Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
come if you're thirsty, come if you're stained
come if you're weary, come if you're pained
come to the water, the bread and the blood
come to Christ's soul-saving covenant flood
there's no one too dirty, no one too poor
no one too broken whose faith He'll ignore
come if you hear Jesus calling your name
come to be free of all guilt and all shame
come if you're willing to cast out old strife
come lay your burden and take up new life
SG Holter Feb 2016
For Helene.


Ashes on the water, now.
Love's bones like dust downstream.  
At least it got to see itself in our eyes,
Feel itself between hand holding hand

And whispered caresses.
From pillow talk to fists raised at
Concerts, glasses of Portuguese wine
On her balcony to the sound of magpies

We named our neighbours.
We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Ended gracefully.

I open hands that held hers and see
Nothing but skin worn by labour,
And air.
Ashes on the water, now.

Embers without a chance against rivers  
Cold with melted mountain snow and
Unyielding differences.
Some loves drown with lungs too full

To cry; others float like a funeral-pyre-
Longboat into the night, ablaze.
King and queen, hand upon hand.
Crowns tied from fresh flowers,

We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Slid apart the way a glacier parts from
The hills; slowly, but with the force

Of its thousands of tons.
Ashes on the water,
Where the ghost of our union rests
Underneath the surface of our memories.

I will remember you.
Until the stars burn out, raining the
Dust of themselves like snow upon
These waters that always are moving.
toukakouka Oct 2015
cemeteries worn
delicately fall on chests

like grandmother's old necklaces

and inscriptions from headstones
draped in cold bronze

sold and bought, their epitaphs

like grandmother's old word

her lovely verbs

swathed in gold,

and ever were costly rhinestones weaved in

until every meaning to her lovely words were lost.
i.
The spigot leaks;
greedy tongues lick
and lap up these thoughts
I believed were my own,
my words whole

ii.
In this dark room
between four walls,
I made myself;
carved, pressed, and folded
then emerged divine

iii.
Happiness can be worn
then worn out,
like cracked leather.
Learn to smooth and polish
that which breaks the heart
A town whose people shapeshift everyday
keeps only worn-down roads and festive lights;

the shops, almost enchanted, switching names --
to change at will is to be true to type.

But though it's bittersweet, I must not dwell,
for dwelling simply makes me wish to die:

there cannot be a more merciless hell
than to be self-aware of time gone by -

so I face the days head-on, one by one,
thanking whatever deity's up there

for clockwork rising-falling of the sun;
a beauteous sight we're allowed to share.

Singing 'nostalgia' on our aged guitars
just picks at scabs that are to become scars.
baby's first sonnet. watching the future unfold in front of you is terrifying, but i'm attempting to convince myself that it's wonderful.
Lynnie Defelice Dec 2017
My eyes are worn, my mind is torn;
taken by my swollen, mourning heart.
Love has become foreign, unfortunately,
I wasn't warned this would happen.
I'm left with unfocused vision,
frozen from being soaked in my
own tears. All I am is unnoticed,
broken. Taken at 2:00
from my own fears.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Jack Chicago Mar 2015
found myself on a greyhound bus
travelin far from all that muss
them lonely hearts
them angry cops
them vacant eyes
them burned out shops
that dark cold city sure ain't pretty
too many jail cells
too many private hells
too many bloodshot mornings
too many deaf eared warnings
not enough to keep me here
not enough of that free beer
never enough  dope to shoot
not enough  in pirate loot
not enough warm pillow dreams
no thread left to sew my seams
not enough to keep believing
not enough...
i think i'm leaving

just too manny worn out souls
count my toes to count the holes
run down
on empty
gotta get my fill
lookin for another pint to spill
sippin on some stolen booze
i got nothin left to lose
sleepin under concrete bridges
shivering and cold as fridges
chipped teeth and blood stains on my shirt
Aww hell i'm fine
it didn't hurt

spare change for whiskey
root beer chase
and hopes to get between her lace
first kisses and them pretty lies
crumble into last goodbyes
the laughter fades
the raindrops burn
on open road the wheels turn
i got two thumbs
i'll level one
and i'll ride off into the sun...
zebra Nov 2017
i feel like talking tonight
reciting poetry to your big blue eyes
and raw pink mouth smiling
high as a wind whipped kite
discussing
art, ontology, and existentialism
sitting like lotus
at the
Cafe Figaro on McDougall st
in the west village
the  belly of a ghost
lost in a vagrant memory

