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i dreamed a rattlesnake was loose in the closet i heard it rattling i was afraid to open the door



a man suffering a toothache goes to see his dentist the dentist administers laughing gas when the man comes to his numb tongue swooshes around his mouth he asks how long was i under the dentist answers hours i needed to pull them all out



he imagines when he grows old there will be a pencil grown into one hand and a paintbrush grown into the other they will look like extra fingers grown out from the palms extensions of his personal evolution little children will be horrified when they see mommy mommy look at that man’s hands!



what if we are each presented with a complete picture of a puzzle from the very start then as our lives proceed the pieces begin showing up out of context sometimes recognizable other times a mystery some people are smarter more intuitive than others and are able to piece together the bigger picture some people never figure it out



i wasn’t thinking i didn’t know to think nobody taught me to think maybe my teachers tried but i didn’t get it i wasn’t thinking i was running reacting doing whatever i needed to survive when you’re trying to survive you move fast by instinct you don’t think you just act



many children are relieved when their parents die then they no longer need to explain prove themselves live up to their parent’s expectations yet all children need parents to approve foster mentor teach love



she was missing especially when her children needed her most she was busy lunching with girlfriends dinner dates beauty shop manicure masseuse appointments shopping seamstress fittings constant telephone gossiping criticizing she was too busy to notice she was missing more than anything she wanted to party show off her beauty to be the adored one the hostess with the mostest



i dreamed i was condemned to die by guillotine the executioner wore black and wielded an axe just in case the device failed in the dream the guillotine sliced shallow then the executioner went to work but he kept chopping unsuccessfully severing my head this went on for a long time



1954 Max Schwartzpilgrim sits at table in coffee shop on 5th floor of Maller’s Building elevated train loudly passes as he glances out window it is typical gloomy gray Chicago day he worries how he will find the money to pay off all his mounting debts he is over his head in debit thinks about taking out a hefty life insurance policy then cleverly killing himself but he cherishes his lovely wife Jenny his young children and social life sitting across table Ernie Cohen cracks crass joke Max laughs politely yet is in no mood to encourage his fingers work nervously mutely drumming on Formica table then stubbing out cigarette in glass ashtray lighting another with gold Dunhill lighter bitter tastes of coffee and cigarettes turns his stomach sour he raises his hand calling over Millie the waitress he flirtatiously smiles orders bowl of matzo ball soup with extra matzo ball Ernie says you can’t have enough big ***** for this world Max thinks about his son Odysseus



when Odysseus is very young Dad occasionally brings him to Schwartzpilgrim’s Jewelers Store on Saturday mornings Dad shows off his firstborn son like a prize possession lifting Odysseus in the air Dad takes him to golf range golf is not an interest for Odysseus Dad pushes him to learn proper swing Odysseus fumbles golf club and ***** he loves going anyway because he appreciates spending time with Dad once Dad and Odysseus take shower together Dad is so life-size muscular hairy Odysseus is so little Dad reaches touches Odysseus’s ******* feeling lone ******* Dad says we’ll correct that make it right Odysseus does not understand what Dad is talking about at finish Dad turns up cold water and shields Odysseus with his body he watches Dad dressing in mornings Dad is persnickety to last details of French cuff links silk handkerchief in breast pocket even Dad’s fingernails toenails are manicured buffed shiny clear



Odysseus’s left ******* does not descend into his ******* the adults in extended family routinely want to inspect the abnormality Mom shows them sometimes Dad grows agitated and leaves room it is embarrassing for Odysseus Daddy Lou’s brother Uncle Maury wants to check it out too often like he thinks he is a doctor Uncle Maury is an optometrist the pediatrician theorizes the tangled ******* is possibly the result of a hormone fertility drug Mom took to get pregnant the doctor injects Odysseus with a hormone shot then prescribes several medications to induce the ****** to drop nothing works eventually an inguinal hernia is diagnosed around the age of 9 Odysseus is operated on for a hernia and the ******* surgically moved down into his ******* the doctor says ******* is dead warning of propensity to cancer later in life his left ball is smaller than his right but it is more sensitive and needy he does not understand what the doctor means by “dead” Odysseus fears he will be made fun of he is self-conscious in locker room he does not comprehend for the rest of his life he will carry a diminutive *****



spokin alloud by readar in caulkknee axescent ello we’re Biggie an Smally tha 2 testicles whoooh liv in tha ******* of this felloh Odys Biggie is the soyze of a elthy chicken aegg and Smally is the size of a modest Bing cheery



one breast ****** points northeast the other smaller breast ****** points southwest she is frightened to reveal them to any man frightened to be exposed in woman’s locker room she is the most beautiful girl/woman he will ever know



