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September Roses May 2018
Hot chocolate no longer tastes like chocolate

Tea gets me as drunk as wine

I get about as high on cannabis as I would rosemerry or thyme

The clocks in my house have stopped ticking

Though I never stop to check

There's a litter of stray kittens, outside my door, on the front step

Although time has stopped passing
And the gods have fallen asleep

I still find myself laughing
That I've wept to much to weep
Ive had a few people wonder.
Its limbo
galio Mar 2016
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they wept, tearing out their hair
and tossed it into the ocean
turning it into seaweeds.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who then hid themselves in caves, till they passed
their skin growing pale and lifeless
till feathers emerged from their hands.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who decided to mutilate their legs
and scar their feet
so they would no longer be human.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
and the creatures wailed as loud as they could,
screeching noises, ringing
but sounded only like bells to men.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
but they didn't see beauty or sin
instead,
walking vessels
an empty name
and a prize to win.
harpies are described as repulsive half-bird half-human creatures that represented evil. however in early greek mythology, hesiod described them as beautiful winged maidens.
Jordan Rowan Nov 2015
The sun sets on dripping blood
Shed for love
And brought out from a gun
Elizabeth is close to death
Drawing final breaths
She was so fine and so young

Pedro runs across the barroom floor
Bursting through the door
On his way to the border by the sea
His hand is still hot from rage
There's nothing left to save
All he can do is flee

Now that heaven can finally breathe
Resting on the sea
While Pedro hides away from law
Elizabeth wore Pedro's golden ring
Along a silver string
Yet she moaned among the farmer's straw

Pedro shed the lonely tears
Of a love lost in years
He made a promise that he kept
As he read aloud the vows she wrote
With the heart she broke
The sun set as he wept
The Red Rain of Kerala wrote this Plague
Un-supported by Evidence and Song
As it wept and bled that once-thirsty Plain
Locals knew their throats will not dry too long
But how could they drink this very strange Guilt
When their Sheets un-furled like the Flags of War
And not until the Google-Heads came in
They realised it was foreign before
Samples were taken in pursuit of Cause
Then page by page those Suspects came to light
Was it Bacteria? Or Lichens-at-Lost
Either way there was some Blood to incite.
When those Findings end, much was to conclude
Which Creation's Purchase falls upon you.
Kevin J Taylor May 2018
If in some other life
we sat in endless space
(perhaps you came alone)
leaning in, could it have been
an orange grove?

If in another life
we listened (in this
or that other grove) and wept
and overflowed with hope—
Then it was real.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
First day,
I wept,
For I didn’t understand what was wrong

Second day,
I wept again,
For not understanding my own self.

Third day,
I was numb,
And it didn’t matter if I was wrong anymore.

Fourth day,
I stopped,
My thoughts for it was not worth it to ponder.

Fifth day,
I got up,
With courage I did not realise that I even had.

Sixth day,
I walked out,
Of the cage that i built in my mind.
Alyssa Underwood Jun 2016
The moon and stars they wept
The morning sun was dead
The Savior of the world was fallen
His body on the cross
His blood poured out for us
The weight of every curse upon Him

One final breath He gave
As heaven looked away
The Son of God was laid in darkness
A battle in the grave
The war on death was waged
The power of hell forever broken

The ground began to shake
The stone was rolled away
His perfect love could not be overcome
Now death where is your sting?
Our resurrected King
Has rendered you defeated

Forever He is glorified
Forever He is lifted high
Forever He is risen
He is alive, He is alive!

The ground began to shake
The stone was rolled away
His perfect love could not be overcome
Now death where is your sting?
Our resurrected King
Has rendered you defeated

Forever He is glorified
Forever He is lifted high
Forever He is risen
He is alive, He is alive!

We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
The Lamb has overcome

We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
The Lamb has overcome

Forever He is glorified
Forever He is lifted high
Forever He is risen
He is alive, He is alive!

You have overcome
You have overcome
You have overcome
You have overcome

                   ~ Kari Jobe
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mv4LRl2KI2M
kevin hamilton Sep 2018
true death and restless spirits
i remember all of their names
like they were mine
and the charity of cold
chimes forever
in a sea of salt

kicked down the cemetery gate
and kissed the ground
forgive me now
for the pain i caused
that night, canis minor wept
and all was dust
on the acropolis of troy

i am the one
who fell from dark
into an even greater void
Outside Words Sep 2018
On a gusty autumn night
Another husband was swept,
Somber under the porch light,
Abigail watched and wept.

