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The Best Recovery From Poems

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Her Masterpiece Is Her Story

Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.

One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.

She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?

No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.

Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.

Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.

She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.

She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.

Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...

That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.

Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.

Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.

This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.

Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.

She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.

He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.

Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people, 
who saw her cries for help.

And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.

She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.



Copyright © Madison Marie | Year Posted 2013

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Money-God

Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.

Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.

People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.

Godless? 
With or without the words, 
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God, 
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.

The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.

If I had been given the chance, 
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....

....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.

If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within, 
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.

Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling 
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.

Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.

If I had been given the chance -- past tense....

....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,

until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.







December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S:  28 - 2 = 26




January 7th, 2013




.


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

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Why must I Cry

   I come to the garden along, while the dew is still fresh
on the meadows. Early in the morning do the bird's sing
praises of roses and peddles.  I cry, because there is no
refuge finally from the pain.  
    Yet long ago, a child was born, to become king, and yes
there is hope, just for believing in his name. Where is this King!
when I'm hurting and alone? He's just a prayer away, don't give
up, for he's Alpha and Omega, which means, just be strong!.
So they sent me to a place, to turn my life around. I cry, be-
cause, I am somebody no longer am I bound.
     Now I know that Jesus is my refuge and no more drugs is
there for I. Thank you Lord, for the method, that's "Why Must
I Cry".


Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2009

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The Widower's Garden

He waters spring seedlings to the singing of robins returned, yet winter's frost still lingers in his mind.
*Ninette form March 22nd, 2012


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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DELICACY IN PAIN


Her reveries slant the compass of time: 1970s. Minefields now roar through blurred visions. She retreats into dots of space to live in the moment, as emotions fling to a gray sky. While curtains blow unceasingly, hours freeze. Again, love passes; leaves, while a young wife’s heart crushes in tears. 

bouyant clouds wander
in the expanse of night time
to gather shadows

There is delicacy in pain. Letters from Nam change the dark of winter to a glitter of December lights. As she sets the table, the flaming candle waxes through a kitchen filled with sweets and almonds . He is the breath touching musical tones in the quiet rhythm where carols are sung together. Feeling his presence,
she regales in a lone dance of fond remembering.

pines in crimson gold
waltz across the starlight
etching mellow notes

Somehow, a woman begins to droop beside a half-closed window. In the cold of duskfall, she longs
for her soldier husband, quietly. Then wiping her cheeks, she is refreshed by those who need her, now. In a joyful play with daughter and son, Aunt Jamie finds her true north. Such is the luster of more tomorrows, 

moon glimmers, dust fades
a balm of healing renews
fresh discoveries


For SKAT : Any Poem You are Proud Of Contest
Reposted 5/14/2016



Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

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Curse the Hour

I’ll not be the mask of your madness
I’ll not be the whip of your demands
I’ll not be the drug of your habit
I’ll not be the dough in your hands

I’ll not be the doll that’s your play thing
I’ll not be the container of your need
I’ll not be the victim of your anger
I’ll not be the object of your greed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ll the bread that he feeds on
I’ll be the water that he drinks
I’ll be the cloud that he walks on
I’ll be the thoughts that he thinks

I’ll be the tent that he dwells in
I’ll be the heaven that he dreams
I’ll be the angel that he wants
I’ll be the sparkle in his stream

I'll be the star that he follows
I'll be the sun’s warmth on his chest
I'll be the moon that allures him
I'll be the treasure of his quest

I'll be the fairy of his woodland
I'll be the seductress of his need
I'll be the breast that he lies on
I'll be the dogma of his creed

I’ll be the honey that he savors
I’ll be the dessert that he craves
I’ll be the sea that he dips in
I’ll be the virgin he enslaves
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I would have been all that to you
I gladly would have made you king
But you gave all that to another
Now you must taste my bitter sting

You must watch his hands caress me
You must see his mouth devour
You must hear my sighs of pleasure
You must curse the betrayal hour

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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Dear Ex

Dear Ex,

I know you and I had our differences.
We were always finding new ways to say I loathe you.

It was my blameworthiness that allowed the rain to enter your car,
because your window was down.
I’m sorry I didn’t carry my 9 months of pregnant girth, 
down four flights of stairs, to the
outside parking deck, in the rain to roll it up.

It was my fault when the bank account was overdrawn by 6 cents,
due to paying all the bills on time.
I apologize for keeping the power turned on
so I could cook fish sticks and green bean soup on your salary.

It was my fault the car was always out of gas,
since I never drove it anywhere.
What could I do but apologize for that?
It was totally my fault. By the way, I met your supervisor.