Bayli Moutray is French/Irish 5’8” lean elongated with bowed legs knobby knees runner’s calves slim hips boy’s shoulders sleepy blue eyes light brown hair a barely discernable freckled birthmark on back of neck and small unequal ******* with puffy ******* pointing in different directions Laura an ex-girlfriend of Odysseus’s describes Bayli’s appearance as “a gangly bird screeching to be fed” Laura can be mean Odysseus thinks Bayli is the coolest girl in the world he is genuinely in love with her they have been sleeping together for nearly a year it is March 11 1974 Bayli’s birthday she turns 22 today Bayli is away with her family in Southeast Asia Odysseus understands what a great opportunity this is for her to learn about another culture he knows Bayli plans to meet up again with him in late summer or autumn in Chicago Dad wants Odysseus to follow in his footsteps and become a successful jewelry salesman he offers Odysseus a well-paying job driving leased Camaro across the Midwest servicing Dad’s established costume jewelry accounts Odysseus reasons it is a chance to squirrel away some cash until Bayli returns it is lonely on the road and awkward adjustment to be back in Chicago Odysseus made other plans after graduating from Hartford Art School he is going to be an important painter after numerous months and many Midwestern cities he begins to feel depressed he questions how Bayli can stay away for so long when he needs her so bad the Moutray’s send Mom and Dad a gift of elegant pewter candleholders made in Indonesia Mom accustomed to silver and gold excludes pewter to be put on display she instructs Teresa to place the candleholders away in a cabinet Mom also neglects to write a thank you note which is quite out of character for Mom Bayli’s father is a Navy Captain in the Pacific he is summoned to Norfolk Naval Station in Virginia the Moutray’s flight has a stopover in Chicago Bayli writes her parents want to meet Odysseus and his family Odysseus asks Dad to arrange his traveling itinerary around the Moutray’s visit Dad schedules Odysseus to service the Detroit and Michigan territory against Odysseus’s pleas Odysseus is living with his sister Penelope on Briar Street it is the only address Bayli’s parents know Odysseus has no way to reach them when the Moutray’s arrive at the door Penelope does not know what to tell them Mom and Dad are not interested in meeting Bayli’s parents it is not the first sign of dissatisfaction or disinterest Mom and Dad convey regarding Bayli Odysseus does not understand why his parents do not like her is it because Bayli is not Jewish is that the sole reason Mom and Dad do not approve of her Odysseus believes he needs his parent’s support he knows he is not like them and will likely never adopt their standards yet he values their consent they are his parents and he honors Mom and Dad let’s take a step back for a moment to get a different perspective a more serious matter is Odysseus’s financial dependency on his parents does a commitment to Bayli threaten the sheltered world his parent’s provide him is it merely money binding him to them why else is he so powerless to his parent’s control outwardly he appears a wild child yet inwardly he is somewhat timid is he cowardly is he unsure of Bayli’s strength and sustainability is that why he let’s Bayli go whatever the reason Dad’s and Mom’s pressure and influence are strong enough to sway his judgment he goes along with their authority losing Bayli is the greatest mistake of Odysseus’s life



he dreams Bayli and he are at a Bob Dylan concert they are hidden in the back of the theater in a dark hall they can hear the band playing Dylan’s voice singing and the echoes of the mesmerized audience Odysseus is ******* Bayli’s body against a wall she is quietly moaning his hand is inside her jeans feeling her wetness rubbing fingers between her legs after the show they hang around an empty lot filled with broken bottles loose bricks they run into Dylan all 3 are laughing and dancing down the sidewalk Dylan is incredibly playful and engaging he says he needs to run an errand not wanting to leave his company Odysseus and Bayli follow along they arrive at an old hospital building it is dark and dingy inside there is a large room filled with medical beds and water tanks housing unspeakably disfigured people swarming intravenous tubes attach the patients to oxygen equipment feed bags and monitoring machines Dylan moves between each victim like a compassionate ambassador Odysseus is freaking out the infirmary is too horrible to imagine he shields his eyes wanders away losing Bayli searching running frantically for a way out he wakes shivering and sweating the pillow is wet sheets twisted he gets up from the bed stares out window into the dark night he wonders where he lost Bayli



