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Sammie wells Dec 2013
Christmas is here
Santa's been
Listen to them
Excited screams

Racing down the stars
Jumping on the spot
Excited giggles
Shouting out

Santa's been
Santa's been

Tearing open presents
Shouts of Delight
Lots of hugs and kisses
Smiles on everyone

Family gathers round
Chatter never ends
Laughter fulls the room
Kisses under the mistletoe
Raise a toast

Santa's been
Santa's been

Tucking into turkey
Hiding Brussel sprouts
Pulling Christmas crackers
Making people laugh

Merry Christmas everbody

Santa's been
Santa's been
L B May 2017
“...Your words were found and I ate them.
They became a joy to my heart. In my mouth—
a sweet delight, but in my belly—bitter...”
                                                ­ --Jeremiah

...But that night
by dim background of next-room light
I could not see your face
just feel your hush of shadow words
on spine of shudders

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!

...And I was sure?
that it was right?
Their eyes were slanted!
So they could not see—
the “Good Guys”

Still your voice insists
in pause and fissioned hiss
in tender half-life
too pure
too deadly white

I swallow lethal glowing dose


“ mouth sweet—in belly bitter…”

Stories? and the Grandma Song
rendered tender—lull of voice
Soul’s cabinet cleared of venial sin
Last of all—the tucking in.....

They say you first get sick....*

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!
And I am invisibly ill—with truth
approaching critical mass

Will angry rads incise their ways?
Will leaden swords of angels drive them back?

In this night—
my bedtime stories fainted at your

fusing an oblong fear
but I cannot hold!

frail and freezing
under covers— just barely peeking

“Jesus hanging on the cross…Tell me-- was it I?”
Jesus hanging in the cross

"Tell me, mother
Were you God talking?

I could not see your face
by the next room’s light..."
My mother told me some bad **** sometimes just before bedtime, and I never forgot it.
Written 1995
up n down
like the proverbial ****** drawers
servin hors doeuvres
to rich *****
bein rinsed by cheap escorts
hands raw
work eight days a week
to be paid for four
make much more
on her back were she as debauched
with the petite bourgeoisie
tucking in to her
as the main course
cant buy honour
Her life was run on the oil of synchronicity
planted in the seduction of abstract hypotheses.
The moons and ebbs of tides
Swoop in like thunderclaps
on wing'ed lightning bolts,
Capturing synergy
Wiping out energy
Till she huddles in a pile of her own failure
Tucking up her toes to avoid the floods
Admiring and condemning
The rain soaked
Howling at her gate.
My bio
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2016
Approaching Gautama where He sat a
boy examined Him politely. (This-that?)
Gautama spoke and there the unnamed boy
who sitting a while with Him that day thought
and over the days ahead returned and
leaving only for food, drink and service
that Gautama would not be distracted
from His goal until upon returning
he saw Him glowing in the morning light
and so began to dance with Him beneath
the tree. A leaf was shed, was gathered then
and the boy, who while tucking it away,
Gautama asked if he would run for Him
to village, crossroads, field, grove, wherever
Gautama wished to speak. And so he ran
and soon arriving announcing thus His
coming, holding high the leaf he carried
and which had never died— living, living
green until Lord Buddha left His body.
cool in the shade
still dancing
with Lord Buddha

Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
The first poem takes place during the lifetime of Lord Buddha.

The second poem follows in the years soon after Lord Buddha left his body.

The third poem is the mind of the boy (the spirit of the boy in the first poem) in restless meditation. He has yet to attain full enlightenment. There are multiple voices suggested by parentheses and which are whispered words. If you prefer linear thought or literal interpretation this poem may not communicate to you. Just as a painting may be abstract, this poem is wide open to your own connections, thoughts and emotions. If you like, you can skip to the fourth poem.

The fourth poem, in three lines, lies within this portion of eternity that is forever present time.

Boy runner (the first poem)
Approaching Gautama where He sat a
boy examined Him politely. (This-that?)
Gautama spoke and there the unnamed boy
who sitting a while with Him that day thought
and over the days ahead returned and
leaving only for food, drink and service
that Gautama would not be distracted
from His goal until upon returning
he saw Him glowing in the morning light
and so began to dance with Him beneath
the tree. A leaf was shed, was gathered then
and the boy, who while tucking it away,
Gautama asked if he would run for Him
to village, crossroads, field, grove, wherever
Gautama wished to speak. And so he ran
and soon arriving announcing thus His
coming, holding high the leaf he carried
and which had never died— living, living
green until Lord Buddha left His body.