Like when I forced you
to have an extramarital relationship with a co-worker
because of the weight I had gained.
I’m so sorry my Motherhoodness was so repulsive to you.

It also was my fault our marriage didn’t last longer than 3 years,
because I chose to be happy without you.
I do regret that almost never. Did I mention my promotion?
But let’s not be sad.

For all the hurtful comments I made about your manhood because,
I couldn’t think of anything nice to say. I’m sorry.
I regret that I didn’t save some of those photos for Ripley’s Believe it or Not.

I deeply regret having never told you I entered you in an ugly man contest.
Or that your third placement, won me an additional $5 gift card. 
Did I mention my new job?

So Ex, 
I hope this heart felt letter of apology
finds you prosperous and in good health.
Keep those support payments coming, and 
Don’t forget to feed the kitty!

Love, your new boss 



Copyright © Sandra Hudson | Year Posted 2009

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Mending Dysfuntion

A labyrinth….an internal tangle
A skein of glass prisms
                                (dark reflections)
A complex web…intricate and divided
inside a muscle thought too fragile
to withstand the breakage

Beneath…always what lay there
was tattered coils 
                          (rusted raw)

Starkness overwhelms the blue light
and the tender is a bit shattered
Yet surviving with the indomitable will 
                   of a thousand
Iron strength and steel resolve
 is what will govern the web
A quick shot of whiskey burns
and vodka strikes the throat
 in torpid moments
(seeking solutions)
a bit of  mangle and sorrow

Beyond the surface of what seems to be
is the actuality of the puzzle 
                                      (pieces of truth)

Rage against the torpedo
The twists of time ticking timeless
(stealing missed moments)
Find the reason….
(illumination with clarity)
and let the wind catch your sails
                                       setting you free…..
Released from the chains of ignorance
and no longer held prisoner
by the hands that ripped your soul

Freedom is letting go of a smoke mirage
and embracing the cold concrete


Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009

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Egg Shells

No more walking on egg shells
or stroking one mans pride

My wounded heart is open now
and at last so are my eyes

No more empty conversations
pro claiming he's the best

If truth be known his actions shown
He's just like all the rest

There is so much to be thankful for
I'm healing from the fall

But he's the one who's suffering
He could have had it all...


Copyright © Sharon Ruebel | Year Posted 2010

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In A Darkened Attic Room

In A Darkened Attic Room

In attic room, one window tightly shut,
Dwells broken heart hidden from future pain.
Bare as a savage brute's empty hut-
Condemned to no hope, no future, no gain.

Where rests such perilous fear darkness reigns;-
Shattered dreams give rise to dark illusions.
Hope rejected brings on its most wicked stains,
Evil held, births its blackest conclusions.

Grown in decay until nothing remains,
Yet sad hope is better than none at all.
True love waits the bliss it always contains,
Treasures gifted, one only has to call.

If one ray of love's light but filters in
Love brings life and its promises again.

Robert J. Lindley, 1-30-2016

Syllables Per Line:	
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:	140
Total # Lines:	18 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:	
Total # Words: 103


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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My Pen Collection

As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder


Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007

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A Bag of Popcorn

They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise

When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right

I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song

True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load

I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should

For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight

He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl

I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide

They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise


For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better. 




Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2011

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I got your message

65 minutes reduced to 120 seconds

Bright lit room
White glossy tone with flowery curtains
Upon window's darkened vision

Your radiance emanated in celebratory gesture
As my eyes fell in love
All over again

But your smiles were too bright to see me cry
Dry heaving sadness gasp

As I looked down...I became the great
Pretender

The smile pretender

You wore a dark blue blouse, w/body-fitting jeans
Tall, plus-size model stature
My walking fantasy

Dark brown locks of joy slow danced upon flesh that

I

No longer embraced

You had something to tell me
"I'm getting married to a man who called me, sexy.
We work together in the same building, so everybody knows."

Spanish music behind the scenes
Your witty humor against song
Crackin' my smile within sadness pores

Showing me blank invitations
As I leaned in, inhaling this broken emptiness
Writing out words with her voice
My gentle grin, the eraser

Tears in Cold War mode

Heart enunciating disconnection bliss

"This wasn't how I wanted to see you again"

As satin comforter tries to soften my falling
Falling...into true love's innocence

The same comforter that covered those tracks
Asphalt scarred remnants from the bus you threw me under

"I always wanted you to wake me from my sleep
But not like this"

You became my dream, come true
Becoming dream again
In 120 seconds

...

