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English Jam Mar 2018
My golden years are a retrospective view
Doubtful, not sure, might be a last dance
One day I was gum-chewing with my Batman yo yo
Now my soul is rubber, and it leaks on the outside
Faded away from the youthful days
Once giddy pleasure
Now it’s all so
serious

The teen lifestyle washed over within seconds
Sure it’s fun to friends
Entertaining to have enemies
But the squabbles and meanders slow you down
The pitiful liars and desperate seekers
Worship through blasphemy whatever they care
Limbs don’t respond
Thoughts and actions don’t line up

You see it for what it truly is
Baby
You’re in danger
of maturing

Forgotten and dazed
Sitting in a broken armchair
It's difficult seeing through the fogginess
Finding the missing hours
Difficult on a drowse

...I work only weekdays (don't we all)...
...Fantastic gatherings on Sundays (family days)...
...Jimi Hendrix, he's good (bit of an understatement, mate)...
....He's the kind of guy I wish I could...

...etc...
BLT May 17
Not the good kind....

Not the washed that leaves you refreshed,
feeling cleansed and invigorated.
Rather the kind where, what once meshed,
is now askew, all will having vacated
your body, leaving you drained-
bitten by a Vampiress soap.
So empty you are forever stained
by the waning trickle of hope.

BLT
*A bit dark and dreary....Those that can relate to the vast divide between the highs and lows may relate to this, as well.
spacewalker Dec 2017
take a trip with me
take a hit
come touch the stars
in a blimp
fly through space with me
chase bright blue cats
hit stars with baseball bats
let's shoot wisps of rainbows
from our fingertips
let's make out in the shade of blue
and dark purple
and green too
let's sit on the couch
and get lost in the haze
soar to the moon
color all the grays
one more trip
and then i'm through
So bye for now
Little moon
Michael John Aug 2018
i

i washed up for a living,lily,
for a while there
this is something george
and i have in common..

on the whole i was treated
decently
pearl divers are a breed unto
themselves..

mine was a life of ease
over eating and boredem
it was ******* the spine
and knees..

a piece of cake compared
to digging holes
(surrounded by the boss
and his extended family..)


the pop wagon on friday
cement as a whole
the olive oil factory or
carrying bricks..

ii

the pop wagon on a friday
took only two hours
brevity
that was the answer..

the cement truck on
tuesdays
took two and half
hours..

but ended in tears..
the shift in the olive
oil factory
could last eighteen hours..

digging holes an eternity
carrying bricks up stairs
works up quite a thirst..
never mind soon be..

be in pauli´ s soup kitchen
where wine smooth and cool
as honey bees..
chicken and macaroni..!

iii

the cement was high in lime
and invariably chafed the skin
and in that hole it would set
to be picked out with olive oil

and a pin..drunk,the screaming
and carry on..
we laughed and held them down
better digging holes..!

it was so painful..!
down and out in paris and london
by gearge orwell
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
Isaac Aug 2018
a trillion years passed
this moment not the last
no human thought this far
the world lost its scar
of death and decay
now washed away
time a river to stay
from God's throne to play
love the eternal dawn
a world reborn
Written 8 August 2018
It poured a heavenly rain today
The roads washed anew
Little streams danced and slid down the alleys to the music rains play

The Gulmohar petals in orange red hues
Lay strewn on the pavement grey
Perched atop the green leaves
Glorious they looked in the warm sun rays

A walk in the evening mellowed rains
The tiny raindrops fell gently upon my face And raincoat peach
Luminous  under the street lamps
Silvery Rain-beams dance
21st June - Rains
Carina Apr 2018
Sometimes you have no reason to stay,
and realize that's a perfect reason to go.
And that taking an entirely new way,
is the only method to grow.

If you're washed-on abeyance's bight,
and you feel decision's heavy heft:
To go to the left where nothing's right,
or the right where nothing's left.

