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Tanay Sengupta Aug 2018
The wind whistled a lullaby,
Kissing her goodbye.
As it raced through her forehead,
Before she dropped dead.
The floor had become a crimson pool,
Filled with the last remnant of the fool.
She thought she could tame the beast,
But, instead she became his feast.
It was a silent night,
And while she had put up a brave fight.
But, in the end three bullets made their way,
And they ended her stay.
Now on the floor she lies dead,
Her blood has painted the floor red.
We watch in horror, as numb as ice.
While rain pours down our eyes.










Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.
This one is a little dark, pretty simple but dark. I won't say more. Happy reading!
ryn Feb 2015
He almost let out a sigh of dismay,
Knowing this stint would be short lived.
The common sense in his head seemed to say,
"No one could be this lucky, don't have yourself deceived".

His wheels wobbled and shook; squeaked and wailed,
Under the collective weight of the two.
Screaming threats from worn bearings that ailed,
He did not want to appear weak so his legs pummelled on through.

The ease of cycling was only temporary
He pedalled harder to gain more speed.
Then the ground began to ***** gently
His lungs felt like bursting as he pounded his iron steed.

The journey uphill had been more laborious than he had expected.
All the while, the beauty hadn't uttered a single word.
His mind had drifted off even though he was worn and ragged,
The thought of emerging as a couple seemed less than absurd.

The crest of the hill was a cool, long anticipated welcome.
He could finally ease up on the pedalling.
The view from there was nothing short of handsome,
The downhill would take charge and he could catch up on his breathing.

The wind met his face and whistled itself tuneless.
The bicycle rattled as it rolled down the uneven trail.
He felt a sense of flight, there was an air of calmness,
Almost had forgotten about the quiet guest on his tail.

At the bottom he thought he should check on his passenger,
He looked ahead as he addressed the lady.
When he had expected an almost immediate answer,
No response came, despite his calls for her repeatedly.

He pedalled with little effort as if there wasn't added weight
The bicycle slowed down to a clearing where it was dim.
Fatigue was setting in as the night stretched late
His curiosity won the battle and got the better of him.

He stopped his bicycle and maintained balance with his feet,
He twisted his torso so he could speak to his fare.
The moment he did so, his heart had almost ceased to beat,
To his horror, he found that the lady was no longer there...
Based on a story I heard
girl gonzo Oct 2018
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the initials 'F T' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums  
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
Mary Gay Kearns Mar 2018
Everytime I try a little harder I know it is you
A voice deep and melodious
Who whistled many tunes
A man born in poverty
A father who was strapped
A bedroom where you slept
Always back to back
You whom I always trusted
Who gave my mother love
Brought me up a good person
To value truth and love
I never made it to the Gods
And sat in the stalls
But the hay was humble
You gave me it all.

Thank you my dear Dad, Eric William Henry Ayton-Robinson.
Love your daughter Mary x
Evan Stephens Mar 10
Saturday night's
rain down
the glass
reminds me of
when the sky
tipped
& beaded
on my face
in the spare
maple as spring
came on.

I laughed
& shook the shine
from my hair
as my fingers
gestured water
into the hillside
streeted
with roots.

I found the road
as the dusk
whistled
& followed it
back to the *****
where headlights
kicked against
the first pierce
of stars.

The rain sat
on the ruddy brick
& glowered.
I sailed
over lawns
black with dousing
& listened
to the drop
and lilt.
What4221 Jun 2018
Dear Maya,

Don't you think this life is lovely?
I skipped all the way to the river bank today
I whistled and the wind joined me
And from the river I can see the sea.

Love,
Me



Dear Maya,

You never replied to my last letter
But I hope you're getting better
I want to visit soon
Life isn't the same without you.

Love,
Me



Dear Maya,

It's been ages.
It's been so long.
Why don't you write back?
I miss your letters - pages and pages.

Love,
Me



Dear Maya,

Your mother said to stop writing
Told me to start remembering
But I never forgot you
She says sometimes she thinks I'm gone, too.

Love,
Me



Dear Maya,

Your mother showed me a grave today.
The stone shared your name.
But I know it's not you.
You're at the hospital in London, still.

Love,
Me



Dear Maya,

My therapist tells me every time that you are gone
I guess I know that's true
I just couldn't bear life
Without you

Love,
Me



Dear Maya,

I left the house to my brother
The money to my mother
And the rest to the world.

