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Jo Barber Jun 17
The world was small,
but the days felt big.
They stretched out before me
like big, beautiful balloons,
just waiting to be popped.

Like a child,
sometimes I let one go;
a waste of something good,
but it certainly was eerily pretty
to watch float off into the ether.
Thoughts? Feedback?
September Roses May 2018
We are tied together by our stories, our history
Tales woven through our ancestry, when our parents talk of their younger days,
When their life was ahead of them,
the future was anything and everything,
they speak of their old friends with ache in their soul,
Of times when their hearts were filled with fire and passion,
running through fields growing memories  planted by the world around them
When they could sprint the wind in their hair,
adventure ahead,
hope in their heart.
They speak of the days behind with woe
Because essentially just their ideas of the future as a young mind, were more enticing than reality.
As dreams failed and hope faded
As their minds wear
and their treasured stories that made them who they are fog over
As threads begin to wear
As tales they once yelled to the world with pride fray at the ends
Your whole world slipping away as the thread unwinds
But they get the joy of passing down the tapestry to their pride and joy,
to the life they made,
Every moment we live with ease of no appreciation for every experience every laugh
Moments we take for granted
Moments we will pine for when they run out
Moments the elderly urge us with fire to cherish
Moments we'll wish we listened about
There is a vast tapestry of memories behind you and infinite thread panning out in front of you, connecting to other tapestries,
visiting at friends,
at enemies,
joining with soul-mates future.
Some cut away,
some ripped from the tapestries too soon before they could weave their own.
A loose thread cannot be fixed once more are made,
and the patterns will never be what you want them to be, savour each stitch
Take time on every thread
You don't want to be sitting there 50 years old thinking about the life you wasted
About the memories faded,
About how every slipping memory's never like the moment you made it.
Don't be sitting 90 filled with regret
Filled with hatred for every opportunity you left
Screaming into the void about how much you hate what your life become.
because they say time flys when your having fun truth is time only flies when you're young.
Tom Spencer Jul 2015
Summer morning -
pink jets of clouds
splash out
from the golden well of the east
falling just short
of an ebbing moon.

Streams of swallows
flutter and glide
over the garden -
they are all flying
in the same direction
as if erupting

from the sun’s waking pulse.
Just for a moment
one of the birds hangs
perfectly still -
like the top-most drop of water
from a fountain before it turns

to face the glittering pool.
Beneath them all
the hummingbird
makes her rounds
and a dove scratches the earth
below the feeder

keeping an wary eye
on the scribbling intruder.
So many summer mornings -
too many summer mornings
I have wasted
worrying about the world

and my place in it –
absent from my own body
and breath
the cage of my ribs
rising, falling, and pausing
without me. Meanwhile,

another swallow
stills her wings.
Buoyed by an unseen breeze
she is both feathered sail
and cresting wave as she slices
over my shoulder bearing west.


Tom Spencer © 2015
madison Jan 9
i feel weak
everyday another piece of me folds in
slowly
im becoming the thing you never wanted to see
im becoming to reach the point you hoped i would never

im the piece of paper in the bottom of your bag
the one you needed
you lost it and spent ages looking for it
but by the time you found it
it was torn to shreds
it was no longer useful
and you groaned and complained
but then you got another
and you were thankful that there were others
to replace the one you forgot about
until it was too late

but i couldn't forget
i laid there in pieces wondering what happened
you cared
but you realized it got bad
and then you realized it was too late
and you moved onto the next person to care about
until it was too late for them too.
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
Last time I was here I was waiting
For the perfect storm to come
I saw it from the cafe
And under lightning, I had to run
As the porcelain lay broken
Under the feet of weary eyes
Last time I was here I was waiting
For somebody to make me cry

Last time I was here I was burning
Under strangely colored lights
If only I did some learning
From all the previous wasted nights
And as I tried to forget the voices
That never seem to go away
Last time I was here I was burning
But I tell everyone I'm okay

Last time I was here I was broken
Like I've never been before
I can still smell the smoke and,
I can still hear the door
But as I still remember
All the things from before
Last time I was here I was broken
I'm not broken anymore
Cné Jul 2017
Time will pass
without remorse
but
memories endure.
I look into
the mirror now
and find
I've no allure.

