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Zell Jul 2017
Could it be that our souls have already stumbled upon each other in another existence? One which sets no boundaries and requires no certain standard of love. For there is a sweet familiarity in the flow of your sentences and the heavenly scent of your perfume which lingered even when you’re not around. Maybe too familiar. That even the slightest touch of a hand in the most unexpected moments sends a feeling of connection as though i’ve known you for so long and yet the heavens forbid us to recall.
© 2017 D.A. Barreras
Vexren4000 Jan 3
Unfortunately we parted ways,
Somewhere down the line,
Life gives, and takes away.
Even the most precious of treasures,
Can fade away like sunsets.
Leaving nothing behind but an impression. An echo. A cry for help gone unheard. A day of suffering ended in the peace of death.

©BAS
acm Sep 2018
you know how they always say things, like:
what goes around comes around
karma, *****!
/good things come to those who wait/ ?

well, unfortunately
i'm here to report
that sometimes,
you just get colon cancer instead.
Joy B Sep 2018
I know I’m never best
Not even second best
But when you use me like that
When I’m your toy that you play with for a while
At least until something better comes along

                          I guess I’m more useful than I thought.
Ilion gray Aug 2018
The people
Are going anywhere
where they will wait,
Where the aluminum tops of pop
Bottles crash to earth
Releasing one last
Tiiiiinngg!!!((())))))
A kind of
Musical note...
A single sound through the corridors
Of order-
Watching the wind tease the trees/
Like the fastest boy
On the block,
Subtly walking
Over scattered grey
loose gravel
In the parking lot
Of the park,
Running his
Tiny ***** fingers,
Through
The other boys heads
Dusty and
Stagnant,
Filthy with earth and
Hours,
their
Blood black and  smoldering
Beneath a ceiling of skin,
Every pore
Like a window
Open
Waiting for the
One who knows,
To pass by,
All of them
Believing they
Were chosen.
"duck"
    "DUck"
              .........."DUCK
"GOOSE!!!­"

I watch the wind tease the leaves of trees-
Just this way,
At play,
Aloof
To the price of days,
Each one,
Their own.
Yet, both
The tree
And the child
Are Subtly dying,
Whilst also
climbing,
Closer to the
The sky,
Those ageless eyes
watch
their tiny fingers
stretched high
Reaching beneath
The ribs of wind,
the deepest end
Of the Seas of mid-heaven,
Into the sacred
Waves of secrets
everlasting,
Where
God taught his only
Son to swim.

I also watched,
as the wind teased
The trees that held the leaves-
Each decaying
As they rise
They bend forward like,
golden fields of days
Like sun-beaten blades of grass,
Their giant broken bodies
Like stones
So still,
That at times,
unfortunate seconds
Drifting past
Quietly,
wander
Too long
In the sadness,
Then crash
Violently,
In the silence.

If you ask some of the
people,
They will say
"We are going everywhere,
And yet we have found nothing-
Nothing/
While we wait-"

I have watched the wind tease
Everything,
All that I can hold in my eyes,
There
Where there is life everlasting-
Fingerprints,
Left after
the years wrapped it's hands
Around my neck squeezing
Till my skin began
To die and wither,
Like a brown trout
Tired, and weary
Floating way too
Close to the bank
As the edge of March,
Eat the last days of winter,
Now the evenings
Fall like ash,
Slowly arriving,
Hovering,
Softly
covering my shoulder.
The long night has just begun
Solemn and Subtle, sewn with
years
And hours
Of days that dripping
minutes
Never fill,
Arriving always
at the coldest hour
From the woods
That none
Can enter,
Lest you have reinforced your thoughts
With stolen rays of sunshine
Lest you have mapped
Constellations in the
Shattered glass  
From the broken
Windows of your eyes
Jaycee Nov 2014
She comes over for the night,
She seems to be alright.
I'm not sure if I like her yet,
But that doesn't seem to matter,
She's just that close to my sister.

