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Third Eye Candy Jun 2013
your soul is
what tumbles
from your old youth;
toothless, mute -
and beautiful.
it disputes the diluted musical
that unfolds you...
proof-less, your lute
is full.

your soul is
where you twist rocks and fell from -
a great height, below your skin suit, dull.
it drew you
with resolute ink, with a needle
and spoon...
etched on the cuticle,
a portrait
of your
skull.

and
you're every
nebulous
moon.
Anecandu Aug 2018
Your words are like precision guided Bombs in clunkers,
Exploding between my ears. there are no bunkers.
My response tumbles out stuttering like anti aircraft nests.

The alarms in my brain go off suppressed by tears discharged
Heart, Trust, Ego, Friends over the years........
Your armaments know where to hit and cause most damage,

Plumes of fiery emotion flare up, soon loves smoldering cracks .
I dodge your heat seeking adjectives, they encircle in packs.
Cold nights afloat clinging to this yellow deflated ego. ergo.

Our love is war
Robert C Howard May 2017
Through an open window, I hear
      the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.

May breezes and gentle rains
     coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
      downslope into gathering streams.

Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
      a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.

A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
        folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
        while the Big Thompson rushes on.

Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums  
       shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
        while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.

The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
        bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.

© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
patty m Dec 2014
Mama always told me I had perfect legs,

I had all the extra curves that make them special,

and then there is the teasing innocence

that make men notice.

Dancing kept them that way

and short skirts and crossed legs

became my signature.

How sad Mom was when I took tumbles

worrying if I would scar.

I did Mama, I'm a scarred mess inside

but outside I'm still intact.

Funny how things that seemed important

have become just functional,  All the pirouettes,

en pointes and arabesques merely an exercise to strengthen resolve.

Yet give me a ballroom, a sea of hardwood,

and a hot dress fiery red or magenta,

dance me up close, seductively snaking

through the crowd and I come alive.

Tango me to interaction,

an orchestrated song of lust

then salsa me with Latin rhythms

one knee between mine

wild in rapturous pursuit.

Meltdown, or is it immolation,

the fiery depths your hips ignite

as we coyly rub away the separation

until magic erupts.

When the dance is over, what will you remember?

Oh yeah, the woman who glides so gracefully and dances so hot    

You know the one with pretty legs.
patty m May 2014
Two Moons
through an onion skin,
gulls ride out approaching storm;
I embrace the corner of my bedroom.
A brief inward look tumbles from the bed,
my heart rises.
                Ice and sun, reversible stars, the driving pistons

behind this bleeding vision

My thoughts a scarf tail whipping wind
descend into darkness

I search for landmarks in unfamiliar territory
clinging to the floor until a cold draft finds me.

Voiceless, hunched, in the corner,
I'm shaken by seismic tremors.
'
Dark as a crow, I wait in despair for something to enter,
a pattern of deeply etched lines, stars that won't burn out,
a shadowy presence of something fearful.

Flames crack like small bones,
springs fly from clockwork mechanisms,
all the disparate forces spin in ghostly dance.

Eerie symmetry conspires to do me in,

Hope and Reason stretch out  their hands

                                                  too late.

Darkness swallows me.
Tom Spencer Jan 23
deep into winter
the last viburnum leaf

tumbles unbound
and nestles

amongst its scattered
bretheren

the sleeping prophets
of soil and spring

each a paling dream
gently yielding

to the ceaseless
rhythm of abundance

Tom Spencer © 2019
Heavy Hearted Feb 2017
1, for the slumber that tumbles us round,
2, for the remedy, the musics bold sound.
3, for the tree that became your canoe
& 4 for the rain, it's ambiguous blue.

5, to escape, to a world we contrive,
6 for the tricks that I played to survive.
7, because heaven, is supposedly on earth,
& 8 for my mother, and her unknown worth.
9 for the failures, the faults & mistakes,
10 for the fears that keep us awake.

11, for my father, consoles me each night, whispers advice crystal clear, filled with insight- words on courage & kindness, love & delight.
12- when you wake but it's already night.
13 forever, with strength glory and might,
14 with wisdom, discretion, insight-
both numbers together sizing up every fight.

15, for my little sister, and all her turmoil,
15, for her spirit, the last one to spoil,
she and the world but water and oil,
15 for her soul, and like the mighty cobra it's coil,
deadly & graceful defends its home soil.

16 for the evil- the wicked & cruel, the endless hate they spin into fuel.
17, for reason, justice & art,
and all the other virtues life etched on my heart,
18, to redeem, to admit your mistake, to truly move on then perhaps to retake.
19 for that shame, always the same, so familiar it almost comforts my brain. 19, for the suffering, agony & betrayal.
19 true stories retold as mere tales- how they surpass logic and induce other's fails.