Depths of Green (the second poem)
Depths of green—from canopy to forest floor
In streams of raucous livingness
And there, and where about, a sanctuary
Falls in heaps, in stone walls run aground.

And with, nearby, afar, by ins and outs
Through every place (perceived)
Wherever listened for—vibration.

A single voice in Pali—a single voice
Leaping, leading, dancing, sweeping.

Hello. You greet me.

And if I split myself and stand (the third poem)
And if I split myself and stand
At every corner of said universe
On any selfsame summer day
With any selfsame afternoon rain
Will this, though thought, slip
Where densities of interest fail
(Or by failures to perceive)

This leaf-boy-runner
Eight portions of beingness
The full, and fill of prime creation

(Perhaps where life has paused
Or slowed enough to perceive
At any speed
The speed of perception
The true speed of light
The wavelengths of laughter
And of any thing)

While density shifts
Where inertia has failed

(The density of my interest
The shift of my affinity)

There is no doubt
It has velocity
It gives back light
It bends the universe
It has location
From which expands
All space
Not already filled
With the logic of otherness
And even there it bends to will

As (my breadth of vision)
A torrent
An avalanche
A fissure in nothingness
A co-creation of All
This theatre
Our audience
Of stelae
Beacons of lostness
To wander by
In search of wavelengths
Of affinity
Where you might
Where I have
The curves beneath our frequencies
The pitch and roll of their design
Their width

(We have
Each other)

In all that vastness
An ordinary leaf
From this
For that
(I am)
The breathless

Cool in the shade (the fourth poem)
Cool in the shade
(still) dancing
with Lord Buddha
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
ogdiddynash Jul 2018
helping the kids with homework

no one told you,
was part of the job description
paycheck earner a-ok,
gruff but tender lover,
knowing her special places,
building a tree swing,
a tree house safe and satisfactory,
one the neighbors envy

taking them to the hospital for
broken arms and chemotherapy,
part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable,
going to school to give that principal a look
that will make him think twice before suspending
one of his for defending himself

you remember your daddy doing the same for you,
forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later

the tucking in, the pretense ouch
when your end of day
scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies,
carrying tissues in a toolbox,
never heard of, nevertheless done,
tho not a memory defining the future inclusive,
definitely a learning ability, a likeability

doing homework, nuh uh,
no way jose, don’t dare let them
know how you never got a gold star,
always sat in the back row, outta sight,
all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery,
and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary
which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much

ain’t exactly his strong suit

sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him,
know where the on/off computer button hides,
the rest is up to them;
got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am,
how to address humans with respect,

i’ll promise them anything
but not doing any homework,
unless it the kind that that makes

a home work
Logan Robertson Oct 2018
So he threw all his chips on red
Thought only of what was in his head
Which turned out to be shots of dread
For his seeds planted in young women's garden bed
Without nary water or breaking bread
Or nary knowing the breaches of his and her homestead
So he rushed down stranger's alley shed
On a runaway, wrongheaded cocky sled
Through her banks, he crashed her spread
Like a raging, raging thoroughbred
Nary was a thought of a rubber glove on his dragonhead
For the buried absence of love was in his heart of lead
There's his wife at home tucking their kids in their bunkbed
While he flirted with the forbidden apple instead
It was this night that lives in infamy for others to read this dread
For the news broke of a married man impregnating a young coed
Accosting such teen to what now proves to be his deathbed
Yet if he unwinds his c(l)ock and placed his chips on black he wouldn't have bled
Petering out the ills in his marriage he would have been freed
Now he shrivels in a shameful battle of what went through his head

Logan Robertson

I came back to read this. What a maze. I see a little lab mice running through the corriders of temptation, going this way or that, looking for that sugar cube. I see it racing, like its addicted. Then I look back at this poem and see a correlation.
BJ Donovan Sep 5
A misery of corpses living in the streets,
     grocery carts with their past lives inside.
     They see cruel truths with dead eyes.
     They too were children playing among
     fields of gold with mothers tucking
     them in at night singing lullabies.
drumhound Apr 2017
Last night I asked Mother Sky
to lay me down
under the stars.
She covered the long day
with her black/blue quilt
tucking away
my rapid heart.

