The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.
Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.”
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.
She smiled through her tears.
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too. His name was Pal.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Along a pier, on a bench,
An old man sits all day.
Passers by not lending time,
To what he has to say.
They'll never know the loves he had,
Or ocean blues he sailed.
If they had just a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.
A gent with fishing rod in tow,
The "big one" but a dream.
The old man pleads with aching hands,
Would you come sit with me?
A flashing glance, a fleeting wave,
No time for you old man.
Then you'll not know my secrets,
How sure giant ones to land.
Not sailfish fought for hours on end,
Bursting through the sky.
Nor great whites conquered, whales harpooned,
Nor where the mermaids hide.
A lass sashaying, book in hand,
Of romance she does read.
His crooked finger motions her,
Would you come listen please?
With rolling eyes, a turned up nose,
His answer once again.
Then you'll miss the most daring ventures,
Ever known to man.
Expanding near a century,
Ore exotic lands and seas.
My passions, loves and tragedies,
Would bring Shakespeare to his knees.
So when you see an old man,
Sitting there alone.
Most all desires that you have dreamed,
He has lived and known.
He can fill you with adventures,
A knew world to you unveil.
If you'll just take a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014
Between happiness and sadness
—silence; an angel prays:
I kiss the loneliness of old people,
their temples like handfuls of winter;
are used baggage,
memories speak to them,
they smile and
tell me stories from their youth
silence passes unspoken
—they remember the dead.
I kiss the loneliness from their temples
and sadness lifts from their mouths.
From my first book: 'In Forbidden Language'
©dah / Stillpoint Books 2010
all rights reserved
Search Amazon Books: "in forbidden language/dah"
Copyright © Dah Helmer | Year Posted 2014
Jab Meri Bechaini Mit Jayegi
Jab Mere Dilko Sukoon Mil Jayega
Yeh Khaalipan Mit Jayega
Do Pal Ki Chandni Ke Liye
Aj Bhi Zinda Hoon Main
Meri Khaamoshi Ke Ageh Aasmaan Bhi Khatam Ho Jayega
Kehne Ke Liye Toh Roz Marta Hoon Main
Thoda Aur Marne Ke Liye
Yeh Deewana Kal Phir Ayega
Copyright © shadab shaikh | Year Posted 2013
Broken,beaten,blind and lost
All but a spark of hope left to keep warm
But dig and claw on bruised muscles, on broken limbs
Until the light day fills your sight
Left blinded no more
Until the soft fresh air blows the spark to a flame and ignites your will
Until the ground beneath is solid enough to stand
Walk,until the pain is mastered and stumbling ceases.
And you can say:
This will not be my grave.
Copyright © Gillian Brown | Year Posted 2013
growing up too soon
you said: is there anything more excruciating than lagging behind
being passed by
still knocking on portals
twitching toes twirling thumbs
in fidgety drawn-curtained waiting rooms
and the always taken-for-granted toiling mothers maimed in mid-life stoopbent under rotting burdens eternally putting-up with their disgruntled men pining for fresh meat their children far too busy suckling roaming the woods for stray milch cows
are parents less prone to feeling deserted or girls when young given to much much too much you know to what the side-saddle bum flabs the hangdog lips and nose-tips and nostrils sore grainy
(wu wang hexagram 25)
the conning leer lurking behind the simulated orgasm
blazé finicky O dear my split varnished nail
growing up too soon
leaves you a little behind hesitant no fresh tarts nor the leisure of making belief the privilege of mending emotional fences nor the time to toast things over in the backburner or prepare for the day when you may retire in style proclaim to the world your ardent wishes
growing up too soon
leaves you a toddler thrusting up in the hunched back regrets simmering in the bitterly polluted taste buds chewing the tongue neither the leisure to pipedream muted laughing peels reverberating rocambolesque within soiled sheets keeping the persona humoured till you stand up wide awake stripped
nor the frolicking flaming female mid-summer fudge
growing up too soon
is not just bypassing a whole generation of ghosts you look back dazed to watch grand nephews and nieces twittering in space-curved time living in a sort of limbo in a cramped attic crib snorting the crawling dust unread books breed heating for the third time your oat meal porridge casting stolen looks from behind drawn curtains wondering who’s going to benefit from your garnered gains watch callow lads and frisky girls and wonder when was it you last grew up dallied amongst them
unsure you knew any of the kind you see as women today
growing up too soon
is to forfeit something you never had nor can ever have yet you refuse to let it go even as unwon bread all through your teens seizing handouts the rightful boon until the recurring pain of tendons exploding make you see round the foreshadowed corner round the spacetime’s curve
there’s really nothing to cry about
nor there’s anything you can do without
the damn thing which slips through the thinning crop straggly on your bald pate
growing up too soon’s
you know you want
for the maimed
for the gnarled and contorted
for the ill-provided
for the luckless
for the inglorious
damned to a vapid existence
in the cave of their shameful lameness
how you’d wished you were so blighted
© T. Wignesan – Paris, re-worked from: longhand notes, 1999
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016
I live where angels fear to walk
Don’t ask questions, no one’s gonna talk
Another kid’s innocence is being take
Their thirst for blood will never slacken
Love is something only found in a fairytale
But those don’t comfort, when home is spelled H E L L
Left alone for days on end
Nothing else to do but play pretend
Trying to get lost in a dream
But when that doesn’t help, all you can do is scream
I’ve called the devil by his first name
His eyes are cold, mine are the same
I live where angels fear to tread
By the time you find me, I’ll probably be dead
Copyright © Grace Faolian | Year Posted 2013
Happiness in a Wrong way – Zamreen Zarook
In the notion of seeking happiness,
I thought of stepping in to nonsense,
I dream I could find success,
But I had only little access.