these winds of change let them come sailor home from sea hunter home from hill he who can create the worst terror is the greatest warrior
I survived high school by a small crack of glass.
I caught myself  by the pad of my finger tips, on the splintered pane,
after falling off the edge of a world of depression, anger, and pain,
and it was from there I pulled myself up, feeling more alive than I had in my entire life.
Because it was through hell that I walked, feet burning, for the diploma I earned on stage.
It was through spider webs I passed, scratching invisible clinging memories off,
to march tall and strong, toward the future I thought was nonexistent a month before.  
I survived high school by the non-working baby hairs on the back of my neck.
The ones that are supposed to stand up like frightened Halloween cats whenever dangers approaches,
and yet when my danger came calling, laid calm like the summer sun on your concrete drive way
and it's because of this I stand here today, looking into the eyes of your fresh faces, fearing that you too may be walking on coals.
It's because of this I want to pour the knowledge of my journeys into the openings of your skin,
let you soak up my mistakes so that maybe, just maybe, you won't have to make as many of your own.
For there are some mistakes that will never heal.
So when you reach for that bottle, hands hungrily searching for something impossible to find in Absolute *****,
remember that the only thing at the bottom of that bottle is blurred memories.
When your skin gets the itch only a blade can scratch,
stop, drop the blade, and coming running as fast as you can back into my words.
Hear me when I tell you that beneath your skin lies not an escape from this life, but only more of your alive, beating, self.
And as much as your eyes might need proof that you're alive, your chest is always right there below your head,
ready to let you feel the heart inside that makes you such a precious addition to this world.
Feel  it.
Let it's pounding remind you that dropping calories and skipping meals won't solve your problems.
That being skinny, as much of a temptation as it can be, isn't a goal worth losing the breath from your lungs.
Trust me, I know. And I know that heartbreak and loss and hurt are more than enough to make you want to tear apart the fabric of your life and create something new from the threads.
But please know that in end you'll only wind up tangled in the mess,
calling out for people that you've pushed so far away they can no longer hear you.
So instead of ripping through the darkness, know that you don't have to start from scratch,
but merely dye yourself, your life, a different color.
Know that everything you've been through and everything you've seen is building who you are, who you will be, and that slowly but surely you are becoming a work of art so unspeakably beautiful that nothing like you has ever been made or seen before and hold on to that.
Hold on to the idea that this world, and these people, they need you.  
They want nothing more than to see what you turn out to be. I know that's how I feel.
I look at every single one of you and choke up at the thought of how you will stand out as the purist work of art ever imaginable one day.
The kind of art that comes only from a lifetime of living and moving on and starting over.  Hold on to that.
When the world comes to your window with wind and rain, when it tries to drown you in your own tears, and break your spirit with your own emotions, know that you aren't facing the hurricane alone.
I am here, and I know.
I know that no matter what happens, there is enough fire left in you to keep going.
You just have to dig deep enough to smell the smoke.
Another, more serious, attempt at Spoken Word Poetry.
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******* antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without ******* headlong in my armpits.

Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******* bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.

Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.

With smash hits like
"This traffic is *******"
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals

Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.

old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.

"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.

Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"

So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.
Alicia Harger Oct 2012
This word is unspeakably tragic.
Love lost is no love at all.
No sorcery, witchcraft, or magic
Can bring back love that is gone.
Orpheus thought he had found it
His music came oh so close.
But one glance over his shoulder
And true love truly was lost.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2021
Mark Twain to Helen Keller


“Oh, dear me, how unspeakably funny and owlishly idiotic and grotesque was that “plagiarism” farce! As if there was much of anything in any human utterance, oral or written, except plagiarism! The kernel, the soul—let us go farther and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances in plagiarism.

For substantially all ideas are second hand, consciously or unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources and daily use by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them; whereas there is not a rag of originality about them any where except the little discoloration they get from his mental and moral calibre and his temperament, which is revealed in characteristics of phrasing.”

Mark Twain
Ken Pepiton Mar 2023
Genesis
****** and his cities,
Peleg the earthquake,

cities of crafts and exchange

waste disposal, chaos control
ordinal first to last sequence
father, physical strong, less curious
mother, fragile smaller, more observant.

Plural spiritual entities, Elohim, watchers,
applications of reason, reporting events.

Balance demonstrated with spinning
and flipping throwing things,
fitting thing piece to piece cunning spun
framing weaving
loose and taut, twanging
whistle, whine howl yells bells song

Eventual progress, time out of mind, slow
and steady,
patient, put down, put up, leaning, pushing
pulling, windwise rushing in, to fill the empty

Mind, imageless, no holds, no solidity,
all is spirit, no atoms even, perhaps, not even,
quarkish pairs of ups or downs that spin
on points in ever after solid state called
Heaven, the firmamental place where none was.

Higg's Field.
Unknown known matter and energy, we know.
We know something power enough to seem matter,
exists,
beyond our individuated mind's grasp.
Okeh.

Spread so as we may imagine, when itself began
with the initial edges, or edge, it would be, inside
any bubble-edge is inside,
they say outside is unimaginable

flat out planed point of anything
pounded thin as any bubble wall,
-blood-brain boundary, shocking discovery

yes, as with point spreads stretched to firm
mental plotted points of possible otherness,

ways one may be seen divided
duty-wise. Needful news.

Drink water from your own cistern,
save rain water for washing hair,
keep the spider in the spout,
to catch most matter washed
from the roof over our minds vidroning view

Googlized minds, in Disneyified Meta Cognosis,

we arrived at our destination,
and they have clouds of cotton candy.

- must be all vain, all is vanity, that's fair.
- Ecclesiastes, my old ****-rod-*****-point
pain on my backside,
such as Moses saw of Him whose name is as the Dao,
the name that may be said is not Ha Shem,
the side that may be seen is not His, you see, the hole,
not the whole,
and once that is filtered through, a certainly tangled web,
where in it seems,
Jews, in cultural roles granted, now, bat und bar mitzvah,
no veiled ****** similarities to the Handmaid's Tale.