Remember it doesn't matter where you proceed,
or which mountain you want to ascend.
It does not matter whether you succeed,
it is the journey that matters in the end.
D A W N May 2018
i remember the way your hair shined through the sunny day
studying the way your eyes flutter every time you stutter
the words you cant say
i remember how pleasing your voice was beneath my ears
i remember being with you
washed away my fears
do you remember the days where we used to lay in the shade?
forming figures in the clouds
having long conversations for hours
nights where we stayed up late
getting into stupid debates about who's right or wrong,
picking out the right song to play over and over again.
remember how we fought over stupid stuff?
and even though times get rough, we'd just laugh it all up
do you remember when we met in September?
in english class where the hours didn't last
and that's where it happened so fast
creating memories that we thought would remain
but all we created
was pain
and that was the last day i saw you.
sitting on the bench
with another girl
my heart clenched
cheeks tear-drenched
my pride craving for revenge.
listen darling,
i just want you to remember
from the beginning of september
remember the long-lasting splendor
the last moments of us being together
because i remembered
and dare i keep it in my heart forever.
first poem i wrote way back 2016
He was the ocean; handsome, but yet, Impulsively damaged. He had a sandy heart to correspond his sandy eyes, the moon dismantled that omitted pride he carried at a dead weight; shoveling and reshaping it, so people would see a sandcastle statue assembled in strength. But his washed-up soul and unannounced insecurities were aware of its genuine purpose,
this beach alongside his pupils;
quicksand, he'll sink so slowly in.  Waves in his hair like ripples on his cheeks, skipping stones land at his defeat, he left notes in bottles for you, sank multiple ships for you, because he hasn't the heart to say he's desiccating with the arrival of the stars.. Retracting scars are not too far from gasps for air,  foaming words of crisis by writing in the sand, signaling a light as the last one in him died. You wouldn't understand, the calm before the storm, as valve after valve puncture him. So intoxicating as it drains him, and from within, he's drying out. Sunburns stain him, a smile restrains him,
in an inescapable drought--
All feedback is welcome
So this was posted here a couple weeks ago and, when I went to revise it, it was drafted and came out as new, I guess? :)
CK Baker Dec 2016
six lanes
in a sight line
past the cedar shims
and trim tempered insert
past the washed murals
and water stained tiles

covered eyes
fight for focus
over cork strung ties
and dark, distant bridges
foot crawlers on lemon pegs
teaming
under clouded halogen light  

dreamers contend
in a variation of chant
(thrown off in a
complex drawl sequence)
a glimpse of the guard
and warm towel assignment
forge comforting relief
in a task filled day
liza Apr 22
When you wake up in the morning, read a proverb. There are 31 Proverbs, one for each morning. After that, kneel next to your bed and thank the Lord for waking you up. The breath in your lungs belongs to the father, do not forget. Make your way to the kitchen and have breakfast. Say a silent prayer before you eat. Do not make a fuss, for your prayers are private and not to be made a public affair (Dear God, thank you for this day, thank you for everything. Bless this food to the nourishment of my body. In your name I pray, amen.)