Love,
Me

P.S.  I'll be there
        With you
        Soon.
Evan Stephens Jun 15
Back then, there
were no goodbyes,
and tomorrows
I swallowed like
chartreuse. Evening
buttons were undone.
Bones whistled at night.
Birds slipped as fire
rifled in the yard.
I wanted to cry,
sweet-haired, low
with breath, as
someone built a myth
and then broke it.
The years deviled,
pears wasted away.
There were no goodbyes,
and tomorrows were
lost in the eye.
Orchid May 9
As you sail away into the abyss,
Our fate is sealed by true loves kiss,
A lie, repeated, thrashed pon' waves of guilt,
Sweet as nectar lies, in the babies bottle of milk,

Gaze as the flames dance with a vigour,
Shaken, boiled with Jesus's liquor,
Condensed upon glass, upon glass shall condense,
Bittersweet tears, of which sins may repent

Palm trees whistled as sky held Luna,
The commoners spat and praised 'Alleluia',
Let him breathe, let him sit, let him praise, let him run,
King of the Jews, your chariot has begun,

Pockets cupped and saved torn bibles,
Caressing the minds of the bad disciples,
Lucifer created hell for their own protection,
A crown of thorns worn with failed redemption,
Archana Jan 8
Draped in boundless pride
she strolled along the streets,
the town's flamboyant prima ballerina.
Still little did the debaucher know her.
Defenceless she laid
as he spanked and clouted her,
Her vehement howling and wailing couldn't stop
the yanking of clothes.
Motionless, emotionless she laid
while he plundered and mutilated her body.
Vandalised by an uninvited visitor,
Incapable of moving her body
the ravishing ballerina reclined.
The scars he made was not on her body but deep in her soul.
That gloomy night whistled away
for the sun to flare its first ray.
'18 year old violently molested and deceased'.
Hence the prima ballerina became a mere newspaper headline.
The intense pain injected in the soul of an innocent girl can never be presumed by anyone else.
Miss Misa Dec 2018
A man dressed in red
With sweet, enticing words
And a song so harmonizing
Like the tune of a bird's

Cold midnight wind
Played with his crimson cloak
He whistled a song
And my silence broke

"Who are you?
Why are you here?"
Quick was his response
He whispered in my ear

"The time is come
You are near
And at last
I do appear.

Whom am I you might ask
But do not dread
I cannot hurt you
I am the Phantom in Red

I will show you
Things no one else sees
The locked up secrets of the world
And I have the keys"
The wind whistled through the trees,
An ominous warning on her lips,
The skies were ripped apart by lightning,
The dark clouds thundered calling out my child's name,
Raindrops pelted on the window pane,
Threatening to break it.
I sat huddled in a chair,
Praying for a miracle.
My child lay on his bed barely breathing with no hope,
The doctor had left,
Now it was in the hands of Allah.
Suddenly everything seemed still,
Nature had quietened,
The candle stopped flickering.
I saw a large,dark silhouette  leaving the doorway,
It was saying,"My mistake, your child has long to live."
My son woke up with a smile,
"Mum,I was with the Angels,
It was beautiful there,
But they brought me back,
I was needed here to be with you."
I jumped up and hugged him tightly, tears streaming down my eyes,
What a miracle,
Allah had listened to my prayers.
UNCLE MICHAEL- ALIAS GOD

His hands(tobacco stained)    
twisted & gnarled

knotted like an alive piece of wood
scrawled gestures across my mind

as the sick calf bucked in his arms
& his quiet strength - calmed:

'Shhhhhh... shhhhhhh...****...****! '
he crooned

& the sound
soothed.

And the veins(line vines)    
ran up & down his arms

pumping crude life like a sudden sketch
to suggest the gist of rather than

the meaning of things.

And he walked(& I ran)    
towards Granny's garden(like God tending Eden)    

& the gate(a little hoarse)sighed at his hand and

the leaves murmured
(like worshippers in a church congregation)    

& the sunlight genuflected through the trees
and the trees wore socks & apples.

A tablecloth was laid
on a loganberry bush.

And the young tree gave herself to him
broke tenderly in his hand

and, the knife whistled & whittled
& out of the branch came a man.

And he told me(& I believed him
'cos he was good as God & strong)    

that the little wooden man(the silent statue)    
had been waiting(all the time all ready made)    

waiting to be released
from his prison of wood.

'All things...'he whispered
'all things are waiting for you to call them.'

'Call them to come out...'
'Awake them...create them...! '

The rhododendrons were blue with amazement

-at this revelation
a dragonfly walked upon the water.

A butterfly became infatuated with a flower.

Me...?

I watched as his hands talked...
...explaining things that could not be...said.