No men were happy,
As they dealt with poor Abby –
Day in and day out,
So miserable and naggy.

Nine is such a tender age
For a father to leave his daughter,
In horror, Abby waved,
Her mind underwater.

Crimes of parents, what a shame
Those with good ones count your blessings,
Lest we forget little Abby’s pain
And teach our children similar lessons.
© Outside Words
Nothing turns this angel down
Excellence, in the flesh
And if they try, an evening gown
In satin works the best

Is beauty deeper than the skin?
Surely she'll impress
Instead of showing what's within
She forces you to guess

Eyes of gold been tarnished brown
By tears that have been wept
Dark and shining locks abound
Make up for shades not kept

Sin runs red in times of blue
Every angel's seen
Temptation's there to carry you
When you have lost your wings

Consider but the outside shell
For that is most well-known
Appearing to be straight from hell
To garnish feelings shown

How could she be so mean, you ask?
What makes her be so spiteful?
Why can't she see it's not a mask
That makes her feel delightful?

Lies frozen, held through time
In silent desperation
Hiding at the scene of crime
A ****** confrontation

To free the memories from her head
Would unleash such a fear
She'd rather end the night instead
As not to feel him near

Ah, here's the one; the big bad wolf
That's haunted all her dreams
Whom proved too well by wearing wool
All are not as they seem

But I am ****, but skin and fur
And showing her my core
And telling her the parts that hurt
While donning nothing more

He's changed her mind, she's cast astray
But I could be the shepherd
To keep the hungry wolves at bay
As countless dogs endeavored

One light can only shine so much
Before the flame has died
To reignite it just a touch
Of love might satisfy

Surely there is nothing worse
Than feeling left to dry
Entrapped within a lover's curse
And never knowing why

Well, in defense of self-defense
I must admit it's snide
To hang a face upon the fence
Until you've picked a side

It's safe, my friend, just be yourself
Strip down to nothing hidden
And let emotion feed your health
By eating the forbidden

A heart must be coaxed from its hide
With tenderness and passion
In order for the passersby
To notice what has happened

From way out here it's hard to tell
But underneath a soul
That liberates a girl of twelve
Longs for a soul to hold

To hold would mean to carry, too
When harsh times rear their heads
To be the one to follow through
When love needs to be fed

But most of all it means to dress
With confidence or loathing
Just make sure you can impress
A saint in Sinner's clothing
Brain pictures
Driving alone in the moonlight
An hour or two before dawn
Jackson Browne on the radio
Big wheels all humming along

Rounding a curve in the highway
I see deer in the road ahead
The littlest one forgot to run
I hit her and knew she was dead

The body lay still and broken
Soft unseeing eyes open wide
Kneeling I took her up in my arms
And I sobbed, and wept, and I cried

I cried for her broken body
And I wept for her stolen life
I sobbed for all the loves I've lost
Through all the years of my life
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson. All rights reserved.
SassyJ Aug 2018
Dig deep, foot and foot
until the water leaks into a spring
as the ***** of the soil crumble
to particles that disperse

Sometimes a fierce passion awash
merged in an unending desire
a fervour of words and moments
as the time passes tick after tick

Sometimes melodies are wept and warped
weaved within the seams of the unforgotten
until they burst to shatters of glass
to the point of no reverse and return

Dig deep, foot after foot
and this pen always enlivens me
Refixing all the torn pieces
Sorting and blending all the scenes
I find it hard to live presently without writing.  It’s a lifeline. I crave for it like an addiction. It sings and rouses me from sleep...... So much work tucked here and there. I am alive
spysgrandson Nov 2015
LET
THERE
BE
LIGHT
a
fierce
sun ******
vapors
into
a
thunderous
sky
which
wept
sixty
sextillion
t­ears
creating
a
riddled
calibration:
the river  
time

we
came
cells
devouring
cells
metastasizing
into
li­fe
first
cruel crawlers
then
stealthy stalkers
wicked walkers  
and
finally
THE
terrible talkers
blasphemers
bending
time
asking
WHY
it
flows
?