I am washed by the water
I am washed by the praying
I am washed by the white man touching my shoulders in front of the congregation
I am washed by the ******* hymnal
I am washed by being the black poster child; the ****** project. (In gods name)
I am washed by the screaming in tongue
I am washed by the colors navy blue, grey, and black. (never red) For these are the colors of a ******
I am washed by submission to my father, my brothers, my leaders, any man really
I am washed by the hidden ****** box; hidden blood stained sheets; used pads wrapped in toilet paper and then an old toilet paper roll, and then a napkin and then a tissue box and then and then and then
I am washed by the slaps; good girls don’t talk back
Good girls don’t hit back
Good girls don’t fight back
Good girls don’t make eye contact
Good girls say yes sir
I am washed by the whispers of how boys and girls are supposed to play
I am washed by squeezing my eyes shut and praying (dear god ill never ever ever, if he stops putting his hands there)
I am washed by the laughter
I am washed by trying to “chill out” per his command when he’s done shoving his hot-fry covered fingers inside me
I am washed by trying to figure out what part of his forceful ******* felt good. Because he said it was supposed to and men are usually right.
I am washed by the nightmares of god casting my limp body to hell.
I am washed by screaming and begging and swearing Ill never look at another woman again.
I am washed by the fear
I am washed by the puffy white sleeves
I am washed by hiding my *******
I washed by binding my *******
I am washed by praying for my ******* to go away
I am washed by hunching my back so my ******* don’t show
I am washed by white Jesus hanging in my kitchen.
In my bathroom
In my hallway
Above my bed
Around my neck
I am washed by the phone call with my high school boyfriend after he dumped me
(please don't leave. I don’t think I'll ever find another boy I can marry.)
I am washed by the dead eyed kissing; staring into the woods behind his house while his hands searched my body for a crevice to explore.
I am washed by the self loathe
I am washed by death to self, for he is the way, the truth, and the light
I am washed by the darkness at the end of all my tunnels
Because my tunnels were clueless and empty and sinful
I am washed by the new found distance from everything I know
I am washed by the layer of dust on my now untouched collection of King James and NSVs.
I am washed by the calmness of independence and self acceptance
I am washed by her hand in the small of my back and the kiss of her cheek and her neck and her chest
I am washed by the preciousness  
I am washed by the mistakes and the hurt and the growth
I am washed by continuing and searching and yearning
I am washed by the blessings and earnings of a life that does not include any energies I do not want.
I am washed by my own power and my own god
I am washed
I was always washed
I was never unclean

Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water
PlaneJane May 19
I can’t be another ***** falling to the same old trap...
Sitting in some ******* because I love yo ***?
Nah, this **** hurt but I’m done with that
On your part, on my part we don’t need to be involved in that.

How you give yourself physically and say it ain’t like that
But you praying with her, spiritually, how you doing that?
You out her ******* and ******* and you spending cash
On a baby, **** is crazy, hope you happy with her ***.

Siting in my face, got me thinking that
Im the one that’s doing wrong. Got me feeling sad
For your *** cuz you tricking me to think like that
Male manipulation, scary, beware cuz you’ll  end up going out sad

Praying for a sign, yea I got that
Ball is in your court, ima go and take it right back
Yea it hurt to leave, but it’s gone be more bad, tragic, Star-crossed accident, if I stay cause I will **** yo ***.
Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to ******* your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2015
His hands are scarred,
Face is a mess,
Too long walking
Through the wilderness.
The bears are hungry
Wolves they howl,
The Levy's breaking
All will
Drowns.
Washed away by savage currents
Watching fallen suns go
Down.
With Swollen Tears did my Countrymen commit
In week's Soliloquy request for Aid
And Soul's own Moments whose Sympathy permit
Whilst Sheltered Families pray for more space
Pledge, dear Lord! And Citisens of the World
My People's Wounds soaked in Unwanted Rain
At least in Voice and Gift-Wishes unfold
Would indeed suffice to soften their Pain
Look, Union Jack! The Scenes of Caskets float,
Plastered houses a-washed with nails and wood
Then came the Bayanis, in rubbers and boats
Bore frozen Victims to their Neighbourhood.
It's a Sad Film for anyone to see
Please offer Burnt Roses; Make them Happy.
Egeria Litha Aug 2018
I want you to be entirely distracted by my surface
the sunlight above me

I want you

I want you content with my forecast of calm waves
each encounter

Follow my subtle guidelines

Behaving as a good mother I"ll command you out of the ocean
if you swim too far from shore

Or if you dare plunge your head under me

Sexually

Remain floating on my surface layer this is where the
honey moon stage lasts

Do not stare into the eyes of a hurricane
storms in me churning off the coast of "you had no clue"
will leave you washed up on Island Nowhere

Absolutely no swimming after sunset

I don't care if you hear the waves sigh all night

In this situation I am God knowing whats best for you
saving you from drowning in my cycle
Alyssa Underwood May 2017
I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay

I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."