She started to stay over on school nights,
Something just wasn't right.
Soon enough she never left,
I began to feel like I was being replaced.

I'm not trying to sound selfish,
And no I'm not jealous.
But I am confused,
Why are you telling me this unfortunate news?

She hasn't left for weeks.
I'm sick of being the subject of greed.
I want my family back.
Just tell me that she'll eventually leave.

I'm now starting to feel neglected.
I've been replaced in every way I had imagined.
But you don't seem to see it that way.
I don't think the girl is leaving any time soon.
English Jam Oct 2018
Silver skies, tranquil nights
Gently gazing down from afar
Silver rooftops, twinkling lights
Buried deep among the stars
Silver memories paint silver portraits
Hung from my interior walls
Silver melodies, not unfortunate
I hear, my name, it calls
Silver teardrops stain my cheeks
Making melancholy of innocence
Silver snowstorms, heartache's peak
An evocative and celibate synthesis
Silver dreams, silver eyes
Meet silver nights, tranquil skies
ottaross Aug 2015
When a rain-storm surprised the city
Passers-by looked down with pity
At a large group of nutters
Inspecting the gutters
An unfortunate planning committee.

They decided today was good timing
Below-streets they soon were climbing
Where the gutters connect
To the sewers they checked
And all got a very good sliming.
Who can resist a little limerick action?
Cleo Jun 2015
Where does one begin
When love seems to barely exist?
When love seems to kiss only a portion of our unfortunate porcelain hearts?
When love keeps forcing sin to decorate our skins with chagrin and false expectations.
We are submissive to the sensations of divinity.
Subliminally corrupting the vicinity of our hearts' originality.
We become clones that were born into fatality.
Stuck inside the brutality of the motion;
And its sad that we never come back from that place…
That place of heartbreak and headache;
Mistakes that take forever to fix;
Fake promises and cold-hearted tricks.
We hold on to the past like a grudge
And judge ourselves for never letting go.
But where do we go if we do?
Down… all the way down to the pits of our emptiness.
The echoes of yesterday
Are so hard to silence
If we are violently reminded every time the echoe bounces;
Counting each time it pounces back at us
And swallow the hope within.
So where does one begin
When love seems to barely exist?
When love seems to kiss only a portion of our unfortunate porcelain hearts?
When love keeps forcing sin to decorate our skins with chagrin and false expectations?
Here.
At the tip of this teardrop.
On the rim of this pain.
At the end of this page.
Today's goal,
mimic
all those
unfortunate
souls
met.

Meat,
another use,
all those
unfortunate
souls.

Draw
them in
a pen,
consuming energy,
eating.

Hungry
            hungry  
                   hungry
                          Hippos

...games.

Hungry
            hungry  
                   hungry
                          Hippos

Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Family and community heal, the scar tissue
between a young girl's *******. She had
shared conversations with my father about
the holes in their hearts. My heart, the
muscle, not the spirit, flutters when a
young girl bikes by or the heron flies.

By September flies are down, we can come
out of our canoes and risk the woods. Summer's tissue
is torn each night. Space above gives perspective
to the life one had. Jesus speaks your name?
And is Beatrix now traveling astronomy's corridors
at the speed of light, aware of herself, to the blessed heart?
Durante too is moving on, wayfaring with his virgil.

Much of the family gathered. My grandfather, Bart,
it was remembered sold his house to none other than Duke
Ellington and Lena Horne lived up the block. Andrew
played with her daughters, sons. Until every Italian
had moved east into Long Island, thinking themselves
better than blacks. I find each and all --
Hindus, Muslims -- hard-earned bone and prone to ache.

