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Sammie wells Nov 2013
Storms stirring
  Winds surging
 Thunder roaring  
          Lightening cracking
             Rains lashing
          Waves bashing  
Grounds Shaking
                  Lakes Bursting
Cracks Emerging
   Lands Overturning
       Sky's Blurring
                      Streets Burning              
         World's Disturbing
        all Submerging

                         Life's Fading

                    No Escaping!  

                         No Returning!!
Hell hath no fury like mother nature scorned.
Delta Swingline Feb 2018
My birthday comes in a little over 2 weeks and I think when people talk about birthdays, they are secretly talking about status in blocked hours.

Somewhere in that 24 hour block, a person was born, and that person was me. .....well Yay I guess.

I don't like my birthday. And the reasons for that, are more complicated than you think.

When I was 13, I was really into cupcake birthday cakes. I asked for one, every year, for a long time.

When I turned 15 and 16, my best friend baked me cupcakes and brought them to school for me, and I shared them with my peers. You see, I considered her my best friend, and I guess that's not enough to be the best friend.

It's like unrequited love if you put poisonous platonic friendship in my blood first.

When I turned 17, she did baked me my last set of cupcakes, but I no longer had a best friend. So I spent my birthday mentally by myself while my family sang otherwise.

And right now, I hate cupcakes, and superhero films because they remind me of her. But saying that is the weakest thing to do, since everything, reminds me of her.

I will never admit I loved her, the same way she will shamelessly say she never loved me. I can't hate her, but I can't see her without hating myself.

You know age, goes up, the same way sadness, goes down. Pulling you into another 24 hour block just so you can say.

"Hey. I made it another day."

I will admit that every day without her is another day without cupcakes, and another day without sugar is another day without happiness. And people may have asked me "How can you flip-flop between preferences like you're not the biggest homosexual in the closet." So when I tell people I'm straight, they tell me I'm not allowed to change my mind.

I loved her, but she left me and took all of my friends with her. And I thought that real friends wouldn't abandon me, but there is always time to be wrong. By the time my birthday comes, I'll be crying, and she doesn't even remember what day my birthday is on.

By the time I read this out loud, I will have been through this birthday, like a person walks through fire. Turning 16 is less about age, then it is about school, and turning 18, is less about the number, and more about becoming an adult. And no amount of adult can neutralize pain.

I have accepted the fact that no man will ever really want to marry me. And no Christian, will ever truly want to love me.
And if I am wrong, I will have to repeat this lost love forever dragging it out in my life.

And if I have kids one day, do you really think...

That I'm going to tell everyone if it's a boy or a girl...

By making blue or pink...

...cupcakes?
Frosting.
September Roses Feb 2018
Brighter than the blinding flares of the sun, shimmering outward with power of thousands of stars
yet comforting
yet soft.
Filled with oceans crashing and wild, turning over ships, rushing under a powerful storm.
yet still
yet calm.
Filled with wonder and curiosity, yearning for the unknown, desperate for enlightenment
yet wise
yet content.
Eyes so wide, so deep, filled with delicate roses, the power of mighty warriors, elegant as the flowing dress of Venus, filled with souls of thousands, with passion, with yearning, with desire.
Filled with beauty
Filled with you.
Lin Jul 2018
I think we all feel useless sometimes.
Like another gluttonous body
over populating the planet
thinking we give meaning to
already fully functional things.
The frustration of the mystery
of life consumes us.
We become obsessive in the thought
that we don't matter.
We think of leaving.

I'm a realist.
I don't entertain arrogant ideas
that small coincidences add up
to act as a "sign".
But,
today I woke from a sleepless night
at 5 am and started cleaning my room.
Deep cleaning.
I found this.
Read it.
And cried.
It was an old birthday card
my sister had written to me.
"Happy 21st birthday! Here are 21 reasons I Love You"
as I sat down to take in this moment I heard
the lyrics playing in the background
on my Pandora radio:  
"stay alive".

Please,
If you read anything today;
if you need any kind of sign
read this:  
stay alive.

Thank you Hamilton radio on Pandora.

Thank you sister.
love depression me you saving save hurt pain poem poetry trending daily
Lizzy Jun 2016
These summer days
Are so strange.
There's so much silence
That I wish was sound.

I've always craved quiet
But it's different now.
Something about quiet
Makes me uneasy.

I'm trying to stay busy,
Occupied,
Distracted from all the quiet
That's laughing at me.

Maybe I need noise
Because in silence
My mind demands to be heard.
And I do not want to listen.

I do not want to listen
To what whispers echo
Throughout my skull
When there's nothing stimulating
My attention.

I've heard them before
And I have no interest
In being held hostage
By what feels like
A foreign voice.

I refuse to follow
My diseased train of thought.
It will only lead me
Into wars
And off cliffs.

So I will make noise
By any means necessary.
I will scream songs
I don't know the lyrics to.
I will play my guitar
Even if it's out of tune.