Brushing the unkempt hair
from my eyes
she warmed me
with deep sea breaths
and showed me how much
she loved me.
Her finger drew
a shooting star
as she measured
herself in a whisper,
"From here, my dear, there."

Mother offered me
a drink from her ladled cup.
I chose the big one
with both hands
consuming every drop
until my lips finished
with a satisfied "Aaaaaaahhh".
I handed her the twinkling chalice
which she hung again
by the North Star.

I resigned my head
to the grassy pillow
my eyes lost in retreat.
"Will you sing to me?"
I asked sightlessly.
From the corners of Endless
she coaxed
soft soothing melodies,
while the Sandman
strummed willow trees
to her song.
Evelyn Genao Mar 2018
A mask is what we wear.
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes.
On the mask is a smile.
Forced. Real. Unsure. Scared. Alone. Broken.
It’s always different. For every person.

With our heart’s torn and bleeding, we smile.
Hiding the tears.
We numb and we hide and we pretend.
Pretending that everything will be okay.
That we’ll be okay.
But we are getting sick and tired of always being someone we are not.
Aren’t we? Or is even that us pretending?

We just want to hide our fear.
Fear of never being good enough.
Fear that no one will ever love us.
Fear that we won’t love ourselves.

It’s amazing, isn’t it?
What we can fake with a smile.
That’s all it takes. A beautiful [fake] smile.
It hides our injured soul so deep.
That no one ever knows how broken we really are.

Are you okay?”
They would ask, sounding like they actually care.

I’m fine. Just tired.”
Is what we say with that fake twinkle we have gotten so used to wearing.

We say it over and over, repeatedly tucking away our heart.
We don’t want to have it broken. Not again.
We act as if nothing is wrong.
That we are not breaking.
That we are fine.

They are such fools.
Believing us so easily.
Can’t they see our pain? Our tears.
Are they even looking?
Why can’t they tell that we’re wearing a mask?
Is the smile that we wear too good?

We are good at it. Hiding.
It’s what we do. Hidden behind our mask.
It comes so naturally for us.
But sooner or later it becomes an addiction.
Our need to lie becomes too great.

No one ever thinks we’ll fall apart. That we’ll break.
But we do. So much.
Sometimes that’s good, but not always.
There are times where we wish we could just break down.
On someone’s awaiting shoulder.
As they comfort our pain.
But for now, our masks will remain on.
I hope you love and be sure to comment what you think.Also look at my other poems if you loved this one.
AllAtOnce Sep 2017
staring up at spot spackled ceilings
buried in fifteen dollar sheets
tucking toes under lumpy covers
and tasting cheap beer on your teeth

hiding under dim, midnight lighting
and tossing pillows on the floor
icy fingers entwined
swearing all's fair in love and war

making breakfast in baggy t shirts and socks
and eating cereal on a faded couch
maybe a little bit of day drinking
hoping word will never get out

blushing when you glance my way
and loving every minute
regretting every decision we ever made
but not changing any of it.
Cylia Sep 2018
All these feelings in my head,
All these words left unsaid,
All of these memories with you in it, how can I ever forget.
All I see are fragments and pictures that clouds my judgements instead.
How can I be so worried?
When all I see is your face,
Clouding every shattered piece, a cold stare is left in your place.

All these feelings like lava,
Erupts when needed to burst
All of these feelings I can’t control,
And yet you’re the one holding my soul.
It glows a vibrant violet blue,
And while you hold onto mines,
I’m snuggling onto yours like an icy shield or more like an igloo.

All these feelings held by your warm embrace
tucking me away,
Forehead kisses telling all I need to know, that you got me, protected by your arms,
In a closed box, where no one can hurt me.
Destiny Odeh Sep 2015
Osas, there's a certain darkness in me. I can't explain it, but I don't curse the darkness, because it's where we found each other. After I found you, I stopped searching for rainbows in the far reaches of the sky, you were my sunshine. You cast away my troubles and wrestled my demons.

