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Jessica H Oct 2012
I held her cold, dead hand
I kissed her lifeless face
Memorizing every moment
Knowing that I would never feel the comfort of a mother's love again.
Her selflessness was her demise
She neglected and gave all of herself
She smiled so big
She spoke soothing words
She needlessly apologized
All in her last hours
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
My Sister, I Watched You Fall-2

My little nephew, I was sorry for your sorrows
When the whims of your mother stormed your tomorrows
You didn't know who your father was
Or why the branches of your tree sagged its paws

For you walked thru the halls of life mauled
By a lost paw that grabbed your mind and sadness walled
I could see it in your mind's eyes, the question marks
Of why other families have fathers at the parks

From the time you were a little child of two
You would love to go with uncle to the zoo
Then as the wheels in your mind started to click
Seeing other kids with fathers, it made you sick

You were young seedling lacking the nourishment
The parts of the puzzle missing fulfillment
But hear this, my little nephew, your uncle tried
And ... at the mercy of your mother's whims, I cried

We'd play the role of father and son
Fish a dream, toss the past, paint some fun
We'd **** weeds while wrestling through a reservoir of tears
Aborted in time, a lake, two swans and a duckling in good cheers

My nephew, I would take you around the world if I could
But hear this you were never, never driftwood
For I had spent as much time visiting you
In absence of a fathers touch, you never knew

I shed more tears today as I catch wind of your child
For its teeth bites and gust of whims, again, run wild
Do I offer congratulations knowing the lake is devoid
Of future swans and a duckling, walled in my mind's void

No. My nephew, I'm choked in tears that crawl
On the face of the earth, I sprawl
I thought you learned, child uncorked
On wings of albatross and not the stork

Logan Robertson

8/16/2018
Play on words-paws, mauled. At age two, he was a child prodigy
with an eidetic memory. He was a **** at math, count change impressively, knew the times' table, like how many donuts in five in a half dozen. We would study the map, he knew all the states and capitals. I was impressed watching him grow and blossom. Then one day at that young age he learned why other kids had fathers and he didn't. It hurt him badly. He recoiled. He rebelled. He purposely started to give wrong answers to my teaching, as he started to lose interest. And things waned after that understandingly so. But for a while there he was so bright. This is a sad page to turn.
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
She loved the catnip
Straight for the hip
She was like an alley cat
With a worn out welcome mat
Her tail rang a chime
And every tom stopped on her dime
Petting was blunt
For all the toms went for the hunt
Affront of the beat
Two cats in heat
Nights played out in false hearts
Howls were off the charts
Brief was the moment
Lost was the fulfillment
Days sagged later
A same old story, bye alligator
Much to the chagrin
Of the alley's spin
When her baby was born
She was forlorn
Like a woman out of wedlock
Dealing with tom's, full of croc
My sister, I watched you fall
My words to you hit a blank wall
You played the game
Without a flame
Sadness as your son bleed
Now years later he followed your lead

Logan Robertson

8/09/2018
JayceeJellies Jun 2015
Paranoia,
I'm drenched in it.

This lunacy is so agitating,
I swear she is out to get me!

Why does no one believe me?
I see her everywhere, am I dreaming?
Grace Feb 2017
I watched as they fell in love,
How ever so brave
I watched their world turn insane,
As they fell into a chasm of pain.

The poured their thoughts into me,
I wondered why fate won’t leave them be.
They fought on and on,
Until the war is won.

But when will it be?
Why can’t love and fate see?
I know life is blind and never fair,
And sanity is ever so rare.
The anger flared in their eyes,
Through pain and lies.
They told a story,
They won in glory.
But with a price,
Happiness was thrice.