No weeping over spilt milk,
never cry wolf.
Never speak of the devil, for … what speak we in,
when worshipping and praising and praying is supplicant
pose, supposed to induce holy awareness of mathematical me.

What might be the odds, set
taking all bets,
in spirit and in truth, as held in the wedom we acknowledge,
you and me, we agree, we become maker of this bubbling state,

we boil the cauldron, wear the caul of the first born-
we take the fat from the caul of the liver, and offer the smell,
to the unspeakably named reality we make believers build
in times of plenty, we make beautiful things together,

we call dreams retellings, but the tellings flow from deeper wells.

We are more ant-ish than sheepish,
we are more horse-ish than wolfish, in the wild.
We are more dog-ish than cat-ish, in civilized spaces.

Nurture native natal ground boundary of any wedom,
go beyond,
in quest of all we failed to grasp, the wind we fit to words,
and hold the gathered sheaves , in fists,
this is it,
why one how come to become. We be. Alwise, always willing

to envision further than we think men by right may see,
the tree the fruit was forbidden from,
bade the birds imbibe, and the elephants and monkey's too,

certainly, imagine, the plan got out of hand, it was
mandatory
in the garden walled off speck of life,
pre concepts weyeken called cells.

E= okay, rebalance all you respond with

who says what C equals, at my scale, in a mind,
in or out of the body, I can not say, significantly
different from saying, I can't say,

see, set, mindtimespace, spacetimemind, point. A.
Daily bread, liquidity.
ji Mar 2016
No matter how painful the words I write,
     or how perfectly beautiful they rhyme,
     no phrase, no line, no verse, no time
     or poetry in the world could bring you back.

And I'll miss you forever, like how the shore
     unspeakably misses the kisses of the tides
     as they recede;
     and like the corals on the ocean beds,
     you are all I need.
i miss you terribly.
lost in my mind Feb 2015
She was real
and not like other people were "real"
she was so real and tangible
she made everyone else I had ever met
fade into the background.
Have you ever met someone like that?
Someone so real that everything else fades?
She was potent and tangible
mysterious and raw
she had no limits
everything she said was potent
with a life of its own.
We spoke in a language no one else understood.
A language we crafted ourselves.
I felt so unspeakably honored to get to know her
but like all beautiful things, they leave.
and she left.
she was infinity, and i did not deserve her.
st64 Jul 2013
eternal thanks to the likes of open flowers as these
always a-blossom
rendering life
so worth
living


1.
“But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it *most
?”
― Mark Twain

2.
“The trouble is not in dying for a friend, but in finding a friend worth dying for.”
― Mark Twain

3.
“If you don't read the newspaper, you're uninformed. If you read the newspaper, you're mis-informed.”
― Mark Twain


4.
“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.”
― Mark Twain


5.
“You believe in a book that has talking animals, wizards, witches, demons, sticks turning into snakes, burning bushes, food falling from the sky, people walking on water, and all sorts of magical, absurd and primitive stories, and you say that we are the ones that need help?”
― Mark Twain


6.
“I've lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.”
― Mark Twain


7.
“The best way to cheer yourself is to try to cheer someone else up.”
― Mark Twain


8.
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
― Mark Twain

9.
“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.”
― Mark Twain


10.
“A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining, but wants it back the minute it begins to rain.”
― Mark Twain


11.
“A clear conscience is the sure sign of a bad memory.”
― Mark Twain



12.
“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”
― Mark Twain


13.
“There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.”
― Mark Twain


14.
“Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile. Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
― Mark Twain


15.
“Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?”
― Mark Twain


16.
“I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and **** him.”
― Mark Twain


17.
“Noise proves nothing. Often a hen who has laid an egg cackles as if she had laid an asteroid.”
― Mark Twain


18.
“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.”
― Mark Twain


19.
“He who asks is a fool for five minutes, but he who does not ask remains a fool forever.”
― Mark Twain



20.
“Never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option.”
― Mark Twain






Source:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/1244.Mark_Twain?page=10




S T, 2 June 2013
Feeling inspired by Mark Twain, of late....oh, the fine thoughts which spilled from him ...wow.

Samuel Langhorne Clemens (November 30, 1835 – April 21, 1910),[1] better known by his pen name Mark Twain, was an American author and humorist. He wrote The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876) and its sequel, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1885),[2] the latter often called "the Great American Novel." (WikiPedia)

Also listening to 'Scarborough Fair'.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XEhAXQ5QQzs





Sub-entry:  “faire”

1.
will ye go to the faire with me, dear thing?
walk over the lea and pick wild daisies for yer hair
please, let me whisper sweet honeyed songs in yer mind .

2.
deep-red apple-toffee syrup on yer cotton shirt
oh, I have something splendid to give ye this eve
we share moonlit love under a twinkling canopy.