20. For my years. For the moment, for now. For to the past I salute, and to the future I bow; All with the hope that next year I'll know how

to do what everyone else can.
Nnaemeka Mokeme Aug 2018
I know the feeling experienced,
when everything crumbles
before you without warning
because you were not paying
attention or prepared for the
pressures of the pesky people
who contends with you to mess
up what took you a lifetime to build.
Everything crashes and tumbles
before you just like that.
Starting all over again is like being
born again in a world of uncertainty
full of intriguingly mesmerizing awe
and revulsion.
Where do you begin from here,
how can this happen to you,
you wonder how much time you have
left to get things done all over again.
Don't worry about it,
just begin from the beginning.
Pick up the crumbs,
the left over and the pieces of the bricks
and pebbles thrown at you to forge again
the blue print with resilient
attitude to create the masterpiece
that will guarantee you a unique
spot in the world that stands you out
powerfully into the spotlight.
Unbeatable and a valued and
treasured friend in the world.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
TMReed Nov 10
Buried inside—we blameless pets
rove mollified through worlds of kind.
Rough n’ tumbles polish curtsies
for a tempered pair, spotless n' blind.

Never to slip, never to falter,
ever, we pets, sturdy in hollow.
Leap in rhyme, step with reason
‘to splitting morrow—grit n' swallow.
Rationale empties in practice.
Lewis Hyden Feb 26
Across the vales of sweeping grass
Beyond the summer-swept coastline,
The lines of flocking thrushes pass
Between the rocks and Scottish pines.

A whistle calls the thistle-shrub
Between the mother and her cub,
And as the bears move up the stream
She leaps, and tumbles into steam.

The waterfall's a sainted arm
Rushing through the blushing woods.
The summer breeze, with all its charm
Has never left, and never should.
© Lewis Hyden, 2019
Elle May 28
It stays dark
Even in the light, it stays dark
It encapsulates you and me
And you and me
Until light tumbles upon us again
It gets so bright that the world turns to milk
And we are forced to bow to the sun
But it stays dark still
I've stopped caring if people call me Mr.
I'm resigned sometimes to fade away
like a moldy apple rotting quietly in the bin
it was only a taste of me that ever counted

but I'm not done yet
(sigh)
babies...this is the rowdy bus ride
on the long windy island road
shouting *******
as the driver power swerves around the sunday driving couple
in a flash, white knuckled eye to eye with the semi driver
not even surprised
that we are colliding
no-one else seems to notice
this ride ends too,
a red house on a hillside over looking the pacific
monkey toucan sloth
a private pool
infinity style, ends at the edge and tumbles into what
nothing to signify
no goals met
I'm just alive,
perhaps underachieving,
this number on my check is a third of last years take
from the government, maybe I'm not charging enough
maybe I'm working too hard or not eating
I've gained no weight since college
and I barely seem to care
I learn night moves, sometimes I can sing
fearless full throated belts

a sign in some ohio river town
in front of some church
that some people still go to
and maybe get charged at the door
says
pray ceaselessly
they say
yoga is a way of being
a person goes to the gym for an hour
but what about the other 23
I keep my back straight and my breath full
and count a days labor
for ******* in my *****
and keeping my triangles engaged
just like Bomchew and Paul taught me
an old lady smiles at me in a white stair case, calls me cowboy
she said she saw me standing in court
a judge threatening to throw me in jail
and said to herself
now theres a man
I stayed in an abusive relationship longer than I should have.
I endured ill treatment at the expense of my self respect and well being.
My physical and mental health.
I tried to soldier on, until I couldn't anymore.
Until I had no reserves to run on.
Until I had nothing left to give
and everything to lose.

And, even after I have left
I develop symptoms,
the delayed reaction
recovery process.
The fall out.
Tumbles down on me,
and wipes me out.
Knocks me flat.

I end up in A&E.
The doctor comes in to talk to me
and when confronted with a single question,
I cannot lie convincingly.
My face cannot protect wrong doings anymore.
I have to admit I am in recovery.
And I never fully rationalised the pain
the confusion was unresolved.
I used softer words like 'unfriendly' in place of the truthful; Bully.

It was never my fault.
he's in the news
practically every day
for the things he'll
unthinkingly say

often he's seen signing
a managerial piece of paper
which is very important
in its draper

the heads of other
nations
aren't fond of his
aggravations

the word great tumbles
out of his gob
within every sentence
that word he'll lob

when he finally
moves off the stage
will it be filled by
another of his gauge
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