You are everything
that I am not
the strength of my life
the pulse of my heart
flowing
in my veins
bleeding
when I am cut
You walk barefoot
through my thorny mind
the softness of your footfalls
disarms my defenses
tendering
my wars bloodless
hushing
mind-storms waveless
You walk naked
without innocence lost
a calming psalm
in my apocalyptic mind
healing
all of my hurts
recovering
all that I've lost
You walk unafraid
through grey-lit corridors
your deep dark eyes
unnerving my green flint gaze
Your curiosity unlocked
my childhood diary
turning each page
by wisps of your breath
Running your fingers
over every letter and word
every sight unseen
every sound unheard
I was everything
that you were not
but you still loved me
and sought me out
Your touches
sculpted me from stone
Your eyes
gave me sight
Your kisses
gave me breath
Your stillness
moved my being
Now your tears
fall from my eyes
Your cries
fall from my tongue
Your presence
enlivens my heart
Your soul
redeems my unworthiness
I love you deeply
I am forever yours
for you are everything
that I am not
For the love of my life
geo v 2014
Copyright © Word Hobo | Year Posted 2017
A student bold from Abbyfeale
Who feared no Ghost nor Ghoul
Hitched home one night from Dublin
Where he did go to school
The night was dark and eerie
No moon or stars in the sky
It was now past the midnight hour
As the cars did pass him by
"Will I be here all night" he moaned
He was somewhere past Mountrath
I spent my train fare on booze
I should never have done that
Just then he saw two headlights flash
A car had halted near
He took the seat by the drive kind
He was now of good cheer
Then he saw, as the car moved on
The drivers’ eyes shone strange
The student bowed his head and asked the Lord
His circumstance to change
"I was a drunken driver"
The man at the wheel did say
A drink too many has me doomed
To drive this motorway
I ride this highway endless nights
Seeking students well
Those who spent their train fare on the booze
And I carry them off to Hell
The student bold dashed from the car
And spent the night in a barn
Don’t spend your train fare on booze
Is the moral of this yarn
Copyright © William Finn | Year Posted 2019
On Valentine my girlfriend asked me what she really mean to me... And I answered -
You're the air I breathe
The blood in my veins
The sunshine in dark
The happiness in pain
The rhythm in my heart
The charm on my face
The glitter in my eyes
The thought in my brain
The place I live
The ocean I dive
The book I read
The story I write
The path I walk
The shadow alongside
The beat I dance
The moon at night
The song I sing
The beauty I admire
The teddy I hug
The woman I aspire
The attitude I wear
The moment I miss
The stars in the sky
The dream I live
The tale I listen
The secret I keep
The calm in my soul
The love I seek
The equation of my life
The chords I play
The bed to my romance
The zeal of my day
The lyrics I ink
The picture I click
The coffee to my morning
The topping I pick
The chocolate to my waffle
The sky I see
The game I bet
The sip of my tea
You're the kiss I treasure
The promise I keep
The red of my rose
You're all what I need
I love you darling
Copyright © Vikash Kaushik | Year Posted 2019
Bear
My dog Bear sweet, kind, and protective
Always taking care of his family
Putting down his life to save ours
Has everything for the job
Bravery, Kindness, Love and Helpfulness
Thankful for him
Best dog ever
His name
Bear
Copyright © Vasili Johnson | Year Posted 2019
The whole idea of it makes me feel
Like I'm trying to hold sand.
I clench my hand tight.
Each grain falls.
We are grains of sand
On an unending beach.
The ocean washes us all away.
Like a sandcastle the human mind is beautiful,
But crumbles under the weight of infinity.
Life.
An unforgiving universe.
One day my father sat me down.
A beam of sunlight illuminating the darkness,
Specks of dust helplessly floating through.
Light drafts scattering them at random.
Nana died, he said.
I look to the dust.
Death.
A distant concept.
I held the world in my palm.
My oyster.
I, the pearl.
Fall.
Like dust.