afterwards
we go to a
little one bedroom flat in the east village
haunted by the vapors of history
a slight stench of piss
and wet cow tongue
dripping toilet
all peeling walls
intimating births and funerals

after a hot bath
of lathered torsos
we would follow each other naked
winding around a table
into a swaying bed
that beckoned
fuck here my darlings

and i licked and drank out of your drenched
rose red blossom for hours
it licking back
salvaging my soul between your thighs
like a wounded dog whimpering
thanking God with every graze and thrust
you all supple shifting limbs
and
your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
a caressing balm

we looked in the mirror
reflecting on my secreted glistening face
all red raspberry
my lips emerald hydras
laughing our asses off at how artsy i looked
smeared
with your rust painted thighs
appearing as if half eaten by a cougar

and you growled swallowed  and
licked big butter stick
till your nose ran like the Ganges
gagging
eyes bloodshot pools of fire
cooing and oowing
driving me maniacal
with every thrust of your wild glinting tongue

we poured our selves into each other
viscous creels gushing
coursing like tidal waving lava  
radiating

and finally worn to the marrow
we found ourselves drooping
our eyelids  leaden

the night mist fell upon us like breezing shade
and we drowsed
in careless embrace
our sex shriveled
like cast-off umbilici
and we fell to sleep steep
floating
like two buttermilk clouds
adrift
sex sex sex  love memory fiction nostalgia
The natural you and what about him
The Zen  gold egg climber Prince
Got his "Godly" rinse of the hen
We always knew their way upon
our thinking "Jumping Jack Flash"
But to be the change the day single
let's be feasible naturally, we mingle
The Holy water medieval drinking
By the night call, something is moving
Like a creature not in human form

We need to meet our expectations
More spoken revelations and terms
Naturally, we were born to be told
we have the fire to move any force
Even when our bones are getting old
  That powerful love but someone is
watching us above

With higher hopes will make
it through lovesick she coughs
The Passageway like a click of her heels
Feeling the beauty but climbing high
Naturally being cool with her sigh
Or the carriage day vintage wine
Her lucky wheel

World’s are invitation the engagement,
The sweet words or the terms of endearment
Be the Higher lover up in the Prince bow to her
A need to get higher inside the
Castle what a love hustle like a stampede

The rampage turning the ancient pages
Rock and roll ages or the Gothic pale
Victorian beauty her name Judy
Sir page the Grand Marnier
or change of pace human race
The drink Moet                            
High Mighty King singing

Her heart shape ring beating

Fresh-cut or worn out smoke put out
Brighten her pleasure the rose repose
To be born  not a piece of paper torn
Like a Queen reborn

For love how its spoken not just
City Girl with her token for-God-sake
can you look through her
wing turned up she is curled up
in her new threads of sheets
eyes please she is not ready
to hear goodbyes to your beat
What do you read is she naturally
beautiful than or now

Her naturally glow lights up
The Shakespearian castle
   Two nature healers, not the
same as card dealers

  Butterflies the fireflies
Her love shape naturally
that's no lie

  It comes naturally to be loved


    More like homed bakes muffin _


Google the nature of things spoken but
they may not come
Please don't wait too long
Perhaps there is always someone
to copy your song


Be the climber love for who she is
Her vegetables her sensuality is quite
organically raw
She loves her side dish coleslaw

How nature made us in the womb
Naturally spoken things like her sub combo
This is a meditation we need a salvation to feel free and have our own wings to fly even if you get so close enough to realize the goodbye just climb higher in your spirit to live it
Natalie Smith Mar 28
A guttural scream builds and aches
Like a mass in my chest,
Pulling on the lungs
And seizing my throat.
I cannot speak...
Must one be so heavy and worn?
Must the days move so?
Might I be the only soul
Who feels confined to endless repetition?
Curse this incessant, shuffling gait!
Let the sun crust and grow cold!
Let the Earth fall its course!
Let the night and stars and endless space
Take up this weary, tired flesh
And turn it all to stardust
Once more.
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