I threw the book down in rage,
With all the sadness built at every page.
I cried for all their lost,
Their tears hardened to frost
CA Guilfoyle Jul 2012
You were born of oceans,
glacial upheavals melting
a temperate forest of raining seas
I climbed your stair step moss
to see night stars mingle with fir trees
I watched through the night
only sleeping when stars did,
when birds came echoing
through your woods,
at first light, in mists of fog
verily I slept  
in forest song
He watched the moon,
As it became immune
To his galaxy eyes.
Silver liquid flowing,
The night's come to a closing,
As he mixed his 'sky dye.'
At least, that's what the stars said,
As each one rubbed his head
Goodnight.
Colored images glowing,
His eyelids began lowering,
As he, again, was forced to fight-
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
He sat by a furnace of seven-fold heat,
As He watched by the precious ore.
And closer He bent with a searching gaze,
As He heated it more and more.

He knew He had ore that could stand the test
And He wanted the finest gold,
To mold as a crown, for the king to wear,
Set with gems of price untold.

So He laid our gold in the burning fire,
Tho’ we fain would say Him "nay."
And watched the dross that we had not seen
As it melted and passed away.

And the gold grew brighter and yet more bright,
But our eyes were dim with tears,
We saw but the fire, not the Master’s hand,
And questioned with anxious fears.

Yet our gold shone out with a richer glow
As it mirrored a form above,
That bent o’er the fire, though unseen by us
With a look of ineffable love.

Can we think it pleases His loving heart
To cause us a moment's pain?
Ah, no! But He sees through the present cross
The bliss of eternal gain.

So He waited there with a watchful eye,
With a love that is strong and sure.
And His gold did not suffer a bit more heat
Than was needed to make it pure.