Copyright © Stanley Hudson | Year Posted 2019
I thought it was the rage I feared
underneath my hurt
underneath the pain
of being un-mothered
I pushed down the anger -
rationalized
intellectualized
normalized -
life as a child
with an un-mother
to avoid a rage I feared would destroy me … or her…. or …
a burning, white-hot, fist-punching, legs kicking, eyes blazing, feet stomping, full body rage
how could I not have seen
below the rage?
the tiny steps,
the slumping body,
the hung head,
the heaviness
of grief
a grief for being un-mothered
a grief that threatens to undo me
Oh! if only I had stopped at rage.
Copyright © Ruth Hawkins | Year Posted 2019
When the earth came to me,
I was just a sweet and tender young girl.
Falling in love, in the sweet heart of summer,
always seemed like the right thing.
What I am supposed to do.
What feels right.
To meet him, under the honey dripping palms of Charleston,
or to see him, hiking through the dense jungle of roaring trees in Roanoke.
To smell him
oh boy, that smell,
that sun-ripe, peach marmalade, smell.
Home.
Yet I can only dream of it.
Of his cherry pie like good mornings,
and of his moon glow goodbyes.
I can only dream of his heart,
his smooth,
warm,
heartbeat.
I feel like I could jump rope with his heartbeat keeping perfect rhythm.
Yet I dare to dream.
I dare to feel and to love.
And honey, oh sweet honey, my love, I can only dare to dream of you.
Your perfect head and calloused fingers,
because you,
you are only a dream.
A dream that has yet to come true.
Copyright © Rory Wainwright | Year Posted 2019
An old hulk sitting on barren land.
Many times it was sold and bought.
A '32 Ford Five Window,
now all rusted and left to rot.
At one time this old car was new.
At one time it was washed every week.
At one time it was waxed and shined,
before it became an antique.
Changed hands many times in its life.
The next buyer was proud of his find.
With each new owner, it became more worn.
It's condition in a state of decline.
A boy in grade school at his desk.
His young mind starting to wander,
A hot rod he saw while driving with dad,
when he yelled, hey son, look over yonder!
The young boys eyes as big as saucers.
A car like that he would drive one day.
He would build it himself and win trophies
in car shows at the local cafe.
He spent days drawing his hotrod.
Drawings to show how it would look.
Drawings were made of each part.
Drawings he kept in his hot rod book.
As a teen, he worked three jobs,
saving money to build his dream car,
He sold everything he cared about,
even his cherished old Gibson guitar.
It was winter and bitterly cold,
while driving through ice and deep snow.
Among scrap metal and objects of rust,
he saw it, a '32 Ford Five Window.
The car that once was new.
The car that gave all its owners pride.
The car that was dumped in a field.
Would become a kid's dream ride.
Copyright © Robert Morris | Year Posted 2019
You feel like a design problem I am working on,
whose submission date is not yet fixed, by indecisive studio professors,
who want us students to work, just a tad bit more.
On nights before a pre-final, like a tracing full of ideas yet to be finalised,
you have the power of lingering in my subconscious,
making me jump out of intermittent sleep
Each night, to engage with you.
No paper to draw on, you draw from me what is yours now.
No name plate either; for your loved ones use sounds and words
borrowed from seven languages whose alphabets cannot be lettered.
I wipe your eye secretions, tears and milk stains after a feed,
and your face becomes a completed cartridge sheet;
smudge free with a few guide lines.
Your few hair strands I comb so they settle paralelly
like meticulous brick and stone hatches drafted within walls.
Every once in a while, I stick my ear to the floor to watch
an exactly angled ray of sunlight works its magic on a sleeping you.
A roughly 1:3 scaled model of who you may be in 20 years, stares back at me;
your myriad expressions, changing by the millisecond.
Surprised, I have an obscenely satisfying thought that crosses my mind;
Did I just happen to create you?
Copyright © Pooja Ugrani | Year Posted 2019
My fractured head, my rough- hewn eyes
Dismembered parts of a dissociated mind
My body severed like Kandinsky’s art.