You always said that being whole is overrated; it's the holes that make us beautiful. You made me feel beautiful. Even though the beautiful moments we once had are slowly fading, turning from vivid to grey. I can still feel your palm, gentle on my blushing cheek, stroking my hair, tucking every curly strand behind my ear. The same ear you'd whisper a bouquet of wonderful words into.

I am not a ******, I am not a viscous erupting volcano, I am not fire. I am the phoenix that rose out of the flames you lit. The same fire you came running into, but while trying to save me, you forgot to save yourself.

You were the erupting volcano. You were vicious and violent. You were a deadly collection of everything vile. You were hot and cold, you were yes and no. Did you even love me at all? I guess I will never really know.

I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I wrote that last paragraph. I know you loved me dearly. I'm only scraping for a reason to hate you; to cleanse my conscience. I feel so stupid right now. I can't stop crying. I can't stop thinking about that night. The error of my deed still haunts me. The least I can do is to keep writing you back to life, back into my arms.

I got 25 years; I'll be out of here just in time for menopause. I never cared much about having unruly, noisy, silly little babies running riot, leaving a trail of ****, puke and toy cars lying around. But I cared about you. Though the wonderful times we had is becoming a long lost distant memory, I still care about you.

We were of the same form, you and I. Passionately understanding each other's darkness. You knew how fragile my heart and mind was, yet you broke both. I was crazy in love with you, you took away the love and left me plain crazy.

I have lost myself. Maybe if I dig deeper, I'd discover an avalanche of emotions still buried in me. Sandwiched between my ice-cold heart and the poisonous blood coursing through my veins. The same veins I want to expose to the spirits in the wind, and as my blood pours on this cold concrete like leaves on a forest floor - I would be at peace. I hope to find peace in death, for death is not a pit but a ladder; an ascension to another realm. And in that realm I hope to find you, to explain to you why I did it - Why I pushed you off the balcony.

I couldn't look you in the face anymore. You disgusted me! I saw you with her at the office party. Yes, I saw you! Even though you claimed she seduced you. I still saw you! I can't get that horrid image out of my head. It was in that moment I knew I couldn't live another day hearing you tell me another lie.

I got a blade today, from a lady in the shower. After I let her touch me in all the right places, still it felt so wrong. You have no idea how hard it is to find even the simplest sharp object in here. Body cavity searches, routine cell shakedowns, constant reminders that I have and I am nothing. At least she was gentle; Aunty Julianna was never gentle whenever she touched me in the bathroom stall.

Nothing, and no one, can make me whole again. I feel bitter, sad and shattered. Even mirrors no longer lie to me. I see myself for what I am now - a monster.

"I have to do this, this is the only way." I calmly reassure myself, while clutching the jagged blade, slowly pressing it against my deathly pale skin.

"Calm down Adesuwa, don't slit your wrist just yet." A voice echoed from the corner of my dark cell. Your voice. But still I didn’t believe.

"Is that you Osas?" I whispered. "Have you come to forgive me or have you come for retribution?"

"Here's your lunch." said the prison guard, before spotting the blade and sounding the alarm. I was on my belly before I could say a word, my arm bent behind me, my fingers pried open, my ladder gone.

Another day. I guess I’ll die another day.
Johnny walker Nov 2018
Remember so well my
school days, most of the
time In summer spent
gazing out of the
classroom windows
I would watch the girls
from school around the
corner come by
I remember one such
the day a girl came to
our the school she stood
outside, watching with
excitement seeing her
rolling up her shirt and
tucking It Inside her
knickers then did a
cartwheel up against the
railings there showing off
her lovely legs She loved
flirting but I didn't know
It that day but this
girl would become my
wife her name
The schoolgirl who became my wife
Jade Charlotte Dec 2018
Is the unspoken love like wind?
What adhesive could make your breath stick to my neck?

I know we are rolling through this like two inconsequential boulders, but baby,
I don't want to crash into anyone else.

You gave me a hickey on my *** and after pushing my hair out of my eyes,
Tucking it so tenderly and neatly behind my ears
"We are just friends" echoed from your lips-- akin to the repetition of screaming into a long tunnel.