Every attempt that I lend,
It was an utter failure at the end,
My life was full of difficult bend,
But God is always there as a good friend.
My deeds travel in various ways,
Some times in subways,
Or in times it goes in highways,
But I had the belief, God is there always.
North and south families surrounded,
East and west friends are rounded,
Every time fear on death soughed,
I am trapped, and my merits are loaded.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013
The lonely scent of a drop of rain,
It floods, then disappears to ground.
If only people were as aware as so,
Then loneliness would no longer be around.
The lively smell of the ocean,
Sea salt and the long tides that make music.
If only we didn't crash like the water against sand,
We would be stronger, brick by brick.
The long lost scent of a teardrop,
As it streams down your cheek.
The scent I thought would have disappeared,
But our bonds were much too weak.
Water is just another thing,
To say my mind is flooded with emotions,
But if I could truly feel my heart as it races,
My ocean wouldn't feel so empty by my actions.
Copyright © Frisk Carris | Year Posted 2014
I wrapped all my tears, to see you smile.
you are the best, always by my side.
I tell you my feelings will get you crying,
you must think I’m out of my mind.
You don’t know, what I know,
all the angels let me go.
We were born to teethe and die,
you will grow to be so fine.
Fall in love, feel your softer side,
Remember me when life is kind.
When you go, let me know,
don’t walk away like the world and go.
Life is rough and the world unkind,
fight them down and you will be fine.
The truth of live is a brutal sight,
make no mistakes, you can learn from mine.
You have a strong heart, you are unique
I treasure times when you smile at me.
Live the life, I could not find,
be there for me, when I say goodbye.
Copyright © Karan Patade | Year Posted 2013
Robot Monologue 27
Hello! Is anybody there? No?
According to the papers found today
And rusting rubble everywhere
Time apparently had passed
The world abruptly ended
People and machines like me did not survive
The past is now what passed forever
Apparently I've been off line awhile
In my storage box a mile underground
For months, most likely years
It’s just not clear when I came back to life
I can’t remember or it does not compute
Obliteration is not something to forget
I’m sure there is no cure or fix
There’s nothing left to do but walk in solitude
When the earth comes back to life again
A billion years from now
With man, machines and other oddities
To blow themselves to pieces
I’ll do it all again
Walk the world alone until it ends
Or go down with them like I’m supposed to
Like I was built to
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
abuse, age, discrimination, health, introspection, lonely, old,
Customs To Getting Old ©
There are very ingrained customs noted when getting old
Getting accustomed to old age is not one of them
One has to be blessed with 65 years of life to be noted
As Senior Citizen you are given rank status from the start
Living and ‘recently’ dead is one as it comes to my mind
I am still with a doable durable mind and very much alive!
Grandchildren love us for hugs, kisses and granting treats
We get to be called anything along the realm of 'Grandparenthood'
There is ‘Ganny/ Gampy, Granny/Poppers, Nanny/Papa, Grandma, Grandpa’--- etc.