He may have called you "sexy" with words
But I called you "beautiful" with heart

Yet you will never value how deep it was

Well, at least you can rest assured
That I got your message

© Drake J. Eszes
"True love never dies...even if the recipient never reciprocates." –D.J.E.


Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010

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From a Hospital Bed

 FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Wordancer

Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head, 
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.

It’s not much fun with nothing to do 
Can’t even get up to go to the Loo
The doctors come, and ask, ‘How are you?’
It’s hard to tell them which is worse 

Visiting hours and here’s Dad and Mum
Who immediately asks me why I’m so glum.
I tell them, ‘The others had ice-cream, but I got none,
And, if it was you Dad; you’d curse!’

Patting my hand, Mum says, ‘It’s all right,’
And Dad says, ‘You might get some tonight,
Cos you’re looking better, you’re not so white, 
I’ll go over and ask that nurse.’

Back he comes grinning down the ward,
And sits back in the chair without a word,
To Mum he whispers so he can’t be heard
Then his eyes meet mine, his lips are pursed. 

The doors swing open; a nurse comes through,
Carrying a tray and says, ‘This is for you,
You can have some now you are healing like new,
To Mum, Dad says, ‘We’ll cancel the hearse!’

I’ve broken no bones, the x-rays prove, 
But there’ll be a scar and a slight groove
Left from the fencepost that failed to move
When I fell on it, off my horse

With an arm in a sling and one foot on the ground,
The other in plaster and my head bandaged round,
I’m going home soon, and my horse has been found
Across the river, but he’s none the worst.

It’s easy to laugh with no aching head
And it doesn’t disturb the others in beds
‘There is no need to fear,’ as everyone says,
‘Just ring the bell for the nurse!’ 


Copyright © J Eliza JAMES | Year Posted 2012

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To All Of You

There are times we are left to cope
With situations that drain our hope

Leaving us full of despair
At how some people just don't care

About the evil that they do
To good people like all of you

We are left to somehow face
That in mankind there is disgrace

And those of us left alive
Must find away to survive

As you pick up the pieces of your life
Without your mother, father, husband or wife

And some of you God forbid
Without the love of your kids

We must band together with a brotherhood
Show that in this world there is some good

Because we are together in this deal
We try to help each other heal

We seek in each other good advice
And offer each other sacrifice

We hold each other in prayer and song
As we continue to re-build the wrong

Because what else in the world can we do
Except let the light of good shine through

The evil darkness and despair
Of a catastrophic lack of care

We want you to know you are not alone
Think of America as a giant cone

And all of us are funneling through
Our prayers and hopes to all of you


Posted for Nathan's 9-11 contest


Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

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Again

I see that acacia tree 
and I get vacuumed back to the past.

When we both had 
a different type of light in our eyes,
with the reflections of that clear brook
evident in our irises,
where we thought that the 
sun only revolved around us, and us alone.

We thought we knew better,
or did we?
Did we truly know anything at all?

My heart gurgles a bit,
as it chokes, bleeding on memories...
I am beside myself,
and I look so stupid,
hugging that tree,
a lifeline to what was.

I envy that tree, for its sturdiness,
its roots being so deep-seated,
so much unlike us,
easily broken, swayed, uprooted.

I loathe that tree, 
for it still blooms,
blushing with its bright pink flowers
so delicate-looking and beautiful.

So unlike myself.

I feel ugly now. I actually am.

With hate and guilt eating at me from my core,
how could I not be?
I am rotten.
I am corroded. 

From the looks of it,
I seem to have drunk from that
brook (now polluted), ingesting the trash
strewn there 
I just never knew how much filth there was.

I am not infallible.

I thought you were.
But I was wrong. Dead wrong.

You tried to pull me up, but
became too heavy for you...
I dragged you down with me,
so deep, too deeply
that I had to bury you.
Along with my heart and soul,
which have both turned into stone.

I am stoned.

Yes, I feel so heavy,
so heavy I wish someone
would bury me,
throw me in the sea
so I could sink to the bottom and be forgotten.

Or better yet,
is there a magic pill
being sold somewhere
that can make me go back—
Start all over
and do things over?

What I would give 
to recapture that light,
to have you back
but I know it is too late.

You’ve gone already.
Left me...

Or so I thought.
I always had the tendency to be wrong,
and it had never felt so great.

I turn around
and a different kind of light
kindles my I(rise)s.

Like that acacia, 
I bloom again.


Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2012

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Little Blue Pill

Went through a phase....thought maybe I should live life to the fullest,
and stop giving away 8 hours of each day, towards sleeping.