~ A.F. Ingler
~~~
CA Guilfoyle Dec 2016
Now these clouds
the cold mean greys
sideways rain, the north lands I remember
the drowning choke of smoke and fire
traveling the dark road to your home
the black and spark of stars
we watched through the night
before the killing dawn
before the foggy cold that held us down
the clinch and grasp a slow stinging wasp
gone the fragrant hum of bees
the honey meadow petals.

Only a fleeting summer - we gathered
now swallowed in the autumn thunder
the bruising cold of November.
ThePoet Sep 2015
I took a step
back, and I
watched as
you cried,
because if I
took a step
forth, I would
have watched
as you died.
L B Jun 2018
I don't think about it any more
I take out the trash
noting
Sticks caught in the crotch of a tree
The wind does what the wind does
breaks weaker branches down
does not care where
it leaves
them
on its invisible way

Days do what the days do
they don't count themselves
worthy as they go
to release
the afternoon
to evening—
an artless
emptying
to a low spot
where tears tend to pool
if I'd let them down

“You know,
in that low spot
out there...?”
Where it's hard to see
Where its hard to care?

They take heart
out
divide it by energy
for sadness—
I haven't got

Watched the clock go round
wipe out my little plans
with relentless hands

...and I never got dressed today
6-12-18
Elioinai Jul 2018
You were my coffee today
Just walking along the road
to Hell knows where on the last day of July
My car made the turn onto Sheridan
and my eyes caught the motion of your swagger,
dark pants
Black tank
Probably a red shirt wrapped around your waist
corded arms slightly bowed to give the impression of a badass

your long hair flowing in the morning air

In an instant your head came up
Instinctively giving you the image of my nearing car

And then you smiled
It’s funny how seeing a beautiful person instinctively offer up a joyful, innocent smile can brighten up a day completely
Johnny walker Feb 18
A fantasy I'm walking through wood very
dark but sunlight
flickering high above
the treetops tiny little beams if the light just to
enough to show my
way

For the wood Is getting darker by the minute the path I walked upon was guarded by trees on both sides that were
sloped

But out the corner of my eye I see almost like a butterfly filtering through the trees above me I hide behind the nearest tree and watch hopefully not to be seen

But this girl skipping through the trees like a butterfly so beautiful but completely naked but totally unaware of me there I watch In amazement

As she danced can't believe my eyes so pretty but naked suddenly there pain In my leg I move It slightly but on moving I snap a twig being so silent In the wood It was more like a gun being
fired

She suddenly stopped looking around I remained behind the tree but she had already seen me all of a sudden these beautiful white wings appeared from her back she gave them a flap and she lifted
from the
ground

I stood In amazement to see her lift Into the air and with her unbelievable beauty watch her fly away into the distance to disappear never to been seen
again
A fantasy while passing the day
Marilyn Heavens Oct 2018
I watched the news today,
I watch it every day
and every day It seems the same
painful terror without shame

As Mother nature makes her call
She devastates both one and all
She'll slice her way across the land
As father demon lends a hand
And seas rise up towards the shore
Where land becomes the ocean floor

I watched the news today...

War torn places on their knees,
The innocent no longer free
A starving child, he walks alone
across a stony path he'd roam
Searching for the freedom, a gift that he once knew
His mother dead, his father hurt his brother disappeared
This child alone keeps going, there’s nowhere he can go
He searches everywhere for someone he may know
But no one comes to ease his pain,
His search for freedom, all in vain

I watched the news today...

The starving child who walked alone
He walks alone no more
He’s found amid the war zone
crouched, cold and all alone
He stares into his fathers eyes
where pain and anguish clearly lyes
Hand in hand they walk together
father, brother, and memories of mother,
Along a stony path they roam,
towards the tiny shack called home
King Panda Mar 2016
It’s no fun to cry when someone is looking at you
It’s only fun to cry when you’re alone
naked
under covers
your pillow saturated in salt
and sometimes that’s not even fun
and you wonder
why even bother
when God sees everything you do
every tear you shed
that you are always being watched
that you can never cry without someone looking at you
and you raise your fist into the muggy darkness and declare
*******
God
Saint Audrey Jul 2018
Casualty: my interest fading
Once waxing moon now seen waning
And I did concede your irksome warning
And watched as the rest played out

So let bygones be gone, fallen out by the side
Of this road, worn down, still restless, keeping straight
Eyes glinting off token little bits of hospitality
Mother nature being so inclined at times

The stress so unnerving, I hardly doubt it
But tension is eased once it comes to acceptance
And I accept in full, finding time to unwind
Winding stretch of lonely road, dotted here and there by
An occasional landmark
Or a lonely tractor pulling behind it
Iron bars, old and rusted
Found in their hold
Bales of hay or
A small little pond
With a bench beside it
Holding initials carved against the grain

With a heart surrounding

As mine beats slower

At last, the sun begins going down

And the moon grows brighter
Even in its state
And my feet move faster
Though my body is withering
I feel this separation growing
As my mind takes flight and leaves me

Behind, in the twisting twilight
And alone, I walk along
ghazal Nov 2018
shivering on top of this roof,
burnt cigarettes in the shingles of the accused.
and in this cold weather,
my jacket and your words shared one thing;
a lack of proof.
immersed in thought,
i retract my youth.
and thinking back to my childhood,
memories blue.
thinking not how a child should,
no one had a clue.
it's no ones fault and i know i shouldn't blame you,
that's not what stuck, it's what i prayed to.
the sound of my stomach has become louder than my thoughts,
and i know i should stop writing but you took my ******* heart.

selfish you are.
selfish you are.
selfish you are.
insta: @faithpoetrybook
Gabrielle Isa Nov 2017
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.

Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...

...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.

His "I love you"s became poison
That seeped deep into my bones
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~


<•>
while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
perhaps,
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

We,
the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
outed,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?*

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
nightly,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a
now*

<>
oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere
unheard

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
for the one we call mr.moon
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.


^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
We watched the world end.

Lying there on the floor of the highest-level with her,
Basking in the surrealism of that night.
The open-topped roof of a multistory car-park awash
with wayward radiance from orange streetlights;
Their fading glare trapped by the city's cloud-cover,
The soft glow dimly illuminated our bodies.
Precipitation gracefully descending
in a fine drizzle, seemingly endless;
The falling mist causing an apparent bloom
as sodium-vapor lamplight spread through and through.
This strange photon blossom,
Intangible and awesome.

My mind intoned one silent word:
Renew.

We saw urban torches expel their artificial light
and give way to the skyglow of streetlamps in bloom.
We lay back and watched the city breathe
as the floating masses of water swooned.
And I felt the sky collapse around us
as surreality became our coupled theme.
Romantic ******'s American dream.
Breaching surreality.
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