And he took my hand in his and I understood

flowed like a little stream
into his big river

felt God(close)    
near at hand

and...smiling.
Have you heard the tale of Lord  Gusstaff and all the good things he did ?
Did you hear in his chambers ,
or the choristers of the night ,
how he charmed the ladies ,
how they flocked to his side ?
His moustache was long and elegant ,
so dashing for the time .

Now every door was open when he passed by ,
and white flowers of the day were placed where every pritty he lay in the long dark reaches of the night .

For when the birds began to sing ,
their tones  pitch perfect would sing just for him ,
just for Gusstaff. the good .

The ladies pouted like flamingos all around ,
his tales of bravery they listened and were captivated by his stare .
For his eyes were dark ,
his manor took wind to their sail .

How Nobel were his deeds ,
and loving and bold ,
not once were his lovers bitter ,
or cold .


Then one night ,
the bells fell silent ,
and the wind whistled as if in silent prayer ,
a vesper of the night ,
Gusstaff lay dying in a field of war his white shirt stained in blood ,
His dying words how brave ,
how brave ,
Leave a white flower for the ladies ,
to each one ,
I loved
let them place a flower in my grave ,
for where the petunia grows his love still flows ,
and flamingo s still surround them ,
and ladies weep  their hearts forever fountains,
In memorials to Gusstaff the good .

Take heed then as the Fox makes Love in the night ,
Vixens will follow ,
and his ghost still screams out for love.
My Mother's tongue was gin
She used it best for cursing in

My absentee Father was an Irish rogue
His drunken Dublin drawl a joke

Uncle Jim lisped through his cheek
A stroke survivor with a bad mouth leak

Billy, my cousin, rattled on repeat
Stuttered like a Gattling Gun on heat

Old Nanny Mabel whistled like a flute
****** and tutted on her one black tooth

Our Mam's deaf younger sister, never Auntie
Spoke with her hands cos of Meningitis

All the Teachers talked with slippers and canes
All the Police just clipped us behind the ears

All the Posh Nobs said nowt, but looked
Down their noses with pity at us

Everyone, and i mean everybody
Smelled of drink, smoke, and unwashed bodies

Everybody, and i mean every mouth
Ate while they spoke, and spat stuff out

I haven't escaped the old Mother Tongues
I revert to the speech I knew when young

Yes, I still speak the Gallus when I'm up there, Whitby bred -
Strong in the arm, thick in the head
You can take the Poet out of the town, but... Etc Etc

Gallus is the old dialect name for that rough part of Whitby where I grew up. Most of the town couldn't understand us when we spoke and we were thought of as a rough lot.
OnwardFlame Mar 29
For a moment there


It looked like it might all could be
About you
I held up ashes, a crown, a withered spoon
And with the sharpest hammer
Attempted to build a ship.

As captain,
It was my job
To fulfill myself within the seas
To not let labor fool me.

I handed you chance after chance
Gilding myself in what I think you might like best
Pulling out every trick
We loved so well in moments
I hung onto them with the tip of my tongue
And now work through a weary shame.

The poison you offered me
Was not for me to drink
But I pursued it all in all
Because I think I like to suffer.

I'm able to recognize the darkness within me
And as I built the ship
Out of so little tools
Water hitting and splashing me
Among the rampage
I whistled my way all through it
Hoping the sound of my own purrs
Drowned out the stinging
Drowned out the whimpering blame
I'd catch
And ultimately tumble into.

A saddened rage fills my bones
When I think about how similar
You were to my past
And I just hope that now that I've made a ship
Out of next to nothing
Time and time again
I'll stop harboring the emptiness
Of unfulfilled labor
And a lack of grace.

My basket of treasures I offered so many to you
A dinosaur around my neck
You were so good in moments
We were so good in moments
And now that I'm back with time to ****
The absence of you runs still.

I imagine that you think on me too
Drowning out the sound
Of moans, my naked thighs, and the way my life would curl
All around you like there was nothing more
Nothing less.

I gave up on
Just like you asked me to do
And I don't doubt that if I wanted to return to the well
To drink up more of the poisonous water
I so could.

I guess there is a refuge in that thought
But in the night
When we once would spend our time
I'd try to forget what you weren't giving me
Spreading myself so thin I couldn't notice

But it's you who has to know that the love you were given
It's you that has to live with your failures
It's you that has to look in the mirror and see truth
As I sat across from you
Your hands on my legs
Kissing you for the last time
You were so upset I looked so upset
But I rode away for the last time

And it just will never be about you
Ever again.
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