After the first week of sleep deprivation,
Buddha and Jesus both appeared simultaneously,
started following me wherever I went-
couldn't tell between hallucinations and reality.

Buddha helped write my final exams,
and Jesus always made sure that I didn't forget to eat.

After the second week, I was floating above my body....
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep anymore-
didn't just have second and third winds....I was having winds 
to the 99th power extreme.
Jesus was telling me to try again and again,
while Buddha told me to hang in there,
for Nirvana was just around the corner.

Asked my buddy for some help,
and he gave me this little blue pill -
don't even touch aspirin anymore.

Well, the pill knocked me right out! 
Tried so hard to fight against it,
having some doubts about what I had just swallowed.

Metallic galaxies of inner stars began pulling at my eyelids,
adding their massive core-gravity to my temples.
Red turned to black inside of my mind,
as little globules of pulsing light
floated before my inner-eye.
Down,
down,
d      o      w      n,
down, I spiralled,
thinking about picking cherries from the apple tree in Eden....
beautiful Japanese Geishas propping up the ladder
that pointed down into the rabbit hole.
Up was down,
as cherries were apples?
The branches of the tree resembled its roots in the ground-
perfect mirrors of each other,
as I sat in both places at once;
dream double looking back at me.

ZZzzzzZzzzzZZzzzZZZz....for almost 62 hours straight.
Must have lived a thousand lives in those dreams.
Woke up, wasn't sure if I was still sleeping?
Awoke into sweat and stale urine.
Started falling asleep in school.
Fell asleep at work.
Once you swallow the blue pill,
you can never go back-
the rabbit hole stretches into eternity.


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2010

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Refolding the Paper Crane

I tried folding a paper crane again the other day
  and  it didn't turn out right

tracing back my folds,
I knew I missed somewhere

unfolding, re-creasing, refolding
just tracing my fingers back

fingers 
    feeling the paper
and beyond

A three-minute fold
times 10 now

Even if I needed to do other things,
I paid no mind, determined to fold that crane

I had to get this right.
I had to.

Almost there...

As it turns out, 
I only missed one step,
--something to do with its wings, I believe...

Amazing how a single step
could be so important.

Stretching its wings now,
the paper crane 
soars proudly on my palm...
So beautiful.

In refolding this paper crane,
I hope I never forget...

Amazing how easily things slip from our minds, 
but more amazing
is when our hearts Do remember.

We remember, 
   and then we Do something...

...I have hundreds of paper cranes yet to fold,
it may be taking me far longer 
than what I had initially planned...

but yes, you are in my thoughts,
   you are in my prayers...

and I shall continue folding these cranes.

...I revel in the thought, for that moment,
when I can send them flying towards the Sun...








0409/142012131a133/1139p1155


Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2012

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Betrayed

Once significant and alluring, your luster faded. Perhaps it was the treachery in hollow eyes jaded. Was there ever a light in a soul dark as night? Promises of love only heralded grief; faith I once had turned to disbelief. She was younger, pretty, but above all newer. Agony in my heart came from betrayal’s skewer. How could I blame her when I knew that soon your allegiance would change like the inconstant moon? She would then feel the fickle pitchfork of pain - those knots in her stomach twisted by emotions feigned. Only now can I see you for what you are. Anger settled; no longer do we spar. Bitterness made way for resignation again. Maybe I shall once more learn to trust men. Then I can guide your latest castaway and ease the surging sting of her dismay. Your fate rests on a tremulous shore where, as looks fade, you can offer nothing more.
*Written November 21, 2014


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

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HALFWAY ON THIS DAY


Today’s wind shifts too fast like a muddle of invisible lint…perhaps dust,as the air resists this heart's unanswered questions howling about this litany of a crushed promise… wired thoughts rip my lily bouquet now strewn by incessant angst on the byway; an aborted vow silencing flowered church aisles on this day, this day. I turn celibate much like a virgin nun in front of an altar… half-empty now,that my pain grates a most benevolent night that has no syllable for me…for on this day, a betrothal undone leaves me hanging , hanging on a church loft. I’ll never know the why of a half- hearted choice; except in his runaway scheme ,my eyes grow blank…tweezed iodized entombed. It is freezing now; a light bent in prayer disappears with the winds. I have never heard a more immense cold than this. 1/11/2015 For Catie Lindsey's Contest Free Verse Extravaganza!


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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Arrows...