And yet,
I smile,
a secret smile
at what
I once
had been.
My youth
has fled
but
I'm content
at what
I "was"
back "when".

I had my time
and though
they say
"youth is wasted
on the young".
I know I've still...
within my heart...
a song that's
yet unsung.
empty seas Dec 2018
i’ve spent
years
of my life
convincing
myself
i’m not
a monster

this
will
not
stop.

i deserve
to be happy

words hurt me
they will not change me
i grow stronger
lies do not cut
as much as they used to
H E L E N A Feb 20
A bond broken
Is forever torn.
Words left unspoken
Are perceived with scorn.

Why do you still get under my skin?
Writhing, twistingー
Tendrils of tenure,
Of an angel's allure.

With malignant certainty,
You hurt me
And lure me into the dark
Unknowings

Of a man's lie
Against time ill-vied.
I just want to forget it all.
Dark n Beautiful Sep 2018
The past is never too far behind:
We can never live it down
According to Doctor B . Ford
It’s unbearable:
It’s haunting, it’s inerasable:
For the victims to relived
those terrible nightmare:
in hopes that it they will go away

Somehow it never does
The worst is to see your attackers
Smiling, and moving on to higher ranks

Youth was wasted on the young,
Privilege children: overindulgence few
Not so wealth, not so wise
Today their party until dawn
In the future they wouldn’t remember
An old folks saying
What sweeten the goat mouth?
Would burn its tail end
The higher the monkey climbs
His tail becomes visible:
As you move up the ladder,
Your party buddies will grudge you
Your past will haunts you
Your hidden secret will be found:
Youth is wasted on the young,
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
I’ve finally stopped
writing
unrequited letters;
there were too many
wasted breaths
left unsent

Lapsing intentions
befallen on timeworn
tawny crumpled  pages;
aging like spent flowers
in fading earth tones
and rumpled paper regrets

Multi-hued words uttered—
mummers of voiceless exhalations
spoken without a sound;
indelible spilled ink
left behind,
lays fallow for so long

A love once new,  and
a growing silent ache—
a hungry heart
left for dead—Déjà vu

We leave a lot behind,
fallen leaves in unspoken ink
a restless soul laid bare
by a passing moment's
random gust;

atrophied
like unwritten poetry
stifled stillborn
in a wadded up paper lament


jesse stillwater ... July 2018
feelings aren't right or wrong, they're just feelings ...

Thanks for stopping here
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
O Lord, please set my bound heart free
Let not this world my prison be
Where fear and shame would pull me down
To suffocate and cause me to drown

'Stead loose my soul that it may soar
Heavy, fettered, chained no more
So You can lead me to the hills
Away from where "perfection" kills

In You alone my worth is found
What joy immense, this truth profound
To know I'm precious in Your sight
My strength, my hope, my life's delight

Surrendered now to Your control
'Tis love which heals my wounded soul
Convinced that I can trust Your heart
Toward me, to You my cares I impart

And selfish may I no more be
But lend me eyes that I might see
The wounds which other souls still have
To give to them Your healing salve

That You might take their tender pain
And turn it to eternal gain
So suffering may not wasted be
But used to set our cold hearts free