Today my throat is chalky,
like a pale moon on a dry and cold night.
Every line I draw ends up connecting my chest to yours.

Slide a note under my door with a drawing of hills that never stop rolling
If you decide
You want me like the mushroom wants rain,
Like the honey bee wants to serve its queen.
You bet your *** I just watched my favorite romance movie! Also, pain makes good poetry.
I am a child asleep at the beach my
feet are not fully formed from
the stars I can't reach I
dream of water tucking
me into the deep as I breathe
God fashions ribs from
countless shark teeth...

Where were you going, Jesus, to leave this in your wake.  
the moon, the sun, planets infinitely falling out of place.  Galaxies as turbines churning Light into Fate. I
am Gravity.  From childhood
I fall without a trace.
Pooja Jajoo Aug 1
In those coldest nights
When there is dip in the temperature..

I can feel you sliding towards me
I can feel those hands moving from toe to head and
slightly tucking my hair ..
I heard you whispered..  "hey there again"..

I can feel that Kiss on my forehead..
Which slightly slided down ..
And the liplock happened
I can feel those roughness of your lip twice or thrice..

I can feel the tickling sensation wandering inside ..
the moment you slided little more
And kissed the belly ring..

I can feel your body over me
I can smell that flesh

In those coldest nights
When there's a dip in the temperature

I can smell that flesh.

-Pooja Jajoo✍
patty m Oct 2018
beautiful child the wind blows hollow
through your pane
lay down your head in familiarity
trust is gained, and mine is golden
tucking covers, and blocking
images that frighten you
I offer love and understanding
a heart filled with caring
a protective stance
that holds darkness at bay
come dance with me in dreamy puddles

Lets drift off in make believe
as we laugh away the hours.
How sweetly your breath
kisses my face,
as your hand finds comfort in my sleeve,
Even if I ache I won't disturb your slumber,
or the dreams that bring sudden smiles to your lips.
And if you wake, you'll see me here
and know that you are safe
alexa Sep 2018
i am from innocence.
i am from rainy days and lonely nights,
words smeared across pages because
i can’t get them out fast enough.
i am from stanzas upon stanzas and ink-stained fingers
as i dream of new ways to say what’s already been said.
i am from words of love, words of anger,
struggling to find the words
to describe his eyes, i can’t.
but that’s okay, because to me, he is poetry
poetry has been the one consistency in my life.

i am from travelling the world.
i am from plane rides-
from the mountains of Italy
to the city of Lisbon
it’s safe to say
i have lived.

i am from 4am small talk with my best friend,
questioning our life decisions
between cheesy rom-coms,
thanking Fate and the Universe
for introducing the two of us.,
i love her
for accepting me
when i couldn’t accept myself.

i am from my dad’s famous waffles,
from Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven
and cold glasses of milk coming home from school.
i am from my grandmom tucking me in,
my mom hugging me goodnight,
my sister and i staying up way past when the lights were supposed to be turned out.

i am from New Year’s Eve countdowns,
pots and pans banging on my front porch
as a new set of resolutions
hangs in my room,
waiting to be broken.

i am from a school full of jerks… that i fell for anyway,
empty words and velvet lies, luring me in
just so i can break my own heart
at the end of it.
but i am from believing in soulmates,
because two live in my very house with me,
23 years later and the flame hasn’t diminished-
i know
i will find my Prince Charming,
somehow, one day.

I am from creased brows and mild confusion
when the teacher asks for strong boys
to carry the desks;
i am from being resigned to the edge of the classroom,
implications that
i am weak.
i am from “sit like a lady”
“young women don’t speak like that.”
but actually,
i am a young woman
and i’m
“speaking like that.”
i am from being the only one in my karate class
with my toenails painted pink;
they have accepted me now,
i am just another black belt,
my long hair swishing behind me in a ponytail
as i kick harder than half the boys next to me.

i am from beautiful chaos,
like entropy
in a sundress. i think
my madness is magnificent--
like the prettiest mess you’ve ever seen., it’s true-
i am from a lifetime of figuring things out
and though i’m not there yet,
i’m a hell of a lot closer
than i’ve ever been.
my "where i'm from" poem i had to write for my poetry class :)
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