I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires

I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken

You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it

You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears

There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry

It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing

You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease

So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure

Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan

You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing

You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all

Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under

For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten
~~~
Aparna Sep 2013
Handcuffed to a post, body chained to death.
Rusted irons pulling his spirit towards Hell.

Shackled souls who cry in hope.
His name in blood on white-washed walls.
K Mae Mar 2017
crested crag-spines rising
bones fierce of ancient dragons
calling out to Naga
~~~~~~~~~
Return
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bloom  feminine essence, Flow !
Feed my ancient undulations

wearied now to hills
sighing down with last exhaled
memory of color
washed, washed,
baked by endless sun
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay

I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."

I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires

I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken

You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it

You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears

There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry

It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing

You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease

So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure

Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan

You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing

You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all

Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under

For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten
I'm living in my mind,
walking a road I have paved.
Listening to the pounding,
of my heart that can't be saved;
an empty hole I had caved,
long before my journey started,
long before my hope strained.
Waiting for a fleeting step,
wishing for a second thought,
but still emptiness lurks,
where the love had fought,
from how the voices talked.
I'm waiting for a different place,
of what my mind is not.
A saddened memoir,
that spoke forgotten loss.
I'm falling deeper down,
where all the pain was washed,
and the guilt caught.
In a hidden valley of emotion,
of punishing thoughts.
Still I'm walking onward;
following the road.
People told me to hold caution,
for it should not be condoned.
I can't call it my own,
because this road that I am taking,
can never be my home--
An older poem fixed.
All feedback is welcome!
English Jam May 2018
Drink to the woman who cared for others
Drink to the man who let her die in the gutter
Drink to those who think they have eternal youth
Drink to those who learn but don’t recognise truth
Drink to those who descend to the feet of Malkuth
Drink to those whose only wish is to hang from the roof
Drink to the liars whose only lie was that they were fine
Drink to the colours that dared to be vibrant and different from mine
Drink to the comedian whose pain is well nourished
Drink to the lover whose bruises have all flourished
Drink to the girl who doesn’t know what to believe
Drink to the guy who always feels like he has to leave
Drink to those who killed themselves to start anew
Drink to the crowd of many that thinks it’s a crowd of few
Drink to those who stand for themselves without any legs
Drink to the rich man who still stops and begs
Drink to those who worship God through death
Drink to those who don’t know they’re taking their final breath
Drink to the children who found guns way too early
Drink to the boy who was told he’s too girly
Drink to the saviour who taught peace and love
Drink to those who lived hatred to get above
Drink to the shadows who stayed carefully hidden
Drink to the people of whom the shadows were forbidden
Drink to the victims who were put into shame
Drink to the celebrities who forgot their own name
Drink to the singer who doesn’t know what the words mean
Drink to the speaker who tells stories of things he hasn’t seen
Drink to the majesties whose requests are over the top
Drink to the awkward kids who don’t know when to stop
Drink to the daydreamers lost in a drowse
Drink to the shimmering girl in a torn blouse
Drink to the society that discriminates anyone in its excess
Drink to the forgotten parade of losers, addicts and rejects
Drink to whoever sees love in the dark chapters of our books
Drink to those who are and aren’t obsessed with their looks
Drink to the new generation that abandoned its old pastiche
Drink to all who have and haven’t found their niche
Drink to the beach who had fresh scars each day
And drink to the ocean that washed the scars away

Drink, drink, drink, upon high
Raise your glass, raise your glass high

Cheers.
SøułSurvivør Jul 2015
be washed away

(with spoken word inserts
by soulsurvivor)

When I die don't cry for me
In my Father's arms I'll be
The wounds this world
left on my soul
Will all be healed and I'll be whole
Sun and moon will be replaced
By the light of Jesus Face
And I will not be ashamed
For my Savior knows my name.

