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If I could tell you,
every thing you want to know,
I would,
but my walls are to hard to take down,
but every time,
you speak to me,
they crumble to the ground,
and i hope, you'll be by my side,
when death succumbs to me...
beautiful boy who cares,
you sing a song that only I can hear,
I cant get enough of you,
the happy little messages you send to me,
i cant explain,
you aren't like other boys.
oh, beautiful boy,
I've never felt this way before!
all the other girls and  boys I've been with,
i never truly love this hard,
you understand my darkness,
you under stand my deadly thoughts,
Oh walk through the strawberry fields with me,

saying nothing is real,
walking on starlight and dancing in moon dust,
your  hair capturing the shine of the night,
i want to give you the universe,
and hold your hand,
falling through the sun by your side,
capturing the light of your eyes,
picture yourself,
falling through time,
what thoughts will flow through your mind?
your hands held in mine,
in synchronized meditation,
open up your third eye,
were your atoms next to mine?
did our souls entwine?
picture yourself,
laying in a field of grass,
with your head next to mine,
watching the butterflies glide,

the seasons are changing,
are you still next to me?
with the leaves off the trees,
this isn't electric,
this is calm,
with explosive colors,
i'm not falling,
i'm walking,
i'm willingly going to you...
are you walking to me?
do you picture it too?
a strange song / poem i wrote
just my emotions i feel
Shannon Jul 2018
You walk to the woods from the mountains too fast;
trip over your feet when blades of grass nip at your heels
and take up life amongst the low.
Flotsam swirls in your wake;
silt rises to meet you.
The sun sets in deference to your arrival.

You walk among a sea of azaleas and fire:
******-thorned crown:
smoke laying low over the ground protecting your footfalls,
come to convince me of my damnation,
spill mulch in my bed,
and track lake water through my rooms.

You walk with broken glass in your heels
and blood on your cheeks,
spilt milk smile and sickly sweet lips,
cradling a dead bird and a lead heart in your hands
with a gallows leash hanging off your neck, onto the ground.

You walk into the house of my elders,
the sacred burial ground,
the meeting place,
the palace,
and the bar.
You order a scotch on the rocks, a lapis circlet, a book full of secrets, dead man’s blood, and my heart.

You walk backwards
around the cherry blossom orchard and its overwrought signatures,
harrumphing at arrogant petals and snickering birds:
politic in reverse and rough lines in slow motion.
There is something you forgot: it wears white linen and
sits on a rose throne.
You loved it, once.

You walk to the mountains from the woods,
barefoot and starving,
caked in mud and licking the shine off your teeth.
Your knees are bleeding.
Your heart is bleeding
jane taylor Jun 2016
his writing caught everyone’s attention
like an artist i once saw on the street in québec
he stood out amongst the crowd in montréal
i asked to take his picture
he obliged

this writer is also canadian
and paints masterpieces
with words

his colorful lines sometimes float on jagged edges
brushes of sticky sugar coating are exchanged
for starker strokes of reality
tinged with weathered wisdom
creating shadows in his work
accentuating the light

there’s not a write of his
that does not stir emotions
his words linger
rolling around in your head
bumping into each other
morphing into new connotations
his easel alive

you wonder if he did that on purpose?
could anyone have that kind of talent?
yes…..his brush continues flowing
even after the paint is dry

suddenly at midnight i awaken
and hear another morsel
a word, a phrase, a color
that only made itself known
in the dark of night

understanding he's a favorite
i imagined audibly hearing a collective sigh
when he contracted cancer
would he now leave his canvas dry?

no, this courageous artist
bravely took his palette
and continued painting
his words that us awaken
now e’vn more radiant
with tragedy astride

and ‘tho he talks of dying
i pray that he will stay
but should his spirit fly
we have seen a master show us
how to walk into the light

this poem is dedicated to fellow poet chris who just passed away
we love you chris!!!
Josh Nov 2017
Neatly coating the floor in thin white trails, woven into floorboards like cotton twine, sunbeams snake their way across hardwood.

Books scream to be read & my yellowed pages ache to detail my experience as a widowed reader of time.

Magazines pile, while my simple hands grow a day older.

Heat on my neck.

The driver of time exhales grandiose,
tells me to travel while I'm young,
visit regions on this globe that grow green with age,
listen to honest trumpets before I gray,
wade in pools of clear urgency.