We are most happy the dead one's not us.
The chosen one, the unfortunate one, the
one whose name Jesus spoke, is gone
and is no longer one of us. She is the other,
as distant and separate from the family
as a black man or Hindu's sister. Missed less
than last night's sleep or meat and grateful

for such peace. I will be too if it won't
come too soon or too often. My observation is
54 or 84 you always seem to want more
what was accomplished or never finished isn't
enough. Greedy, overweight and blameworthy
is how I've felt about every wasted day.
Summer's tissue torn by the first frost night.

Judging by her feet, Judith will be a big
woman, great granddaughter of Bartholomew,
who sold his redlined house to Duke. See how she
stands near her mother, Jeanette, who
resembles so fiercely my grandmother, Concetta.
The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Summer's tissue is torn, the family is lace.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Laine Viv Apr 2015
Striped carnation (refusal):
     I have long since discovered that the fires
     in me were never going away.
     The heaviness, from refusal
     to spit the ashes.

Queen Anne’s lace (fantasy):
     I thought you put out the fire last night
     but you weren’t there.

Willow herb (pretension):
     How long have you been gone?
     I told myself as many lies as I could handle
     but none of them ever worked.

Scabiosa (unfortunate love):
     We’ve built enough bridges to take us nowhere–
     tell me again what we’ve become:
     trembling hands,
     trying not to spill blood on what was left.
Stupid Jupiter Aug 2017
flower whose well fed,
which love and happiness was led
to dance with the wind
with the free mind

are either lucky, or unfortunate,
as the joy feed by their love ones,
could affect them nor normalize
it's their choice not to value things,
and to accept things as it is

you're either a rose or a sunflower,
you may be an azalea, but you're still a flower,
and it's your choice to be a vigorous flower,
or to be a wilted flower
Thomas Bodoh Feb 4
A ***** tightened too tight
Right here. In my stomach.

Life is a simple thing, really:
You just let people tell you exactly what you need to feel,
Followed by:
Exactly what you need to do
Followed by:
Exactly how you need to live.
Then, fortunately, you'll be happy, and thus you will have nothing else in the world to worry about.
It's certainly a utopian age we live in. It's funny how every single person has every single answer to every single question.

A Disclaimer:
I dislike emotion. It's rather like a very uncomfortable shape that just sort of sits there - or sometimes it rages, but mostly just sits there - moving about as if it breathes, and its heart beats on its own. The best thing to do is:
Beat it down with a large wooden stick. And then follow the rules.

Let us review the matter, shall we?
A singular person seems to entirely shift the constellations that connect the stars in my head.
Until it all sort of flattens into a wide, sharp-but-not-sharp mass of screaming desire and frantic pursuit, and it settles nicely into the shape of my smile.

A side note:
Eyes are easy to look into,
until you realize that perhaps you shouldn't be looking into them
until you realize that it might be your one chance to look into them,
until you realize that it's too late, and those eyes are
somewhere else.
Bliss.

Back to business:
The feel of someone is like fire - can't quite grasp it until you are, and then it leaves a mark. An aching mark, perhaps, one that leaves you up at night, but a mark nonetheless.
And then the planets suddenly all revolve around that sun, that flaming son, that maddeningly heated and roaring sun that warms you and burns you and fills your life with light and blinds you to everything that was or should be or even wants to be and it just is:

Love. A terrifying, irrational, confusing, and all-around undesirable reality. Let's scrape it off into words, the little voices said, and see if it makes anything better. In a small way, perhaps it does. Or maybe that's just me again.

A note to the Reader:
Nothing to see here, my friend. Just a bit of liquid nonsense splattered onto a blank page. With all the lies out there, it's fascinatingly easy to be deceived.

A Final Note:
Occasionally there is a moment
in which the reality becomes so real that it's There
and an unfortunate soul can feel it
and they also feel that Person breathing, shifting, living, from so far away and suddenly
for just a second
in a flash of light
that unfortunate soul
can sense the squirming mass of flesh that is Humanity
under an abandoned darkening sky.