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Arrows... ...and bow Cupid directs ensuring fate guaranting hope Idyllic joint knocking late my nocturnal oddity Persistence quick revives skeptic thoughts, unable vestiges within xeric yearlong zone
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Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2009

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The Storm

A cold wind blows,
turning hardened walls to sand.
Breaking down the barriers
exposing the emotions that were held inside.

The pain builds,
from hurts buried deep within.
Storm clouds roll in
dark, cold, and threatening.

Thunder rumbles,
roars across the darkened land.
A voice breaking the spirit:
Stupid
Ugly
Hated
Harlot
Die...
the words echo through the ears.

Lightning flashes,
shattering the very heavens.
Words drift through the mind:
Unwanted
Nothing
No-one
Useless
Alone...
casting shadows of doubt through the soul.

The tears fall from the eyes,
from a heart broken and battered.
Rain pours down from above
overflowing, unable to be contained.

Then finally as the rage is spent,
a calm stillness overtakes the cleansed world.
In the arms of a friend
peace is found once again.

And a voice whispers to the night:
"I'm alright..."


Copyright © Jennifer King | Year Posted 2010

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Revive the Breakage

High upon the highest heights I see the most tremulous sight A small girl, fair and tranquil Smiling strangely, sitting still Beneath a sobbing willow tree She recites a verse upon her knee She sings a rhythmic hymn Not of death, nothing grim But prays that life will return Even for those who are doomed to burn The girl is a woman now Beneath the tree and upon the cloud She whispers, “I am watching you” Why then are you so blue? A single tear of sadness and joy Rejuvenate the quirky earthly boy Who sits down beneath the blooming tree Listening to her silent voice attentively She reminds him she was once young too That she also was a misty shade of blue But when the boy grows into man He has come to ignore the fair woman Who watches him still from above Burning and swelling with disdainful love The ways of the world have sweltered his heart And time has torn his soul apart Thus he has lost all innocence and light Battling his sinful lust—an endless plight! I watch as he feeds on others’ pains and fears Reducing the vigilant woman to tears The prayer of the innocent has been ignored Life has died and hellfire stored Into the hearts of the impotent In blue, fires of haze their heart is sent Toiling in misery and lament Savaged and severed by our regret The heavenly woman grows old and frail And the man still treads the sinful trail As the rotting tree withers into dust Can I revive it? –I must! Low as low can possibly be I watch myself condescendingly A tombstone, gray and hell-bent Frowning knowingly in bewilderment Above the dust that once was a tree She cries out a verse anxiously Faintly she whispers the undying hymn Not of happiness, nothing of whim And prays that life will come to end For those that break instead of bend


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011

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BIPOLAR

Belligerent and irritated by almost any little thing
Insaneness all around me; craziness is what I bring
Psychosis is not the problem; the problem lies within
Overzealous personality; much absorption sinking in 
Liar, cheat and manipulator; trust you should not give
Ambition at its lowest; no longer wanting to live
Racing thoughts; trying to unwind an ultimate goal for an unstable mind

Stacy Lynn Stiles


Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2007

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The Fix

He fills his syringe with poisoned words
pulling the letters one by one from his rusted spoon
They rise up through the needle in perfect order
"Disgusting"  "failure" "worthless" "loser"
There in the cylinder they mix together
until they are a perfect black ink
Although he no longer sees the words
their meanings are not lost on him

As he injects them into his arm
he feels the blackness
Ink travels slowly up his arm towards his heart
At first he enjoys the burning sensation 
as capital letters make way for the smaller ones
In the moment he's convinced they are lies
When they reach his heart
he becomes a true believer

By choosing to be less than he is
he occupies his excuses 
The I can'ts and never coulds
The poor me's
All the reasons 
he's not good enough 
The words stack one on top of the other
until his heart is filled with empty
Empty promises
Empty dreams
Somehow this comforts him
He holds tightly to
It's not my fault
It's just the way it is
His is a waking dreamless slumber
only lies seem believable
So he injects another word 
"Anger"
Then a question
"Why do others have all the luck?"

Someone who cares
Takes a silver spoon
Fills it up with better words 
Feeds him nourishing words
Smart, tenacious, kind and happy
He starts with small sips
one letter at a time
in front of him a golden bowl
filled to the brim with phrases
"You are Lovable"
"Anything is possible"
"Your opinion is important"
At first he is convinced they are lies
Until they reach his gut
Until he becomes a true believer
Taking everything to heart
Satiating his empty
Now he can see beyond what he thought was impossible
His actions speak louder then words
His life is not a wasted gift
From this day forward
He's living his life to the fullest!




Inspired by Jai Bankson's poem "The Habit" check it out!








Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016