This lists goes on and all for a ‘love made’ successful act for begetting offspring at the start
Aging parents we might be, but really now, we are becoming 'ageless' old lonely souls
But it does seem a great era to live-up to and be remembered for a time
We all have legacies, monumental or financial rewards that will be passed on
But most accounts to moneyed estates are something being chewed up and spat out
Cost of living is too high today and pensions but a trivial godsend gifted for accumulative worked years
Due to endless insurances ‘rendered’ and especially now ‘senioratised’ we are made to claim prematurely
We are gifted and very lucky with monthly- income Government (payouts) from dues paid for service rendered, thank you citizen
Old Age Pension and Government Pension checks do arrive ‘all’ on time each month
Helps our old-timers out somewhat because security in senior living is out dated
These splendid silver/golden years under the roofs of children who nurture us aid
Is something of the past too, gone out of style with the coming in of the new age
Great medical care for the elderly is a given to the times and rightly so
But so many cut-backs are manifesting because as baby-boomers our numbers are high
So costly a ‘society’ entanglement we seem to have become and too greedy in want
That to assist us in our living accommodations and day to day care seems over the top
And it is all for breathe and feed when all is done and said so we can be able to enjoy our retirement years
We are in this great era of computer/phone hacking ‘whiz-ding-dongs’ and are their hopeless prey
So susceptible to these scams that trick and bleed us dry and take us to the cleaners is the catch of the day
“And I wasn’t born yesterday” refrain is outdated and holds no truths as “can’t teach an old dog new tricks” ever did
Our instinctive ‘sound alarms’ over time wisdom gatherings have been faulty battery sensed
We are used, abused unfairly ‘counted’ to self-care restrictions to gain our rightful place
It is no wonder natures culling is backlogged as we short-change her call with ‘longevity’
Losing one’s mind/memory faculties seems on an up-rise and could be a curse or the cure to what ails us
I think I would like to play that mind-game ‘Alzheimer’s and be taken out
All the mind-set games accustomed for us is indeed overplayed this day
I think I would like to be ‘red’ game piece and just throw the dice out to the floor It is my favourite colour and stands for ‘stop, don’t go and caution for evermore.
Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015
What I do to deserve this heartbreak,
this horrid and unnatural pain,
this cleche of events that strike me simultaneously
as the time ticks away,
and as the grinning faces pierce a whole through my soul
and my heart turns pale and slowly beats.
My heart is torn in two,
and I cannot find the doctors to stich me up.
I ask an old man,
how does love go about,
he smaked me in the face and went on.
The pain and the sorrow,
it is too much to feel,
too much to gain in one serving,
When I eat, I taste posion, not passion,
familiar faces turn grey, with ruby eyes and sharp fangs
they hiss at me, like a cat to a mouse.
I don't understand why I deserve this.
I am a good man,
who loves with open arms and a big heart.
With every hug I give,
I recieve a knife of betrayal in my back,
I feel the blood ooze from my open wounds,
suicidal tendencies roll through my mine,
but I quickly throw them out,
because Mama didn't raise no coward.
I see the blow, I clench my fists
and swing away,
God cries wanting to stop this madness,
Death laughs and soon joins in,
people join in and punch away.
I lay there on the concret blood everywhere,
my heart torn out of my chest,
each with a thousand knives stabbed in it,
as it slowly beats,
I lay their on the pavement,
looking up to the heavenly skies,
and as it starts to rain droplets of hope
I ask myself,
What did I do to deserve this?
Then, I shall close my eyes
and rest for awhile.
Inspired by all the betrayal and heartbreak I've faced, by so many cowards who didn't want to recieve my love. People I had thought who were my friends, came with invitations of humiliation and hate, and now I see who my real friends are; this pen and paper... Have a good day.
P.S. No one should ever be shown this much betrayal and heartbreak. I wouldn't even wish it on my worst enemy. Have a good day!
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
Love cannot bloom,
love cannot go on,
love cannot persue it dreams,
love cannot be what it is meant to be,
love cannot be where it is supposed to be,
if love doesn't have two hearts.
Love needs two hearts to be true,
Like water to a dried rose
makes it bloom in spring weather
with such glory and beauty.
Love cannot be true if one heart
doesn't love the other.
Care, trust, honesty and loyalty
in love it has no boundaries,
it has no color, it has no age,
like a fine wine or an aged whiskey
it grows better with time.
But love cannot fullfill without the other half.
If a woman loves man,
let her love him,
if you love me,
than love me, but if my heart is gone
and cannot be found in such relation with you
then I must halt, till my heart comes around.
If it never does show with the first light of morning,
then it wasn't meant to be with thee.
Come now, do not shed a tear for me,
a simple heathin, who cries havoc
when something doesn't go his way.
Do not cry, do not shed your one of a kind tears
for a souless man, for a heartless man like I,
but do not blame me,
if my heart cannot be found.