3.
come with me..

(oh yes :)

Laura Jane Mar 2015
Make your love unspeakably wild she told me
like the textures of your nakedness
in the dripping sun and blinding water
when its late, late august
before the first damp morning
when you can’t deny
that the real heat is gone from the night.
It's ok to be sentimental if
it keeps the buzz in your ears
in this nowish spot in time
when there’s less and less
to draw you out of your nest.
There’s every excuse for this dullness
after a quick seven years
the weight of it shows in your face
on your grandfather’s heavy brow.
You both wondered
why you sometimes felt like strangers in this place
and why the sweetness of brome
can send you reeling in the dusk.
Seven years gleaned of their mornings
like so many beans in a bright steel pan.
Arriving late and later still
I felt the dawns irredeemable chill
and in the bluest of October afternoons, she said,
may your love be unspeakably wild.
Thin-legged, thin-chested, slight unspeakably,
Neat-footed and weak-fingered:  in his face--
Lean, large-*****, curved of beak, and touched with race,
Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable as the sea,
The brown eyes radiant with vivacity--
There shines a brilliant and romantic grace,
A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace
Of passion and impudence and energy.
Valiant in velvet, light in ragged luck,
Most vain, most generous, sternly critical,
Buffoon and poet, lover and sensualist:
A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck,
Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all,
And something of the Shorter-Catechist.
N Sep 2018
despite what others prefer to believe, all women can be mothers.
but not all mothers can be maternal, I’ve learned this from living with you all these years.

I guess that's the same as saying you weren't hardwired to love me. but I was certainly born to love and need you. I didn't realize this when I was younger, although I wish I did. I wish I understood.

you, in all that you are and all you are not, gave me life. yet I have little happy memories with you. I can't recall a single moment in all these years that we have conversed about anything other than surface-level topics.

sure, you keep me well-fed, bathed, clothed, educated, and all things materialistic. other than that, what else was there?

you are emotionally distant, perpetually detached. you never understood how much I needed to be held, comforted, and heard. you left me hungry and desperate for affection, approval, and validation. all of this, I sought from others.
but their love can only go so far. I need you too.

look at me, Mom, I need a little fixing.
a few others have tried but have failed miserably. they all gave up eventually.
who would even dare waste their youth on someone as hopelessly broken as I am, right?

I keep trying to figure you out. watching movies and reading articles about mothers and daughters who share a strong bond always fill me to the brim with the painful awareness of a deep loss, and the horror that I am alone in this agony.
this was my own personal brand of hell.

what was going through your head when you first held me? were you disappointed that your plans were put on hold because you gave birth to such a needy baby?

am I the cause of all your frustrations? do you look at me and see all the things you couldn't have, all the things wrong in your world?

recently, I remember you said you wanted us to have a more open relationship, something you never had with your mother.
although now that I've thought about it, it makes no sense.
It's almost impossible to justify the idea of you wanting to befriend me, with you being unspeakably critical of me and emotionally distant one day, and then completely out of the blue, disconcertingly affectionate toward me.

I am now suddenly aware that the overbearingly fussy mom act frequently happened in front of an audience.
behind closed doors, you never asked me what I was thinking or how I was feeling. I grew up believing my opinions and emotions were largely irrelevant to you.

there was, and is, no winning with you. I was never smart enough for you, Mom. an 89 is not good enough.
I was never pretty enough for you, either. whenever we went out you told me to put on some makeup. only complimenting my looks when I have a full face of makeup on. the worst part is, for the longest time, I believed you.
I still believe you, sometimes.

mom, for years, you've convinced me I am unworthy of unconditional love and affection, for being unapologetically me.

my relationships, both romantic and platonic, have been a constant roller coaster ride. one moment, my head is spinning from the high of all their love and support, the next minute, I am spiraling into depression, because I feel like I can’t trust them to stick around.
because who would want to stay with a person who is beyond reparation, right?

it always seems like euphoria is less welcome than misery when I'm around you. I flee from romantic relationships when I notice myself becoming attached. I don't even know why, considering the amount of fondness I have for them.

maybe it's self-sabotage? perhaps. what I do know for sure is I don't deserve such a kind, loving soul.
or do I?

do you even realize how crippling it is to constantly wait for the other shoe to drop? I have friends who have been there for me all these years and I, for the life of me, don't trust them enough not to judge me whenever I open up about my problems and this sadness you've inflicted on me.
that is why I suffer in silence.

I feel an obsidian emptiness in my heart and my soul. and you are the one who caused it.
I despise what you've done to me, but even I know I can't hate you forever. I can't keep living my life like this, Mom.
but who do I turn to?

I reckon this terrible affliction is mine, and mine alone. I must stop blaming you now.

I must emancipate myself from all the guilt that well-meaning people direct toward me, for having such strong, contradictory feelings for you. they are oblivious to what it's like to squirm under your distant disapproving gaze, after all.