I will listen to a comforting voice
With a mesmerizing face.
I will smoke until
The silence is friendly.
I will paint
And become enthralled by colors
That only have examples
And no names.

I want my days to be
Loud and
Vibrant.
No more dull
Silence.
Sarah Isma Jul 2018
i would like to thank my parents,
for raising the best liar,
for teaching me to not give in to my desires,
for showing me that this world is an open fire,
that i am just walking through the shooting grounds,
that i am just trying to make it past the bounds,
that for some reason i showed you my accomplishments,
but in the end you ask if that’s ever going to be enough
they say strict parents raise the best liars, and for once i realize that it’s true. It’s become a thing, a sort of addiction, that lies easily flow through, and deceit seems to be my best personality. I’ll change, i’ll try, and i hope someday i’m able to tell them the little truth hidden behind this huge lie.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2016
I dreamed an opened book of prayer
On a table by a window
Pages turning by a window’s ledge at night
There, God in darkness, knowing, seeing
And where a thief had hidden, kneeling
As pages flutter with the curtain in the night

Pages lifting, lifting, turning
While God looking, quiet, waiting
For His thief in contemplation
Of the faith he had not kept
There, in the shadows of the curtain
At the turning, soon the lifting, of the night
.
.
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.)
CK Baker Jan 2017
I can’t wait
to be a hundred
turning over the thoughts
and plots
of Caledon
floating
on Zimmer inserts
and dusted Florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon

Through the
barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems
and Forbes
and Hope Healers
coming and going
as the countryman
comes
and goes

You can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
from Allis Chalmers
to combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
to shallow carp fields
the patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(on ripped and rolled
frontier seats)

it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
through
the rusted
grinders wheel
Amy H Jan 12
(a metaphor...)

Turning times on who I had to be
singed and fragile
rigid as a leaf
wont to tumble
in the wind;
make a fist
see her crumble,
death of Spring
scattered on the ground.

Winter comes
to soothe the scorching,
freezing scars
til finally
the hottest Summer ever
is remembered not felt.
But a tree like me
abides the changing season
emerges thriving.
Seasons of change
September Roses Mar 2018
Little house
Timeless street
Childhood garden

The scent of your preschool playground after a storm on a Wednesday in may

The distinguishable noise of your parents' doorbell

The weepy feeling looking at childhood photos and knowing you'll never get those moments back

The melancholy moment you realize the book you're reading was your favorite bedtime story

The second the atmosphere shifts and you're suddenly thrown back to memories of your mothers embrace on a stormy night

The suffocating feeling of revisiting tales thinning at the ends as your recollection slowly fades

The slipping grip of what once was that will never be again, slowly turning faded and acid washed until its nothing but a feeling you cant put a name to

Nostalgia
(Y)our eyes hold the stars at night
(O)ut or everything your smile I miss
(U)sually I kind of forget you but I remember now

(W)e did almost everything together
(E)very day we talked
(R)andom phone calls were the best
(E)very good memory I made with you

(M)emories made under starry skies
(Y)ears of laughs, tears, and smiles

(B)reathing had become a struggle
(R)ight now I’m shaking
(E)yes closed tightly
(A)ches deep within my chest
(K)eys given that lead to hearts
(I)nside my hearts in pieces
(N)othing is left ok
(G)oing on is getting harder

(P)ieces cut me almost like glass
(O)utside I don’t show anything
(I)snide my hearts in pieces
(N)othing left standing in my way
(T)oday I will end my pain
Read and put together to first letter of every line.

October 23, 2018
Woody Jun 2018
I still dream of my father
crossing the pastures
on his one-eyed tractor
mowing acres of sorrow
heading east of a moon
that'll be gone tomorrow
turning one last time as
if to say: so long my son
there’s going to be days
of sunshine and plenty
more of rain as he went
along his way, and my
sadness waved back like
grain in fields of long past
summers and summers
before that, so long a time
ago I can remember only
on lonely nights of heat
lightning and the low
rumble of distant thunder.
A nice surprise on this Monday evening.  Thank you all very much for your reading and very nice comments. Please know that I appreciate all of you and your kind words. Thank you.

* To Ravinder Kumar Soni: Opinion entitled to and noted. Thanks for taking the time to read.
Ash Slade Aug 2018
traffic backup,
    roadwork signs.
drive down road,
    little houses
treed yards.
    brown leaves,
first sign of fall.
    kids about to go back to
school\parents
    return to work. rolling
on the seconds go,
    ticking by faster
each year so it
    seems.

cars piled up,
     to slow, won't go.
tiny dancers in the
     wind blow on to car
windows,
     another sign of coming
Harvest Season.
     people resist the clear
trademarks
     enjoying the fall,
but resenting the
     winter.

