but, she supposed, doctor felt grander and more important than plain Jack. It carried weight, significance, *gravitas
.
       Angela hid her hands, turning her bitten to the quick nails into her lilac frock, hunching her shoulders, feeling a patch of nervous sweat under her thighs.
       ‘He’s probably still at the Cottage Hospital,’ she said gaily, ‘Reassuring his patients before the holiday weekend.’
      She and Jack had planned to drive to St Ives tomorrow, stay at the Mermaid, swim at ‘their’ bay, and sleep in the sun until their bodies dried and they could swim again.
       ‘How strange this situation,’ she considered. ‘Edith and the Aunt in the role of visitors to a house they knew infinitely better than she ever could.’
       The task ahead seemed formidable: being Jack’s wife, bearing Jack’s children, replacing Jack’s mother.
      Edith was thinking,’ What would mother have made of this girl?’ She’s so insipid, so ‘nothing at all’, there wasn’t even a book beside her bed, and her underwear, what little she seemed to wear, all over the place.'
      Edith just had to survey the marital bedroom, the room she had been born in, where she had lost her virginity during Daddy’s 60th party – Alan had been efficient and later pretended it hadn’t happened – she was sixteen and had hardly realised that was ***. Years later she had sat for hours with her mother in this room as, slipping in and out of her morphia-induced sleep, her mother had surveyed her life in short, sometimes surprising statements.
      Meanwhile the Aunt, Daddy’s unmarried younger sister had opened drawers, checked the paintings, looked at Angela’s slight wardrobe, fingered Jack’s ties.
      Edith remembered her as a twenty-something, painfully shy, too shy to swim with her young niece and nephew, always looking towards the house on the cliffs where they lived.
     They were those London artists with their unassorted and various children, negligent clothes and raised voices. The Aunt would wait until they all went into St Ives, for what ever they did in St Ives – drink probably, and creep up to the house and peer into the downstairs windows. It was all so strange what they made, nothing like the art she had seen in Florence with Daddy. It didn’t seem to represent anything. It seemed to be about nothing.
       Downstairs Angela knew. The visit to the bathroom was just too long and unnecessary. She didn’t care, but she did care, as she had cared at her wedding when the Aunt had said how sad it was that she had so little family, so few friends.
       Yet meeting Jack had changed everything. He wanted her to be as she was, she thought. And so she continued to be. All she felt she was this ripe body waiting to be impregnated with her husband’s child. Maybe then she would become someone, fit the Phillips mould, be the good wife, and then be able to deal with Edith and the Aunt.
        That cherub in the alcove, how grotesque! As Edith droned on about the research on her latest historical romance, Angela wondered at its provenance. ‘Daddy ‘ loved that sort of thing, Jack had told her. The house was full of her late father-in-law’s pictures, a compendium of Cornish scenes purchased from the St Ives people. She would burn the lot if she could, and fill the house with those startling canvases she occasionally glimpsed through studio doors in town. She knew one name, Terry Frost. She imagined for a moment covering up the cherub with one of his giant ecstatic spirals of form and colour.
       The chairs and the occasional tables she would disappear to the loft, she would make the veranda a space for walking too and fro. There would be an orange tree at one end and a lemon tree at the other; then a vast bowl on a white plinth in which she could place her garden treasures, rose petals, autumn leaves, feathers and stones. There might be a small sculpture, perhaps something by that gaunt woman with the loud voice, and those three children. Angela had been told she was significant, with a studio at the top of Church Lane.
       Edith had run out of experiences regarding her monthly visits to the reading room of the British Museum. She was doing the ’ two thousand a day, darling’, and The Dowager of Glenriven would be ‘out’ for the Christmas lists. The Aunt had remained silent, motionless, as though conserving her energies for the walk through the cool house to the car.
       ‘Oh Darlings,’ Jack shouted from the hall, ‘I’m just so late.’ Then entering the veranda, ‘Will you forgive me? Edith? Aunt Josie? (kiss, kiss) Such an afternoon . . .’
       Surveying the cluttered veranda Angela now knew she would take this house apart. She had nothing to lose except her sanity. Everything would go, particularly the cherub. She would never repeat such an afternoon.
      She stood up, smoothed her frock, put her arms around Jack and kissed him as passionately as she knew how.
This is the first of my PostCard Pieces - very short stories and prose poems based on postcards I've collected or been given from galleries and museums. I have a box of them, pick one out at random - and see what happens!
Andrew Rueter Jul 2017
The evolution of art never halts
Once we began dancing around fire
Our feet couldn't stop
A place in our lives
Where our subpar seeds
Could be seen as glowing trees
That's the way I feel about my poetry
It reminds me a lot of me
I reread it and rewrite it so often
By the end it seems unoriginal and plain
And all I can hope
Is the themes and ideas that were the inspirational genesis
Remain intact