He said:

"Find a walking stick out beyond the ether
laugh with veracity, poking fun at Saturn & the Stars."
What will the future hold? Only Time will tell.
Nickolas Niles Nov 2017
When you turned away from me,
I turned too walking back on.
The saddest thing of all time,
The secrets told between us.
It was then all I could see,
This was a battle not won.
I ask myself even why,
We have this love not so bold.
For now I know I must be,
Not your lover and no one.
Keep on walking with a sigh,
Knowing yourself to grow old.
Time not on your side with glee,
Knowing now I’m far and gone.
Inspired by Sam Smith’s recent “Too Good at Goodbyes,” I couldn’t help but to pump this love song out. And coming across a familiar...
Mary Gay Kearns Mar 2018
Travelling by foot in whatever weather
I took to walking the gardens' route,
With single lens reflex camera
Still able to take the sort of pictures
That stop the eyes from wandering.
Photos in black and white
Where contrasts given a subtlety
Slowly revealing the depths
Of the familiar.

And into the park
Where rain, recently fallen,
Drenches the lens with jewels
Dropping from tree and cloud,
Catching the light
With its rainbow spectrum
And collecting moments
Of nature's splendour
Into unnoticed places.

Love Mary ***
Jaycee Jan 2015
As she walks through the doors,
So confused and afraid.
She takes a deep breath,
and reminds herself,
Just what to say.

She knows that she can make it,
right through the day.
But she's still afraid,
That they'll see her..

And she knows that they hate her.

Once she gets up the stairs,
She swears her heart is screaming.
She can feel her lungs pulsating,
She's thinking about running out.

But she knows they'd all see her,
So she keeps on walking along.
Nicole Alyssia Aug 2016
wake me from the dead
my lover
for my heart yearns
to beat
and my hand yearns
to write
I am nothing without a muse.... A hollow shell, going through the motions, floating lifelessly
am i ee Jan 2016
blizzard passes
fluffy snow left
deep footprints

sun comes out
melting mountains of snow
night falls

cold descends
ice freezes hard
top lay of snow

now hard
feet don't
fall deep

owing the universe
a mountain of shoveling
shovel in hand

off i go.....
Data May 2018
Atop me
that heavy plank
of dead wood is,
as I lie back
I can see the sky
I rise up
following this sightline
to see
as the gull sees:
there the green
of the deep sea
there a child at the edge
setting castles in sand
there where the water meets the land
a smile might play
on painted lips but
I am not constrained
by this meaty form
and while I may choose
to linger there
with my imaginary smile
on blue lips
to sojourn
in this palest skin
for briefest moments
I know,
with the slightest exhalation of desire
I would rise again
to look down upon
what is left of my dreaming.


By Data © 2018
muhdzaim Aug 2018
walking through a tunnel,
no light no wind,
no sound could be heard,
no "potion" to heal,
search for anything in the bag,
but nothing can be "grab",
face up, looking straight,
no sun to see.

"they" keep pushing me,
like there's no limit,
My soul is so weak
with no any "spirit",
they asked for it,
I keep give it,
need a short break,
from all "those freak".

is this the only path?
maybe yes or not,
give me some light,
to open my eyes,
I know at the "front",
there's always a way to walk through,
lead me to a better tunnel
and have some space,
my wound could be healed,
with an "easy" phase.
Nicole Alyssia Nov 2017
while the sun is asleep and all seems lost,
i retreat to the sanctity and seclusion
of my mind,
in an attempt to connect to the truth
resting in my bones.

i dig deep, but am unable to recall
memories inscribed in grey matter
that have the power to comfort my heart when in need,
but destroy me at my most vulnerable...

i drift into numbness, lost in the fog
while walking a trail towards nowhere

masked by an unusual silence,
alone in my own head.
my sanity cries out to my shadow,
but the burden of a heavy soul
hardly ever makes a sound.

lost in my own world,
drudging through self-doubt
disoriented, disconnected
tired of stumbling over myself
in the shadows, but too consumed
with my own thoughts to break the silence

nothing is not enough of an emotion
to wake me from this sleepwalk
for now, i simply wait until i meet the dawn
patiently waiting, with open arms,
for the Sunshine
to break through the rain
Sjr1000 Oct 2018
She's my walking rose
Walking down the road
Discussing right and wrong
Trying to figure out how to stay strong

She wants to grow,
She wants to know
How it's supposed to go,
She turns her color on
Turns a shade of pink yellow white black or red
Only the rose knows,
walking as she goes,
her time is brief
she thinks maybe that's a relief

Her road is long
When she's in the middle of it,
She knows though
It's all a dream as it passes on by.