we
are
th­ey
who
have
no
shore
to
which
to
moor
on the river,
time
what comes at 2:00 AM when I had too much chocolate
sharpcastuser Nov 2011
The moment when we met
All my sins washed away
You forgave all my debts
The moment when we met
To receive your love, I wept
Like rapture on Judgment Day
The moment when we met
All my sins washed away

© 2004 - Pres  Hello-Poetry.com - All Rights Reserved
I hope you like my triolet.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
This—  This is the closest we have been in forty-seven years. Graveside, I close my eyes. See again, her lips smeared, her head turned, as she had lain unconscious. Whispers of Other Men—   Immoral—   Immoral living—  Declared unfit for motherhood and I am only days from four.  

Before that, in white shift sitting at the foot of her bed and singing quietly to herself. Singing, brushing and lifting her hair. Letting it fall. She is lovely to me. Later that night, weeping, anger, fists and cries.  

At fifty-one I look like him. Fist-Man. Father. He wept in Irish taverns filled with weeping, singing drunks. She had danced the Sunrise on Hastings, whatever that meant.  

She was gone when I was taken. I was gone if she returned.  

A Child Welfare office filled with nervous women, children dressed in Sunday-best and a faint wash of fear—   these memories, all memories, discomfit and jar.  

A metal cup with orange juice. Warm, sweet and slightly bitter. The far end of the room. A bed made in a wooden trunk. Eyes slipping. Box lid closing. Sleep—  

Bewildered, pushing, opened, the room lies stark, white and empty. No mothers. No children. No one waiting here. The lump that rises to my throat is the same one— the same one that rises in spasms from my chest on that dark-boxed, white-roomed and room-filled afternoon.  

In forty-seven years I would stand above her on that overlooking hill. No words to mark her place, a plot numbered between other unmarked and numbered graves. Maybe she was gone again.  

Gone before I could tell her what had happened, that I was sorry, that I would be a good boy, beg her— find me.  

Eyes opened, I have waited long enough. The sun is hot. White lines trail across the sky. Paper from one pocket. Pen from another. I write. Roll tight and push as far in as this ground will allow.  

White paper, ink. Graveside for her. Wayside for me.  
A mark was kept. A mark was left.  

A deep breath in, not held and out.
The Sunrise was a low-end hotel on Hastings Street in Vancouver. The bed-in-a-trunk sequence was as described. The orange juice had a sleeping drug in it and the trunk-bed was used to separate children from parents or guardians without a fuss. '61. Alberta.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
“Never forget”
It’s structure set
there’s something that
I just don’t get
When people told
to take a sec
The thousands lost
Their lives just swept

And many more
forever wept
An empty hole
with families wrecked
Commemorate
the date is set
As if a giant hurdle leapt

Most people easily forget
A numb that lulls
themselves will let
They patronize
like I’m a pet
Their pettiness
to me will vex

It’s takes more than
just bowing necks
A promise
for one day is kept
Real charity
Not on the net
Read Facebook posts like
“What the heck?”

My boiling blood
want to snap necks
A danger sign
like floor is wet
Not military
or a vet
But a salute
those lost will get

Just for one day
forget the rest
On this day we will act our best
Let bias and all hatred rest
Each other love
Hearts will be blessed
Written: September 11, 2018

All rights reserved.
Charlotte Jul 2018
Some truths are told in anger,
Some truths are told in vain,
Sometimes there’s value in candor,
Sometimes truth just causes pain.

Some truths told aren’t told on purpose,
Some come out without consent,
Some when told do a great disservice,
No matter how honorable their intent.

Some truths are never told,
Away in drawers they’re kept,
Things gilded still shine like lustrous gold,
And dry are tears long wept.

I once had a truth I tried to speak,
But it was spoken by another prematurely,
I saw it happen, my voice was weak,
I handled it like a child and far too immaturely.

What was exposed could not be taken back,
It was a point of no return,
I was indignant, it all turned black,
I wanted the world to burn.

And burn it did,
But only mine,
Down hard I slid,
The real world was fine.

With time gone by, I must admit a lesson I learned,
The truth really does set you free,
But to whom my truth concerned,
I can only apologize, it should’ve come from me.
Paul Hansford May 2016
This small green bear,
your name embroidered on its chest,
was never yours. It would have been
our Christmas gift to you,
had you lived a month longer.
The ones you would give
you had already bought,
wrapped, labelled -
thoughtful, organised
to the end,
to the bitter end.
We unwrapped them on the day,
smiled at your kindness,
wept at our loss.