Love needs two hearts,
not one or the other can survive
without each other.
Love is patient, love is kind,
but with ever lover comes another.
And we will all fall in great and deep love,
be intoxicated with each other,
and our sweet kisses that God himself would shed a tear
for such beauty that still exisits.
Love needs two hearts,
you cannot have one, without the other.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
The wheels of time frozen, the vines intrude
weathered enclosure whispering tales of yore
resplendent in the setting sun, a majestic edifice
© Nadiya (15 March '15)
* Placed 5th in the contest 'Three Line Poetry' by Debbie Guzzi on 17 March 2015
Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015
Sitting alone here,
all by myself,
looking at a reflection that I do not recall.
I see a face looking back at me,
but not my twin,
no I see a pale face,
I see jealously, pain, sorrow, and a frown
I see all the negative.
I see fear,
I see nothing.
I am sitting alone,
in my room
white walls surround me.
I hear the trains blow their horns off in the distance,
and the cars and trucks roaring down the lonesome highways.
I can even the crying and wailing of sirens
blazing down the avenues,
"Where is the fire, folks!?"
The wind blows through my window,
moving the blinds back and forth,
and I sit there alone,
smiling and singing a little.
Sitting there alone,
peaceful and tired
wanting to rest my head,
but scared too face the nightmares.
Too hear the voices of the dead
call out my name.
And I sit there alone
thinking of what once was,
beauty and harmony nomore
in my trial of certainty.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Copyright © Suyash Saxena | Year Posted 2013
She has become
Like a thin Chinese tea cup
Placed upon a large rock
She has become… fragile
Afraid to go anywhere
Least she break
She sits outside
When the weather is clear
Reading the same book
She has read for many years
Painfully turning the pages
With crooked fingers
I see her smile
As the lines on her face
Seem to multiply ten fold
While she tries to remember
Why she is smiling
When the cooler weather
Dances around her
She wears a long soft scarf
Wrapped many times
Around her neck
To keep the cold away
She will ask me
"When will my friends
Be coming by?"
And I sit next to her
Hold her hand
And say to her
Soon Grandma… soon
Copyright © CJ Krieger | Year Posted 2013
Love they say is louder than hate.
But I think that it’s a shame,
That only holds true when you have a pretty face.
Maybe I’m a disgrace,
For saying such a thing,
But think about your life and how true that *****rings.
And I cannot deny what this mirror is reflecting,
What’s standing in my way is only one thing.
It was beauty killed the beast,
In famine it will bring feast.
And sideways glances, second chances, you’ll get those at least.
But what about me?
What about us?
It’s power like money,
It drives greed,
it drives lust.
So what about you?
What can we do?
All I can hear,
The sounds that make the world disappear.
Love is louder than hate, but I can’t hear it from here.
Copyright © Ag Ki | Year Posted 2013
Maybe You'll Come Back
Maybe You Won't
Lonely Is Okay Too
Copyright © Delli Thami | Year Posted 2014
How queer the color of viscera
squarely foreign in my breast
To be the butcher and grim and goddess
All in one
Leaves identity succinct
Or identifies succinctness
If it has been
Then so it was always before
Therein is 'Peace'
Reposed and eyes rolling
Great, vacant saucers on vertiginous axis
She is quite the swollen beast
And on all fronts, she is terrible
If only you'll watch you may notice her growth
A malignant sort
An unwelcome appendage
I'd dash it out but I've already gone
Too pale and dogged in life to succumb
I curse her tenacity
She has a sister, I think
Or maybe a child
A child who lives down deep in my chest
A child who shrieks and tears down the walls
Perhaps she dislikes their pattern
Copyright © Chelsea Westerfield | Year Posted 2013
From a derelict house, near the interstate pass,
with her cuff of chenille, she rubs a small circle
to clear away grime from the cold window glass
Better to see now, beyond wooden rails, that have worn disrepair
for thirty odd years
and have fenced in, long hours of loneliness
There's an old pepper tree, that tosses it's head in an alien wind,
in a sea of dead grass, where a garden had been
There's a face, weathered thin, from neglect and despair
she turns for a moment, to glance, here and there,
a room she has known, filled with colors long dimmed,
where the silence shouts loud, not a question to ask....
but...wishing for something..., a chore, or a task
if only the phone might ring.....
Near the rail of the fence are two Rhode Island Reds
grazing around in the tall weedy grass
There's a cock on a post, in the shade of the tree
keeping watch on his kin, keeping her company,
keeping tabs of a life that has come to an end
She will gaze in a lapse, dust motes fall to the floor,
in the still of the gloom she will turn once again
in the grim of the room...