A hand tightened too tight
Right here. Over my heart.
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
I, Now, Here, The Future, This Month, Next Door;
This Chair, The House Over There, Thus;
Sulphur, Spherical, Eighty-two, Angrily;
Brutus killed Caesar by stabbing Him.

Rules are sometimes broken. If I tell you
That and That are That, and That because There it is,
Carelessness leads to Referential failure;
Brutus caused Caesar to die.

Schizophrenia is curable;
It’s not true that Schizophrenia is curable.
The Key is in the box by the phone;
If that Man’s Father is my Father’s Son.

The tableau runs to unfortunate intention
In an attempt to form a logic of likelihood;
Windowless wrong meanings slide probably;
The needle must be somewhere in this room.

I have always been an idealist,
A closed tableau; therefore, inconsistent.
The constituents are then the same as before, except
The number march disappears; Brutus, too.

It is easy to generate bogus inconsistencies
By ignoring lexical ambiguities,
But maybe Truth itself with sword uplifted
Has degrees and blurred edges;

Happy, Expressive, Heavy, Unpleasant;
Square, Perfect, Smooth, Daily;
The differences lie in the emphasis alone,
Borderline cases and bizarre situations.
Having spent many weeks collecting 'random' numbers from bus tickets and etc they were systematically applied to shelves of books in my room in a pre-determined manner to locate and select words and phrases which I then assembled into this poem.
Thescientist Aug 2015
Speaking of Roman Gods,
that love drunk Cupid,
Feel nothing for his lonely soul,
Slaying his victims,
condemning their hearts,
to enternity's unfortunate hole.


A mischievous plan.
Deciding one's  fate
that love drunk Cupid,
I have become to hate.

He is no saint, no angel from above,
it was Cupid who deprived me
from the one I could have loved.

So the next time you're feeling,
"Oh No!Who is Cupid's boo?"
Feel not for his lonely soul
That arrow shooting,
half *****,
love drunken fool.
My feelings about Valentine's Day and Cupid.
Akira Chinen Oct 2018
Art has the unfortunate responsibility
of reflecting all the **** truths
of the world
while at the same time
upholding the heavy burden
of hope

at the times breathing
becomes its hardest
we must inhale deeper
and transform the pain
in our lungs
and the doubts
in our own hearts
into something for others
to hold onto
to rest upon
to take refuge in

we must fight hate with love
give kindness the strength
to hold back cruelty
we must eat a little less
so those with nothing
will have something to eat

humanity may seem
to be slipping away
taking a step too far away
to ever come back
to ever remember
who we could be

and isn’t this a beautiful burden
this heavy weight upon our backs
and within our hearts

this feeling
that we are still alive
still able to breath
despite the pain

that we can still create
something out of the things
others would see destroyed

the **** beasts
that dress like presidents
and kings with no clothes
with their ****** power
and their blatant lies

history will remember their crimes
as we will not let them be forgotten

tomorrow is not a day they own...

yet...

but if we want to take it back
we must start
by doing something today

remember

artist need other artist
to remind them
that there is still something left
in this world worth
making something beautiful for

and everyone

everyone of us
is an artist

so pick up your bricks
and your hammers
and your buckets of paint
and let your hearts
run wild through the streets
and start the taking of tomorrow
by turning the world
into something better today
Jaycee Jan 2015
She comes over for the night,
She seems to be alright.
I'm not sure if I like her yet,
But that doesn't seem to matter.

She started to stay over on school nights,
Something just didn't seem right.
Soon enough she never really left,
Her and my little sister were basically compressed.

I'm not trying to sound selfish,
And no I'm not really jealous.
But I am feeling quite confused,
Why are you telling me this unfortunate news?

She hasn't left for weeks.
I'm sick of being the subject of greed.
I just want my family back.
Just tell me that she'll eventually leave.

I'm now starting to feel neglected.
I've been replaced in every way that I had imagined.
But you don't seem to see it the way that I do,
I don't think the girl is leaving any time soon.
I've never learnt to settle you down not to be a_ _
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