I can't understand
     New England birds,
you're housed in
     cocoons like caterpillars
that guard against the
     elements,
not freezer coldness
     that animals call home.
I'm not sure the memo
     reached you,
but this isn't the
     South.

trees like snakes,
     shed their
rainbow skins, as
    "Old Man Winter"
kicks in. the sound of
      leaves crunching, cold
on the floor under foot.
     Autumn's death has
no memorial,
     birds flying South
a eulogy.
Emeka Mokeme Sep 2018
Never mind,
I'm not going anywhere
without you here with me.
Waiting for this long
is worth it.
How can I get to the
place of destiny when
you are still not in the
right place.
Life will always play out
for you the configuration
of the handouts and settings
you put into your life account
in such a way that you are
now the in thing.
Serenity and peace of mind
awaits you.
Rejoice now that you have
a chance to redeem yourself
and be whatever you want.
Make sure you don't have to
wait for too long for everything
to settle down.
Don't wait until the next time,
there may never be any next time.
Take this moment and run with it.
This moment is all you got.
Your faith is all you have.
Certainly everything will come
to you at their appropriate time.
Do everything you can to
make it a grandeur,
it will be your grandest turning point.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
CK Baker Jan 2017
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form

Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
turning pages
of yesterday's news
animating, culturing and bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)

His cronies
looked on
with a twisted conviction
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?


The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold

Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough)
patronized the boys
and called it a night

( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
at 8 bucks per,
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear

Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
Up steep streets
I repeat
In a dream
Words seen in windows
To myself
Sub-vocally

Turning right
And Northward
Left and Westwood
Checking number plates
For initial surprises
Numbers for primes

Multiplying
The number of years
By the number of days
Adding the leaps
The few left over
Beats

To arrive in the viewfinder
To stand on the edge
To look at the scene
To breathe with the light
To know finally that I am
The lens
Steve Page May 16
It's in the sequence
within the space
on the slow turn
at the touch of the page

it's more than the optic
less than didactic
much more tactile,
less than merely mercantile

it's more immersive,
deeply collaborative
a match that's unconventional
beyond art, words and materials

avoiding any deference,
embracing our difference
flicking 2 fingers
without fear of irreverence

it's greater than the sum
of its many surprising parts
more than what was found in
the inspirational, original art

and whether it's deliberate
or accidently incidental
these are books as art,
beyond the coffee table
From a festival turnthepage.org.uk looking at books as pieces of art
Janna Jul 2018
There's a hole in my heart

A void in my mind

A deep desire for nothing but want

A need for something like fun

Adventure and thrills

Seekers and pills

Falling into a blackness

So dark I'm turning blue

Such stark it's only true

Helpless and innocent

Forgiving and iridescent

I bond with strangers

Act bold, I'm not the tamest

I am stuck, so stuck

I don't know how to get out of here

This place, this room, this hide

This mask, this facade,

This glass, this wall, this broken bridge

It is all burning up into flames

Watch it, sink

Down it goes deep into

Black Waters

- soulwriterj
Written in a state of fragility and lostness.
IG: @soulwriterj
John F McCullagh Sep 2018
On a cold, grey Bronx September day, an old man stood on the Courthouse plaza.
His palsied hand reached out to touch the monument to his life’s sole drama.
He’d just turned nineteen when the A.E.F. had been ordered to assist the French.
Near Chateau-Thierry He helped hold the bridge without the safety of a trench.
“We Marines fought like devil Dogs” He whispered softly to the rain.
“The Germans came, wave after wave, but only the stars and stripes remained.”
“Paris was spared and the foe was impressed by our Marine’s defiant dogged defense.”
“My best friends died, but I survived to keep them in remembrance.”
“We stopped the Germans at the Marne.” He felt an old familiar pain.
Some might say that the old man cried, but he would say it was just the rain.
07/18/1918 American forces of the third division thwarted the German attempt to seize the Bridge at Chateau-Thierry. This combat success in their first action is considered by many historians to have been the turning point in the conflict. Since 1940 the keystone of the bridge they defended resides on the plaza of the Bronx courthouse with a small plaque explaining the significance of the stone. The incident recounted here took place in September of 1962.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Enveloped in a cloud of rain,
drenching spirit and soul.
Sunlight flickering through clouds ahead;
finally hope.

Leaving sadness behind at last,
my spirit longs to move in the sunlight of dance.
My body singing, rising to its newness,
twilight is turning bright with vibrancy ahead.

Praying the path will not turn
to the dark rainforest of gloom once more.
Can I believe in the light?
Can I believe in a future with hope?
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
galio Mar 2016
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they wept, tearing out their hair
and tossed it into the ocean
turning it into seaweeds.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who then hid themselves in caves, till they passed
their skin growing pale and lifeless
till feathers emerged from their hands.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who decided to mutilate their legs
and scar their feet
so they would no longer be human.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
and the creatures wailed as loud as they could,
screeching noises, ringing
but sounded only like bells to men.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
but they didn't see beauty or sin
instead,
walking vessels
an empty name
and a prize to win.
harpies are described as repulsive half-bird half-human creatures that represented evil. however in early greek mythology, hesiod described them as beautiful winged maidens.
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