There is still a dial tone, ....maybe the phone will ring....
For a mere month or more, a feral cat came her door
then had wandered the floors, neither friend or a foe
But he soon disappeared, on the eve of the storm
She will call just the same.......just in case he can hear
"Here, kitty kitty"....."Here, kitty kitty", but she calls him in vain
While the wind plays the same dirty game...
Tumble weeds roll and bend, her eyes search through the wind
...as she waits for a friend
a friend never there....always due to arrive
so she stands by the side, of the black telephone
In the old parlor room, in the gloom of a long afternoon
Maybe the phone will ring....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
It use to be me
who lit up your eyes
It use to be me
Who told you goodnight
It use to be me
Who asked you to stay
And lay here beside me
Till I drift away
But now there's another
Whose heart that you need
Who only needs grandma
To comfort his weeps
It use to be me
Now, a son that's too old
To walk with your hand
When I feel all alone
It use to be me
Who ran to your arms
Now another has comfort
Safe from all harm
From a son I am grateful
What you've given my child
But it use to be me
Who brought you a smile
So I hope he remembers
What these memories mean
That it use to be me
But time never sleeps
Kevin D. Fix
Copyright © Kevin Fix | Year Posted 2013
sometimes, i get a wave of sadness over me.
i love you, and i want to be with you,
you deserve someone
a little less neurotic
a little more normal.
someone who is honest when she whispers, “I’m so happy”
under the covers.
you make me happy.
but you shouldn’t have to change me like that.
Copyright © Morgan Tate | Year Posted 2013
A fragile mind breaks
Wake upon the rock laden shores
A muffled heart begs to echo
Whispers lost among a velvet chamber
Dusk comes premature time and again
Dropping the curtain on an optimistic sunrise
If you never witness dawn
There is no tomorrow
Always the dreamer aches
Never awake to make real what he desires
The restless corpse walks blind
Dead ends seem fitting for one of the kind
Lost in the labyrinth of strangling vines
Love is the motive and the weapon
Taking root in throats dry from weeping
Sprouts of amnesia in place of smiles
A garden called heartbreak holds onlookers captive
The comfort takes hold, sets in the bones weary of searching
A plea for rest lands on deaf ears
The hollow boy tires of himself
The last request he will ever make
Lost and tired
He wishes to be weak no more
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013
Brilliant attribute absent in the linkage
One is the passage way- a burning sexual drive
Younger and better is the Lad’s nature and affection.
Totally weightless is her relevance on the affair
On this exotic intimacy is a boy and his mama’s mate
Yet all are satisfied as the spoil of pleasure is well shared.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016
Even then though—you ask how!
How can she not return the hatred!
But we humans cannot think so beyond
To even dare comprehend the mystery sentiments she possesses
Surrounding her are twelve unattainable senses
That we only know from a single mind’s imagination
Like space she is enigma
And she will wander there without any question
Her senses are twelve sojourners that never tire
Watching with melodious eyes
Some see darkness and some see light
And none are ever affected by the garish dark
Or even the furious bright
Only Time can tell
What the multiple futures hold
But she is patient and silent
Speaking for all of our burning minds
Anger often burns our sides
For we do not want her silent comfort
Her hints seer us and overbear us
Were it be truth we would see it as deceit
Were it deceit we would at last find her a flaw
We want everything now
And for that we suffer
And she is confused by our abhorrence
But she is intelligent, brave and belligerent
And she cuts no slack
She will give none back
But in forwardness she is abundantly generous
Feeding us futures of hope
Her thanksgiving is art to those at death’s door
Those that make it in the uncertainty of night’s long abode
Some think her cruel to have them live on
But she had no choice in the matter
She is merely a vigilante
And in that vision—a humble giver
Time sees the rulers of this world
And smiles as she sees them go
May you not think her cruel to smile
To think that she thinks us inferior
For it isn’t so!
Time is on our side
But we are ever against her
Ever against her
(note: This was meant to be one full poem, but I could not fit it on one page. Thank you kindly for reading)
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
If you were the one
That was the one
That once took care of you
Then you'd be the one
That is the one
That more than once
Awaits one visit from you
Then more than once
You'd feel their sadness at least once
As tears come falling all at once
And it's all because of you
What's been bestowed upon another
May be befallen on you
So once and for all please be the one
"Mother I love you!"
Brenda Elizabeth Rose
Copyright © Brenda Rose | Year Posted 2015