I must be free of you somehow.
only then I can begin to heal.
only then can I be free.
Rob M Jun 2014
When you are coming off drugs, when you are held down by the crippling force of anxiety and pain; when your eyes are finally open and you see your life for what it truly is, all of the things you run from catch up with you. Like a strong surge caused by a hurricane, it washes over you, and the tide tries to pull you back underwater, back where it is safe. Back where the comforting numbness and cold of unawareness can smother your senses and put you back to blissful sleep. You never learned to deal with this reality, the actual discomfort of being alive on planet earth, with all its beautiful anguish and fear. It is hard to see from this point all the wonderful things about life, the things that get the rest of humanity through every day. The bliss that can come from living is obscured because you are still underwater; you can see it, just barely, like sunlight through salt water. But it is so, so far; it is hard to believe anything more can actually exist.

It is comforting to know that there are things bigger than you and your personal pain. That the sun will continue to set and rise with or without you. That there are millions who suffer far worse and live through each day with that struggle. If they can open their eyes each morning, pick up that ever so heavy burden, and walk with it smiling, so can you. There is something indomitable about the human spirit, something unspeakably powerful. Inside you burns a will to live that is stronger than any drug, stronger than any pain, stronger than any fear. The power to defeat what you face is already within you. It resides inside you, deep down, silenced and shuttered; but it will rise again, as will you. There is very little you cannot come home from. Even if you are all alone. Even if your pain must be silent and you must shoulder it by yourself. You are human. You are strong.

And the sunlight is there above the waves, waiting to warm you. Waiting to welcome you back into life. There are only better things ahead.

Hold on.
I know this isn't really poetry. I'm in the process of getting clean, and I know there has to be someone out there going through the same thing I am, or thinking of it. I'm in the midst of it and I wrote this to push myself on. I thought if maybe one person read it and it helped them, it would be worth posting. Stay strong, friends.
Ameerah Holliday Apr 2013
A positive soul brings positive times
radiating in your security,
and when under your gaze, my soul unwinds
breathing you in for an eternity.

I am tie-dyed in your purity.
I am baptized in your eccentric taste.
Your smile never ceases to amaze me,
nothing's cherished more than our fingers laced.

Incomparable are your loving eyes,
unspeakably you make time fall away.
As your voice consumes me, emotions rise,
and in your presence I will forever stay.

For rays of sunshine flow heavenly through,
you light up my soul with the things you do.
Dedicated to Mod Sun.
Nicole May 2013
Our moments together were
An inconvenience for both,
Necessity for neither,
Desired only by me.

I was a stupid, little girl.

I need not hold back tears
My ducts for you dried out
When my
Faith, love, and trust
Ebbed away with
Disappointing and lackluster years

Dropped down a bottomless pit

Your ability to ignore
My existence remains
Ever admirable
While my sentiments remain
Everlastingly indifferent

I'm a cold-natured soul

When you're an old man
You will think back on the days
You wasted our time,
And turned a blind eye

You'll wonder why your only begotten child left your life

If you are lucky enough to reach an age of old
A numbness so comfortable
Unspeakably whole
On your deathbed
Peacefully waiting
The departure of your soul
Notice,
I won't be there
I've turned a blind eye.

*Oh, father, you've taught me too well
Morgan Ella May 2012
not in the usual way with
bent knee and bowed head
but with nag champa and cd inserts, with
deep reds,
plastic costume jewelry beading and safety pinned rips.
it was post cards and cigarette ash
with Kroger's box dye in
rusted orange.
staining our fingernails. didn't matter. we painted them in
neon green and chunky glitter. we stayed up late and wandered
laughter like a shattered diamond breaking into a million stars and thrown out over such a welcoming ivory towered
night sky.
and itallian food households with those noodles in jars.
looking up.
it was Billy Corgan telling us he'd
sing along.
it was memories that aren't even mine. cut in my eyes.
it was blunt bobs and pixie haircuts.  it was cut necklines and walking on air. giant chain necklaces and whispered chap-lipped secrets.
endless folds and bottomless love
in a deliciously musty floral hat box.
you're just low end in
loving apathy.
and i'm absent in my own life.
it was an interruption so unspeakably painful.
doesn't seem so hard to revisit.
but i can't.
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2011
Peace Wins