Early Christmas gifts
that you had not organised,
that nobody could have anticipated,
went to strangers: your pancreas,
a life free from daily injections;
your kidneys, two lives free from dialysis;
your liver, divided, to a young girl
and an older lady, who would
quite simply have a life
they had almost given up hoping for.
Your heart, damaged by extended life-support,
not suitable for transplantation,
yielded its valves
to repair the damaged hearts of others.
Even bone and skin were harvested
for people you never knew.
That Christmas you gave hope
to so many people,
and to us the consolation
that they live on because of you,
and that you live on in them.
zebra Aug 2017
she sat quietly in a cafe
pale
freckled with only one arm
and a missing foot
always shaking invisibly

deformed
from the curse of desolation

facing downwards  
she read the couplet

her maiden voyage was a lonely one
and it lasted all the days of her life

she wept silent tears
through interminable silent days
and starless nights
fearing her resemblance
to that ode of the forsaken

her countenance
a broken heart

i've come for you
i murmured

i'm a busted doll she said
see my pretty stumps
wheelchair
crutch
do you like them

strangely yes ...so very much
i wept softly

no one wants me
she whispered
i'm a blight of horror
a castaway to be avoided
my life a nightmare
of dark estrangement
a walking wound in tears
to crooked to be loved
a torn doll

looking into the depths of her soul
i called
i've always wanted a lopsided girl
with flaying stumps
and a brooding heart
to save
to love
to heal
to cuddle
and adore
to cry over
with wild warping hugs
always aching
for my darling
little *******

we kissed
wet mouthing clamors
lips and tongue
like oleo spread

i picked her up
and tangled her in my arms
as she thawed like heated oil

i ran off with her
tears streaming
and visited upon her
every kindness and pleasure of heaven
*and it lasted all the days of her life
LOVE
Donall Dempsey Jun 2018
STARRY STARRY NIGHT

She switched off the moon.

Plucked out the stars.

A little dog barked
as her scream scrawled:

“This time life has gone...too far.”

She took an overdose of sleeping tablets
in her big bright red car.

The day withers
that was once in bloom.

Petals fall
in an empty room.

The moon wept.
The stars cried.

Life was for living... Life lied.
Qweyku May 2016
I held a Mother in my arms,
With love
&
tears of mournful abandon,
Watching as she passed to paradise.
In time,
I heard a Father’s breath of silence;
His silver cord too, shredded.

Oh my soul!

We have been force fed a lie;
That real men don’t cry?
for it is written;
“and Jesus wept.”

A son shouldn’t search such unsearchable sorrow...
But it's right that children bury their parents,
&  
Not the other way around, a painful truth;
our caretaker's are now in the ground.


How long before sunshine’s healing rays
Dissipate this institute of grief?
&
When will the Son rise?

(G-d have mercy on us all.)


~  © Qwey.ku
Skyla Dec 2018
I hear the same, bitter word on repeat
And it still shakes me to my very core
  “I loved you once, but nevermore”
His veneer of love had fallen apart
And now I am left with a knife in my heart
    Do you know how much I ache?
I’m shattered and cold, and now I quake
“Beyond the sunrise, ‘tis you that I adore,
     But our love shall go on, nevermore”

I wept for a love that is beyond repair
I wept for my heart, shaking in despair
I wept for a man with a smile so rare
Who destroyed the heart of a maiden fair
So faithful was I, for I would never forswear
A man with a love that left me gasping for air
Wouldst thou ****** me? wouldst thou dare?
You left my love bleeding, raw, naked, and bare
I said that I’d die for you, or go to war!
But once again, you said “Nevermore”
My wounds gush blood, and my soul is sore
But thine eyes and lips said “Nevermore”
Thy words are scattered, running hither and thither
But filled with such compassion, leaving my lips aquiver
Was I just an object of lust that your body outwore?
But still, you shuddered and said “Nevermore”
I will give you money and gold and diamonds galore!
But still, you scoffed and said “Nevermore”
Now, I sit here forlorn, and feeling heartsore
“You make me melancholy, darling”
And then he left, without another word, and I sat there and quoted “Nevermore” ~
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”
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