Then we who in triumphant praise
More closely on Your face may gaze
Beholding all Your beauty vast
Held tight to You, content at last!
**sung to the tune of 'Jesus, Thy Blood and Righteousness'
(music by William Gardiner)

~~~
Arke Sep 2018
I think about time I've spent
moments in my life
watching ****** movies
eating bad food
working dead end job
after dead end job
staring at the blank wall
listening to ticking clocks
cheerfully counting down my demise
long walks I'd take at dusk
down the trails by the river
pretending I enjoy running
because the pounding of my heart
in my head made me feel alive
I'd think about life and death
and whether god exists
and whether love exists
about ***, philosophy, infinities
the hours I have spent writing
poetry and nonfiction
displaying myself for scrutiny
painting canvas that I hate
to make myself feel something
to hope it reaches someone
reading Nietzche and Foucault
as if my existence could matter
but along the way I found myself
and maybe all of these moments
have led up to something
consequential and meaningful
every moment is part of my journey
every experience is part of becoming
every hour has lead me to you
so not a single second
of my life has ever been wasted
Deanna Apr 7
Wasting my words on someone who doesn't care
Wasting my words for someone who will never hear
Wasting my words for the person that isn't ever there
...
Who can guess the Masquerade of this Time
Such Event is a Turtle; Withdrawn to a Box
None is ever wasted; None is left behind
None is allowed to lick and tether a Fox
It is the Creature; Banned for a Reason
The Furry Red was no benefit to avail
You cannot bargain; Not even for a Season
Better if the Document is stamped by a Snail
At least it was Honest; And hardly Fraud
Shall my Letter then be sent with such Mail
Else cheat your Lover whilst he is Abroad?
Or perhaps better resolve this Bitter Alimony.
Neither you or I in this Picnic we enjoy
The Duckling Issue whose Exit we deploy.
Drops round and run down low
Mud forms and creates tiny valleys within.
Red roads drop and rises ,
As insults flashes like thunder bolts.
Horns deafen ears,
As blood blinds eyes .

Rollercoaster highways,

Or more like riding a bull,
Feel the aches in the waist.
Infact the mechanical horses were older 
than earth herself.
You could see holes and rust 
in the metals.
The government stood by the red road idle,accepting fines and kinds.
If only they had listened to their cries,
Blood would still remain in veins.
Most road accidents in my home country are due to bad roads, old rickety trucks and careless drivers. Some blame the government, others blame the traffic police (they believe it's their job to check these things yet their corrupt ways make it impossible!....  The citizens call them "aban" which means "government".)
Carter Ginter Sep 2017
Did I ever tell you
Why I stopped drinking?
Why I am so terrified
To take a sip alone?
How that one time after class
My heart was broken
And I skipped the glass
And drank straight from the bottle?
How I crumbled into a ball
Under my favorite blanket
My mind screaming through the halls
Fighting off the demons trying to drown me?
Of course I always want to die
That's something I've learned to live with
But never before in my life
Had I known that I could give in.
Yet there I lay crying
Wasted with a racing mind
Begging to give in to dying
But instead I went to sleep.
So when my depression intensifies
And I run to my substances
I am so terrified
So alcohol is the last option.
Because it could be my last decision.
Mercedes Sep 2018
it wasn’t until the sun had set,
and the moon took over its shift,
and the morning came
that i remembered that:

yesterday kept many secrets
from me,
tomorrow makes promises
it can’t keep,
(yet still, i always find myself
giving it chances),
and today probably won’t
be any more trustworthy.
Morgan Mercury Jun 2014
You lay in a field of flowers counting each bird that passes overhead.
You've erased concern and decided to live for the moment because you always would say, "we might be dead by tomorrow."
Flowers grew from your heart and bloomed across your lungs,
creating a garden that sang the most beautiful hymns,
while my garden was withering.
Each breath you took was never wasted,
but I couldn't help but count mine like they were birds passing overhead.
Every night you would view the stars and moon with pure amazement as if it was your first time seeing them.
You gave all your love to me and each kiss was coined in my pocket.
You fell in love with me every night and I fell for all your hymns.
Soon enough the world would pass us by but I wouldn't blink because I could live off your touch for the rest of my time.
You showed me there is more in life than just one color,
but instead, the world is a whole painting with colors that can't be described.
You showed me just how beautiful the world was.
You taught me how to grow beauty from my eyes but lately, I've been dreaming and falling for stars.
Imagining what it'd be like slow dancing with the planets, getting lost in constellations.