Spread across a canvas
Corner to sharp corner
Leave no space unfilled
But nothing touches,
Nothing resembles its former self
Yet all pieces can see all others
Contained for now
Within the borders of a frame
But floundering in a cosmos of
A jagged life.
Let all the pieces land.
Ephemeral in the sand
Here today, gone tomorrow,
But no, it seems a sharded edge must cut another slice of day
Bring in a cello, a vase of deathly violets
Obscurise them, nothing can be what it was
From the Old Order must be drawn a New Meaning
Copyright © Peter Hackwell | Year Posted 2019
in the cage of shadows
by the birches cast
your red raincoat
wetly shines
Papers and clouds of dreams are stuck to the
benches and the iron railings
awasy in the fading sky,
I look at you
the way a child
sees the circus
for the first time
the window where we meet
tries to steal the candy colors
of your coat
but it can/t
You're nothing special, though
a normal heart
filled with the ocean and
a million golden clocks,
amethysts and
a harvest moon.
Just an ordinary Goddess,
swirling, among the world
with unmuted plumage
when you kiss my cheek and leave
it burns and lingers like
a hot shell casing
among the smoke and noise
inside of me.
Posted by p.love at 3:17 PM No comments: Links to this post
FRIDAY, MARCH 16, 2018
He died one day
For three minutes
Not days
A machine was
Prepared,
But not ready
For a while it
Was winter light
Through an oceanic window
The loud congress of
Birds’ Shadows and
Velvet black indigo
The surprising cast
Of their kind, amber eyes
Welcome back
Sputtering and
Cut
Where everything hurts
And nothing
Makes sense
He cries
Like a child
Missing
Christmas
Copyright © Paul Love | Year Posted 2019
Tanka/Senryu
Football playoffs, post- holiday sales
Ocean breezes, surfers.
Golf tournament, balmy weather
State employee pushes wrong button
Incoming ballistic missile scare.
Copyright © Oliver McKeithan | Year Posted 2018
A. Anarchy
Amber autumn aflame
An aroma of ash appeases the adamant arsonist; the artful anarchist
An audacious attempt at attacking back at our arbitrary accommodations
The ascended advocate us to abide as they affirm their advancement through annihilation
An abstract artifice, artificial affirmation of all aspects
Treated like an array of aliens in our allowed acropolis with the armor turned against us
Most amused with their asinine aspirations and amaurotic attractions
A few too apprehensive to argue and ask for an alternative, afraid of any altercation
But the agitated and annoyed assemble, ascertaining truth through awareness at every angle
Amateur acts of anger arise and accelerate, accompanying their adverse assault on our amendments
The alliance ablaze and amassing, anticipating an apocalyptic ambush
Absolution remains absent and anger becomes anxiety among those abandoned
The affluent assure abolishment for the average and all under
Copyright © North Calantoni | Year Posted 2019
Some people are afraid of going outside,
Because they messed up and they have no guide
Prowling dogs, waiting, watching for a time to strike,
They’re just trying to buy themselves a motorbike
All the hate, where does it come from, Insecurities?
Maybe we all have a false sense of security?
But how will we know if the only side we see
Is the media with their far-fetched hyperboles
Death is right outside of my door
The only way I’m avoiding it is staying in my drawer
People seeking me out to get famous
Sometimes I think all of this is contagious
One falls and then another and another
All I wanted to see was my little brother
What do they get out of it except to say
That was me, the one with a gun on Champs-Élysées
Let’s take, for example, a rapper with a few tattoos
Only trying to tell us “live the life that we choose”
He became so famous he told everyone to look at him
They sure did, gunned down on a whim
LLJ, the rapper from Plantation
Is now being ferried by Charon
Death is right outside of my door
The only way I’m avoiding it is staying in my drawer
People seeking me out to get famous
Sometimes I think all of this is contagious
I know you were struggling your whole life with jealousy
But I just want you to know you left a legacy
Copyright © Neel Bhatt | Year Posted 2019