If it would Please God I would pray that he would make me for a time a conjuror and I could go to the
Mother who lost her parents and her children in the fire that first he take the tears of empathy that are
Falling on my outer face from the depths of my soul and allow me to turn them into the mist that
Garlands the Hawaiian isles it is such a tender rendering of nature on the beauty a touch of ruggedness
Diffused by grasses and fauna and it cast its spell and that’s what she needs in her life that knows jagged
Peaks that out do ruggedness so unspeakably right now but to invite her out of whatever place she is
Abiding in at this time to conjure a country lane and as she walks to the horse drawn sleigh I throw my
Arm in an arch and pieces of gleaming bright gold forms an arbor over her head and then I lower my
Arms and in so doing the mist I spoke of gently lowers over the whole scene instead of tears on her face
Let the tiny molecules of mist float down and the tingle they give set the stage for wonder’s display that
The Glory of the stars allow themselves to be harnessed and in the neatest drifts of snow that nature
Can produce on this great white blanket that already has pin point like diamonds allow the stars to be
Scattered cluster like making even grander designs I know only a small portion of this magic is able to
Fight its way through agonies pain not to stop or give in but to call from their northern home the
Northern Lights electrifying the night sky dance and play create all that I say you never had an audience
Such as this special one so pull out all the stops gather ice crystals to add to the wonder the trees are to
Get in the act luminescent light powerful surges from their power and strength a forest must be
Trimmed the flowers are called out of season to come and adorn this unique ride with the under
Tow of pronounced tranquility and the divine scent normally found is divinely enhanced the heavenly
Doves are cooing they are changing the rules for a brief time pain lies in heaps but its power is held at
Bay while you and I pray because sadly this is more for you and me as we suffer and have no way to
Share It or express it so dear with loss and brokenness you are not alone we will try to move heaven and
Earth to comfort you in any way we can
In 2009, The american disaster film "2012" was released.
Preparing for "The End of The World" was easy.

A piece of cardboard at a Red Light.


"2012 The End Is Nigh, What's a dollar?"


We might as well have smiled, given a friendly wave,
honked our horns like we were passing the Freeport Flag Ladies.


In 2012, I was in high school with my first job.

I didn't care that In the twinkling of an eye,

we were gonna hear God's last trumpet.

On Rapture-Eve, I set out "Milk N' Cookies" for the "Left-behind"

I left next mornings outfit on the side of the road as if Angels abducted me ****-*** naked mid-stride

Turns out, the red light never turned green.

The "left-behind" kept breeding

and Hell on earth just kept recruiting

Now it's 2020,

The Freeport Flag Ladies are in Quarantine,

the signs have needles in our eyelids like mechanical spiders,

You can't even turn the news off now,

I pick it up at CVS Like a Controlled substance prescription.

They make you call in once a month to get it refilled.

Some how my amazing wife Amy and I

Not only survived the rapture,
we brought a brand new life into it.

For 10 days we were locked in a hospital

We never looked at the news.

The world melted away as we danced together

Waiting to meet our little miracle.

After Amy was whisked away for intensive surgery
and survived the most unspeakably amazing thing in the world
a nurse eventually grabbed me and asked if I wanted to meet my daughter,
I was guided to a baby table

with knobs, meters, heat lamps,

and on a tiny cushion

in a tiny plastic crib,

My daughter.


Sophia Naomi Mae Coulombe.


wide eyed

staring into my pupils

wiggling

perfect

Now we are home.

No nurses, no IV.

Somehow it feels like the end of the world and all it's chaos
was the best thing that has ever happened to us.

Everything happened exactly when it needed too.


We couldn't have had better timing

if God planned it.
I would love any editing advice! I know this poem is raw and precious, but please feel open to being savage with the red pen!
Thinking, tonight, on a walk under some makeshift constellations:
Singing soft, rainstorm melodies makes me feel unspeakably alive.
At its completion, my story will have enveloped me like B minor at the predawn of a snow-covered day.
There is nothing more painfully right than the overlap of lines on my palms.
Symphonies are written,
Coming and going.
Maybe I’ve created her, too,
as plows leave drifts.
MMXI

ahh... mania.
here's another found poem from "write something . net"

http://www.writesomething.net/post/1357140/
Emotions run deep, and deeper they must seep
But what do they seek?
Nothing but sheltering words,
be it from a Sheik, or a Greek.

The imagery is both out-worldly and unspeakably realistic
We try to find a way, a channel, a historical shuttle
Only to have it expressed in vague words
"Here, another puzzle".

The words dance in rhythms and riddles
Sometimes unfathomable,
Yet once aligned, they cast a spell.

The spell is poetry.. and it has a society
Countless souls, and souls yet to come
11th of August, marked the arrival of its rightful king
Tired and tireless, a lifetime of embodying poetry

O captain, my captain!

Let us roam the forgotten streets and share a bottle of cheap gin

Let us whisper inappropriate jokes into the ears of those who deem suicide a great sin!

And Let us remember that once conscious, mankind was in tragedy,
but through comedy, we found our remedy.

Rest in Pieces,
For I swear to Jesus, I can hear your laugh at "Pieces".
TLK May 2013
-- 1 --


He has a need to expend his seed: it is a never-ending endeavour, the smack of wood against leather. In the hot rush to consummate his love he must burn a more energy-rich depravity -- must look for a certain seriousness, a gravity. Right now he is past the ‘******’ and the ‘hos’, “just girls,” he says, “just girls pretending to be women pretending to be *****,” and he wants to see real girls naked and ashamed and cutting themselves for money. He gets off on the very idea of people deforming themselves for his pleasure.