- chorus -
It don't matter where you bury me
I'll be Home and I'll be FREE
It don't matter where I lay
All my tears be washed away

SS insert -
Persecution I'll expect.
It's not surprising. Folks reject.
Still I LOVE my Lord so dear
I'll forgive and have no fear
Faced with evil on all sides
In the Lord I will abide
No force of hell can remove Thee
It don't matter where you bury me

---

Gold and silver blind the eye
Temporary riches lie
Come and eat from heaven's store
Come and drink and thirst no more
So weep not for me my friend
When my time below does end
For my life belongs to Him
Who will raise the dead again

- chorus -

SS insert -
I will pass. That much is clear.
I'll leave my tabernacle here
Life is short, the time doth fly
So I'll go to kiss the sky
Then I'll know all mysteries
It don't matter where you bury me


A song written by Julie Miller
Performed by Emmy Lou Harris
and Selah (this version is below)
With inserts by SoulSurvivor
http://youtu.be/SW_3kHHvk8M

I feel SO blessed to know the Lord Jesus Christ. I have reposted this song as I believe it to be a VERY important message.

I don't doubt that the Lord waits for those who are faithful. He delivers them out of their troubles. You don't have to die for this to happen either. If you are redeemed by His blood you've had a transfusion and are HIS CHILD. If you think your earthly dad was protective he was NOTHIN' compared to GOD!

Sorry I have not been able to read much. Or respond to comments. I have elderly parents to care for. And every time I go to get on site I get the "bad gateway"!!! Are you all experiencing this as well???
---
Jesse stillwater Aug 2018
Driving up mountain miles
of washboard switchbacks;
jarring the dusty rearview mirror
in my mind:

"but don't look back in anger"  
... I heard you say
stuck in the cloud of dust
befogging my daydream
back somewhere thereabouts
the washed out bridge
that tore us apart
like a flash flood

It was so long ago
since you were running
and I was hiding in plain sight,
from what the storm
in my eyes did tell

Mindful — you were only watching
the growing distance gather;

finding what you didn't lose
looking back to see
   what you can't forget —

like a hesitant child
reluctantly wondering
if anyone was still looking back
at you ―  still running away
from each passing storm


Jesse Stillwater
June   2018
Thank you for reading my soul scribbles
CK Baker Apr 2017
i had a dream
i was flying
in the arms
of this grande old kite
and we drifted through canyons
and across flowered fields
over endless pastures
and restless seas

i looked down
somewhere near
the haldimand half-point
and saw friends
and patrons
smiling
while the busy keepers
of oasis
were singing
and loosening their vowels

familiar faces
were everywhere
and it was warm
and serene
they were charting courses
and building dreams
laying praise
untarnished by imposing views
and as much as i tried
i couldn’t express my gratitude

when i woke
i was lying
with an angel
at my back
whose eyes
were wide
and blue
and her words came crystal clear;
kindness will not be sold

and as i turned
to reach her hand
the rain had gathered
and washed away
a stain
For Jack and May
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
sara Jun 2018
My inbox was always full
but I always made time for you.
Now, time tells me that I'm the fool:
you say you will, you never do.

You said you would, you never did.
Reclining, you could watch me sink
then toss an anchor down to say
you gave your all to keep me safe.

Don't get me wrong, we were both weights;
controlling, insecure, insane.
Like deep-sea diving in the rain,
not knowing it was all in vain.

Practice breathing, slow and steady;
in the ocean, hot and heavy and
screaming for a miracle
to help us find our way to shore.

Now, I think it discpicable
that I would move sea, sand, and shoreline,
just to make sure you were mine
-a pretty, washed-up shell resigned.
when you don't know what you're looking for who knows what you might find
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