My rose
She wilts in the dawn
Rises in the night,
I tell her I have one more road to go
My walking rose
She whispers, "I know."
Mei B Jul 2018
One day I'm going to explode.
All of this hate my heart can't hold.
Don't act like you don't even know,
You're the cause of this.
Throwing accusations back and forth,
causing misfits.
Just by existing you start destruction.
Whenever you open your mouth to speak it
feels like a disruption.
Overall, I'm just convinced you're a suction.
All the good energy drains when you're around.
Because of these actions, it's harder for redemption to be found.
for the fake friend in my life that was always working against me...and failed to prove she changed. good riddance.
The pain
has faded.
I don’t need it to end.
I can see the light at the end of the tunnel,
at least a little.
I can see the optimism in
I can see Everything,
and I thought that was enough
but maybe it's too much

because nothing’s going to change the fact
that I see myself as a walking dead girl.

I can now bare the pain
in my head.
But the pain is still there.
I’m still in the tunnel.
And even though I’m doing better,
I don’t think that it’s

If I once was supposed to
**** myself
then maybe
I wasn’t supposed to

The pain
has faded.
I don’t need it to end.
I’m happy,
at least a little.
I’m fine

But nothing’s going to change the fact
that I see myself as a walking dead girl.
Sam Hammond Oct 2018
I can recall, in the past, with my mother,
How every street was so ripe and alive.
How every sight, every smell, every thing,
Would shimmer and brim and dazzle and thrive.
So, now I ask, as I sit in the dark,
Surrounded and shrouded, unable to see;
Did something change, has something happened,
Or does the problem reside within me?
Dizzy Aug 2018
Walking down this life long road,
company by my side,
I love to see their smiling faces,
but my tears I have to hide.

I wished upon a star whilst walking,
the heavens sent me you,
My angel who would show my journey was ,
something I'd love too!

Our times they have been short together,
Fleeting at the best,
but I know right now, without a doubt,
you're better than the rest.

Still walking down this life long road,
That I stepped off for a while,
I'm the happiest that I've ever been ,
when I think about your smile.

I count myself as lucky,
you were sent down 'from above',
To show me what it's like to walk , this road,
When you're in love.
Lewis Hyden Jan 4
A stretching blanket
Of shallow, wide hills,
Rolling upwards to
The veil of the sky

Ascends over the
Horizon, bending
My little pathway
Up, and over me,

Loops over itself,
Chimes in five, stretches
Down past the lower
Horizon beyond,

Vertical. The long
Road, curling over.
Walk its length, and you're
Back where you started.

Wandering home; the
Trip of a life-time
Halfway there.
Crown Shyness Dec 2018
Our faces kiss the wind.
Waves of air coming,
storming skin
and we know
somewhere in this mass between us
is the other one's imprint

As the offspring of movement
and being pressed in standing still
our eyes are crystallizing light
in little sparks jumping
from one imprint to another

I saved this dance
for you, your universe
and its melting
while appearing
through this feeling
of no more thinking
about falling.
falling up
Love you, my heart. :)
BJ Donovan Mar 2018
Jack Daniel's

We bought a broken dog
and took him to our broken home
to live with this broken family.
We tried to fix him with broken
training. I was too broken to get
it right. The more I yelled the more
broke he got. I had a drunken insight
one evening walking him in a full moon.
He reminded me of me in my childhood.
I saw things through his broken eyes
and held him close. I promised I'd fix us.
I adopted myself from a dog shelter.
Sachin Subedi Apr 2018
If the roots are dry
To be made moist it is
And be nourished
Marinade the roots
With moisture
Keep the roots within
To the ground for moisture
Fly high it's ok
But do not fly so high
That its hard to be on the ground
To the mother earth
Keep it to the ground of course
And nourish it from the ground

Nourishment gives the fruit
Don't indulge
Into the fruit for long
Fruits are beautiful
As they get proper nourishment
From the roots of existence
The nourishment, let's realize
Does come from the ground
The fruit realizes it for sure
So it bows down to the ground
As it ripens

Step into the nature of being
Welcome to the realization
Of nature
Welcome the nature
Of realization
The trees always realize
The truth of the roots they are in
Realize it
Humans are walking trees.
Jaycee Oct 2014
Everyone is staring
You're trying so hard to stay standing
But your heart is racing
Instead of walking straight
You start wobbling