-- 2 --


Here he is, being driven by his car. At each corner he sees girls huddled together, sharing warmth. Their lips are locked in thin lines of glamour and they swap his salty substances without even the slightest tremor of desire. At their waists they hold daggers, levelled at each other’s bellies. All the better to cut out the cancer of pregnancy.




-- 3 --


His vices have turned to hate. So equanimous before, so confidential with his needs: now he does not just implore his occasional dates with the soft sad pressure of his bulging eyes; now he asks direct. “Dance for me,” he says, in the privacy of his own filth. “No, sexier,” he exhorts, imagining the first ****** excitations caused by an unspeakably illegal piece of *******. He blames them for having bodies that do this to him. He blames them.



-- 4 --


He blames them.
Kalia Eden May 2014
expressive expression expresses itself
only ever in an ephemeral way
emulating evocation of endings and all they entail
which is never not more than what can be known
and always less than what is left living in the lake.
leaving all that had been learned
all that had been/on the verge of lust
and unspeakably, life.
when they tip-toe and twist away
trailing their tails, trying to tell us the opposite of
truth: time
that trusts the trap.
the opposite of what they bury
what is brought to brink.
miraculous masquerade molding itself into moons
many many many moons
that might.
Poetria Jan 2017
Do not be afraid;
go ahead, like my page,
because oftentimes sad is
the only thing I am,
and if it is in sadness
that I am solely literate,
I shall be sad,
and when you happen
to give it a like,
*I will be unspeakably glad.
Like it up, if you really must.
No please, I insist.
Helpless to reject you when you call for help
pick up because i'm powerless to do anything else
beg for some kind of insight into this insanity
manage to hold my breathing half way steadily
speak in calm tones, gentle, to console
you're crying - and you have no way of knowing
what that still does to me (it cuts me)
The whole time i call myself helping, offering an ear, a shoulder
something to hold onto when your world is blown apart-
this tightness in my chest, a consistent catch in my breath
an ache, a longing, not something i can explain
but it has words of it's own - and i know what it would say
"i still love you, I'm sorry"
this conversatuion serves to make me smile and mar me
unspeakably

(click.)
(dial tone. . .)
Tom D Apr 2023
Evil is innocence
unspeakably betrayed
as it laughs at it’s partner
about the deal that was made
Kush May 2016
1.
I open Her stitches with the dullest screwdriver available in my horrid workshop
I ask her if she wants the agony to cease and she promptly responds “Stop!”

Her request is denied just as my affection was rejected through paper, red ink, and hollow apologies

2.
I assail Him with with a hammer until bony shards protrude from skin
The boastful **** is still breathing when I contort the lumbars of his spine

This gory peacock’s skeletal feathers display my anger in all essences of its awe-inspiring glory

3.
I dangle Her plump body over a chimney billowing greasy smoke
She attempts to strike deals for mercy and I respond with a choke

The bargaining persists all the way down until rollicking flames turn her mouth into silky ribbons of ash

4.
The Next frequently indulges in unspeakably awful chipperness
So, naturally, I make him gulp down a week’s worth of happy meds

While his heart sputters, depression’s taste wipes away all traces of the a smile on his face

5.
My work done, I casually stroll back home
I muse on all the wicked deeds finally expunged and take out a shining Magnum

The cold piece of steel turns around to face this peaceful victim, its trigger pulled in **acceptance
Based on the five stages of grief
Awesome Annie Jul 2019
I opened myself
Arms stretched
Welcomed
Into his bed.
Uncaring of
What it will cost me.

Why
Am I this way?
*** is Binding
Intertwined unspeakably
Beyond lifetimes
And far past
Our hearts
Own Comprehension.

We mold together
Passion overwhelming
Self destruction
Igniting
With each ******.
Left lingering
For eternity
Between ruin and bliss.
Breeze-Mist Apr 2017
Thank you, A, for showing me
I wasn't the monster they made me out to be
For showing me that, in the end
Even freaks can have some friends

When you first approached me, I thought you were mad
For wanting to befriend someone so unspeakably bad
For a full hour, I thought you were a prank
That you were just there to give my chains a yank

In a way, you were my first friend
Hell, you were the second who didn't leave or betray me in the end
And the first I liked, but didn't see enough
I guess, for me, it was more puppy love

But in seventh grade, in a darkened gym
I sat at an empty table within
With so many seats, I couldn't believe
That you'd voluntarily sit and talk to me

And though we don't talk much anymore
Since I moved away and got more chores
Your memory always shines in my mind
As the first true friend I ever did find
A breath of life given to me by God.
My two year old king to be.
I love your vivacious appetite for life.
I admire your curiosity.

You are mommies little helper bee.
Maker of all my daily joys.
My laughter in the midst of coy.
Oh what would I be without you.

Hence, I shall never speak.
Just know mommy love's you unspeakably.
You are every bit a mire essence of me.
And shall always be my priority.

— The End —