But I'm just not ready to go yet however I do not control time.
You showed me that dying can be beautiful.
That we'll be okay because when we leave we all become one with the earth and one with nature.
So love, love me until time runs out,
until I become one with nature.

And many years later as time starts to fly by and you slowly start to watch your clock tick down, you'll know where to find me, my love.
I'll be up with stars.
Somewhere lost in the cosmos.
I'll be spinning with the planets dreaming about what it would feel like to be able to walk on flowers again.
2014
Carolina Jan 9
And one day
someone came
knocking at your door
with flowers and a bottle of wine.
You looked through the window
and waved hi.
But it wasn't a hello,
it was a goodbye.
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

aside:
helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,
hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
betraying
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

lips,
like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
stating
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of
onlylovepoetry

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
olp
PC classic Feb 2018
Pretty girl living a nightmare
Pied Piper'd her twisted mind
Einstein'd her nightly sheep
White flagged some past behind

The B-side to rainy songs
are pedalled by callous kicks
They alz-heimed-her faded toys
with a ******'s overkill

Now hard work is wasted time
when cool cars have vacant seats
with the sky sitting like a snapback
on a highway with receding trees.
Brody Blue Nov 2017
Here we go again,
Another yarn to spin;
As you, once again,
Pretend that it's the end.
And that, besides your curls,
Your dimples, and your pearls,
You're not like other girls
And you wish you were my world
And I wish you were all, my darling
But I don't get to make the rules

A man is not a man
Because he has a plan
And, just because he can,
Counts ev'ry grain of sand.
For as sure as they are numbered
And that one and one is two,
Twelfth & Vine is on his mind
And Mississippi, too;
But I wish you were all, my darling
But I can't seem to pick and choose

Each time you come back down the hall ––
(Each time you earn my trust) ––
You confuse what you're supposed to do
With that which you must,
And by the idols of the mind
Young is wasted on the youth
So to hell with being honest,
For once I'll tell the truth:
That I wish you were all my darling
But I wish they were all mine, too
A song about hokum
wistful, cheerless
used to be brave and fearless
liars, haters
have been walking around me these days
charming, well educated
that's who you showed to me
before you shoot me
cherries, blossoms
that's what I want to see in spring
but why
why can't I see
I thought you were charming
I thought you were well educated
I thought you needed me
it's all gone when you left me
I was just looking for some friends
now I'm only looking for the real ones
couldn't realize which ones were fake before
when did "hello"s start to be called as "goodbye"s
after some while, I know which ones are

can't stand this anymore, faded
feelin' so alone in this crowded world
can't love like this, it has exceeded
feelin' like I've overdosed, I'm wasted
even if i can't find one
I'll be the one,
one friend of mine

every color is taking me back to you
every mark is pushing me away from you
it is not spring in this place
it is not warm at all
just cold with sadness
dark with secrets
strangers with lies

charming strangers are everywhere
they've always been
they look like venus or mars
but inside they're just black holes
pluto who I've always been
a crazy person?
an outsider?  
no, no, no
a survivor.

Muhammed Emin KUŞASLAN
Hey guys.. Thank you for reading.

To see my other poetries you can check this link. It is my poetry blog.
https://muhammedeminkusaslan.blogspot.com/

My instagram: @eminkusaslan

Take care -E
TMReed Oct 30
Chew me, will you?
Chew me, won't you?
Wedge me 'tween two
wine-stained yahoos.
Soak my core through
scaly beast, You!

Look at me.

I've become so theatrical, lying here, drowning in oddments and drool. How long now have I rotted in the eves I've missed, ****** away paths and pavements creeping like mold over my timber skin.

To think, I could have been a Great American Novel, a Wonder, a Classic. My torso might have melted the hearts of millions, the fingers of my web might have crawled carefully down their backs, spinning - oh so suddenly - a twist into their spines, while they themselves press loving, thrilling craters into mine.

I might have swept up her posthumous time machine and his mad spiral from the clouds in the booming wood and brass of one tender-fingered soldier's Trojan triumph over death and his countrymen.

But here I am, a Janitor, an Afterthought. Sweating in my splintered coat, stabbing at wet hunks of lamb that shamelessly remind me of how Wasteful I am.
Aspirations grow even between your teeth.
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