Art walks a tightrope over the most unpredictable factor
The audience
They are the other half of art
Their power cannot be overstated
And as time progresses
Their power grows
And the importance of art always extends an equal distance
But the stronger art becomes
The more it asks of it's audience
In many cases
The audience is not ready to take the call
This is one of those times
Here at the current pinnacle of art
Surfing the web
A wonderful chance as
Art is a reflection of people and society
The Internet is people and society
But just as we listen to songs
To decide what concert to go to
Or watch trailers
To decide what movie to see
We like what we like
And put blinders on to find it
Like moths to fire

We could do amazing things
If we could harness the potential
Of our collective conscious
But the threat of losing our individuality
Is too great for us
Unable to accept
Our individuality is always in the context of our cosmic existence
We are part of something greater
And we can't escape that
Even in death
We feed what lies beneath
The memory of our lives
Shrinks to obscurity
The maggots that cover our corpses
Flourish to maturity
Everything this world creates is art
And we are it's most complex creation
Not necessarily the best
We just have the most parts
And the maggots that use our dead bodies for sustenance
Were once the monsters that roamed this Earth
They had no nationality
Or political affiliations
Or religion
And they're still here
Waiting to reclaim their throne
Once "smarter" species seek suicide
JustMe Jun 2014
the circus freak
walking the tightrope

day and night

night and day

never stopping

always falling

Protected

by the loneliness
of
Pain

Or so he thought

The circus freak 

Left

In the dark

crying

hurting

hating



The circus freak

walking the tightrope

night and day

day and night

falling

falling

Falling

Still in pain (more or less)

Fear (less and more) alone


The circus freak

walking the tightrope

day and night

night and day
never stopping

always
falling....
Marshal Gebbie Mar 2015
Tightening the rope as the fools dance and dither
Squandering the moments as hourglass falls,
Walking the tightrope in a world lost to thither
Assassins maraud as the fat General calls.
Flat fingers hover above plastic buttons
Hover in hesitant moments of pause,
Waiting in limbo instructions from Hades
Exultantly plunging to holocaust cause.
Plunging erotically down to the plastic
Smearing the sweat and blood in a pool,
Lusting your moment of utter destruction
Casting all humankind’s best …to be fool.

Doubt not veracity’s balance in tremor
Out there the Devil is dancing his jig,
Everywhere globally men flee in terror
Uncertainty slides with the squeal of the pig.
Russia inflates as tyrannical tyrant
Isis is spreading its carpet of blood,
Worldwide the military gird for battle
Appeasement disbursed in a torrent of flood
Shades of veracity flood Sarajevo
Memories taunt of that drumbeat to war,
Demagogues strut now the march of the scarlet
God flees reality….and is no more.

M.
17 March 2015
Katarina Elaine Jan 2014
it's a fine line i walk
day in day out
constantly battling between
the angel's sweet voice on my shoulder
and the devil's burden on my back

i can't even make up my mind anymore

my brain split in two
i don't think anymore
i just do
i can't do anything right
the colors around me fade into a monochromatic backdrop

i can't even tell you i love you anymore

as i walk past the mirror
i break into a hysterical fit
it washes over me like a tidal wave
water crashing around me
my emotions askew
my mind is a mess
i can't look anyone in the eyes
i can't even look myself in the eyes

i don't think i can keep this up anymore

this tightrope is wearing thin

i don't think i can live this way anymore
Colleen Brown Jan 2013
How do you ask someone for their attention, when you know they are trying in the first place?

How can you show you're hurt, without having the words to explain?

How can you be madly in love, when you are ocean after ocean apart?

How can you wait patiently, when all you want to do is stand up and scream?

How do you survive when half of your everything is missing?

You climb up on the tightrope of life and hope, pray, believe that for one day, you won't fall.

— The End —