Your eyes begin to strain
You start feeling as if you just gained a lot of weight
Your heart sinks as you run away
You have to hide

You musn't let them see
The you that is scared to be seen
You feel like you can't even breathe
Your lungs are tightening
As you sink down against a wall
and take into the fetal postion

Just cry, maybe someday it'll be alright.
Kora Sani Aug 2018
I'm a walking paradox

Two legs
two arms
and one fractured soul

I'm a conflicting contradiction

I want him to pay
yet how could someone
be so broken
to not understand
they broke someone else

and how can something so heavy
leave its mark on me
yet can be just another day of life for you

because its not just that day
that haunts me
it's every day that followed

where I relive
and you forget
your heaven
my ****

but how can you forget
something you may have never known

I lock my door upon myself,
And bar them out; but who shall wall
Self from myself, most loathed of all?

Who Shall Deliver Me? - Christina Rossetti

I wander through
the landscape

of my so called self
my life left upon a shelf.

The world locked out
my self locked in.

How do I begin
to construct a human being

from this nothingness
I am.

Only my name remains
the same.

My baby throws
her rattle from the pram

talks to me in a language
I can not understand.

"ma...Ma. . .MA

I know how she feels
I too want my Mam.

I clutch my child
tightly 'til she squeals


I tell myself my name
to convince me who I am.

Pirandello falls upon the ground
the wind speed reading its pages.

A dog wants me
to throw a stick.

I give it a kick.
Walk away.

The baby's crying
getting farther

and farther
Who Shall Deliver Me?

God strengthen me to bear myself;
That heaviest weight of all to bear,
Inalienable weight of care.

All others are outside myself;
I lock my door and bar them out,
The turmoil, tedium, gad-about.

I lock my door upon myself,
And bar them out; but who shall wall
Self from myself, most loathed of all?

If I could once lay down myself,
And start self-purged upon the race
That all must run! Death runs apace.

If I could set aside myself,
And start with lightened heart upon
The road by all men overgone!

God harden me against myself,
This coward with pathetic voice
Who craves for ease, and rest, and joys:

Myself, arch-traitor to myself;
My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,
My clog whatever road I go.

Yet One there is can curb myself,
Can roll the strangling load from me,
Break off the yoke and set me free.

—Christina Rossetti


Engaging and entertaining with enthusiastic jumping off points from Rossetti's life and texts that transported us from poem to poem and finally into a poem of our own. A totally enjoyable experience with Tamar encouraging us to see Rossetti in a new light & as a catalyst for us.

The workshop was in writing and ideas as Tamar lead us through the Rossetti mind and times. Thoroughly enjoyed Tamar's teaching as she got us to press our own buttons and lead us into words  that wanted to be poems. Indeed the poems that came up were powerful and of such a high standard. It was a great delight to see them come into being..I was so impressed by the level achieved. The other people in the class were fantastic and their poems are still walking about in my head many hours later. Such a relaxed group with everyone eager to participate and make interesting and helpful comments and insights. The surroundings of course were wonderful just to be in. Tamar's deft and subtle teaching stitching us all together in a wonderful patchwork quilt of bright ideas.

And then there was of course  the Christina Rossetti exhibition itself.

Watts Gallery - Artists' Village casts its magic spell on all who come there and used it as a creative space.

This was my attempt at the day inspired by seeing the epigram writ large as one came into the exhibition.
RJP Shanahan Aug 2018
I look up to see seagulls in the sky.
Darting through the blue like dolphins through tides.
Saling round my head
Like blood clots in my eyes.
D Letwixt Oct 2018
damp grass from the hillside
is cold on my feet as I walk
hands in my pockets and head looking down
legs leading slowly downhill
towards the sea.

There's something about going for a walk
that makes it easier to think
even if you completely ignore your surroundings
or don't go very far.

The sand surprises me
the soft white powder that shifts between my toes
and my feet slip a little with every step.

For the first time in a while, I look up
the sea is darker than usual, it's turbulent as well,
but I stop for a moment on the edge of the water.

Imagine If I fell in
I'd probably turn into driftwood and then just float off
until the water pushed me up onto some deserted beach
and then pulled me back in
and then pushed me up again
eternally caught in the space between sea and shore

the space between here and there
between is and isn't
between impulse and inactivity

I'm already there.
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