Anything but sleep.
Fall over the steps.
And invisible soup spilling everywhere.
There’s a feeling of grappling.
Eyes bulging.
Anything but sleep.
Money, crying,
Mourning,
Never snoring.
Lying down.
Can’t see much.
Still awake though.
Anything but sleep.
Give me butterflies covered in slime.
Or burning ears.
Please give me…
Anything but sleep.
I might be immortal.
And it’s because I don’t sleep.
I am anything
but sleep.
SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE I'M ON A SHORT CLIFF ABOUT TO FALL OVER.
NO WORDS COME OUT OF MY MOUTH, SO I LET MY TEARS DO ALL THE TALKING.
THE TEARS ROLLING DOWN MY FACE SAY A THOUSAND WORDS, AND MY EMOTIONS TAKE OVER ME. THEY EXPLODE AND SPEW OUT OF ME LIKE A VULCANIC ERUPTION.
I STILL GET NIGHTMARES AND NIGHT TERRORS WHERE MY SCREAMS WAKE ME UP.
IT'S A LOT EASIER TO FORGIVE THAN FORGET.
THE FEAR AND TRAUMA HAVE BEEN INJECTED INTO MY BLOODSTREAM, AND I'VE BEEN POISONED.
IT'S SO DIFFICULT TO MANAGE MY EMOTIONS. MY TRAUMA AND MY PAST HAVE BEEN EMBEDDED IN THE DEPTHS OF MY MIND.
I play by the rules day in and day out,
Showing my class, wielding my clout.
I take the hard blows time and again,
Knowing my patience shan't be in vain.
Joe's on the ropes, all by himself,
Waiting around to be dumped on the shelf,
Restraint is my friend, as I pull back and watch,
Those flailing wild jabs I so easily dodge.
There's one rule to fighting, it's Biding your time,
Showing him up, using his dime,
Keeping ones cool, letting him dance,
Then all in one motion - destructively prance.
There's rhyme to the reason for the 12
Rounds to be,
So everyone knows, all clearly can see,
The prowess of one, the demise of the other,
An abject defeat, no spin as a buffer.
The guys just a has been yet I'm giving him grace,
Watching him flail, not setting the pace,
The fun's in the waiting, a matter of time,
For him to fall over, his crown to be mine.
I guess the question begs for an answer,
at what age does our life start to plummet?
When do all of those eager years of youth,
reach the peak and fall over the summit?
I wonder how old do we have to be,
before we will begin that downhill slide?
Towards that predictable river’s bend,
where uselessness and old age now reside?
Someone tell me exactly when it is,
that I will be knocking upon death’s door?
Face the fact there’s no hope for a future,
and stop asking for just a little more?
I have to admit some good days have passed,
maybe I am far from my youth filled prime.
I’m not going to sit and watch the clock,
waiting for it to sound its final chime.
Some people say I am over the hill,
others say that is being way too kind.
I say that growing old can just kiss my ass,
because age is only a state of mind.
My arms over my chest
Where you want yours to be
My back bent over my body
To have the layers fall over my chest and my stomach
My collars held closely at my neck
The rolling of my curves hidden always
Sleeves held down over the arms that hold marks of shame
Upon shame I hide my body
Upon your eyes I hide from
The ones that don't see mine
The ones that don't mention the smile I muster at eye contact
The eyes that follow my chest
My curves
Your eyes aren't a problem when I can nearly hear the thought in your head
The images
The ideas
The emotion.
I'm not quite up to snuff,
should the wind give me a puff
I'd simply fall over
like a worn-out clover
that's lost its own shadow
in an overgrown meadow
Honey Locust Trees, perched precariously on
Ledges lost amid ruptured chasms of evil
Ant hills, protruding fistfuls of grapefruit-sized
Giant ants suffering remnants within sight of
Chernobyl, in the Ukraine forbidden zone;
Seemingly immune to the poisonous pods;
Literally dripping heavy ants clinging to juicy,
Waxy seeds as they climb and fall over each
Other feasting on spandrel sins denied by silver
Palaces adorned with backroom deals and
Shady hats glittering with guava-glazed
Toasted pecans, spun with rain-soaked
Clumps of blue spirulina hungrily engulfed
By the living dead...
Enrobed
In
Pock-marked
Palladium
BPO
Work a forty hour week or more
Five nights a week for pay
Get a bonus if you hit the targets
Drink every two weeks when paid
Till you fall over have more and crawl
Celebration BPO style wage slave job
Dial the ing customers do as told
Stressed to Hell and back be quiet DIAL!
You wanna work in a call centre?
Go ahead you better be ready
For stress orders drinking and more
I should be writing lyrics I'd sing to you in a love song
like the nights when you were here with me to listen.
But everything between us is awry and terribly wrong.
You'll never see the tears in my eyes but they glisten.
No longer can I sleep in the bed we once shared
or look at the pillow where you rested your head.
From this suffering, I wish we'd both been spared
without wounds to be healed; without tears we shed.
I cannot write lines skewed with romantic thoughts,
of walks along a beach, or kisses in the moonlight.
In wakes of crashing waves are two broken hearts.
Memories visit me as shadows hovering every night.
I will never find a love poem written by your hand.
There is nothing we could ever do to make amends
for reasons why you don't walk beside me on the sand.
What if heartache I feel over losing you never ends ~
If that is to be, a daunting mantle will fall over me,
a cloak never lifted from my eyes in fear they rest
on you with someone else, for I could not bear to see
your hands lovingly fondling another woman's breasts.
She has red lips and dimples
round rabbit eyes
brushing hair
waving over a broad forehead
is coming
her slender legs are long
The ends of skirt sway over lap
Her waist is an ant's
Her breasts are making the softest curves
Her neck is neither long nor short, neither thick nor thin
Her face is as round as an egg
Her nose is neither arrogant nor servile
she come closer to me
moment passing by me
But my eyes still following her
i fall over I stand up without shame and raising head
Then a woman standd in front of me
sat down clouds from the blue sky
her head and saggy shoulders
Broken and worn jacket blowing in the wind
and hold in her right hand
She leans on an old cane
She takes a step that is difficult to take even one step
catches a breath for a while
she talks to me
a furoshiki in left hand
As she lays it down at my feet
she talks.to me
"Can you deliver this to my daughter in front of us?"
i get her gift
I take her hand and start following her
keeping the best distance.
As I closed my door and lay down to sleep,
A poem came and violently knocked at my door.
Being quite late, I put a rein on my desire to admit it in
Even in my sleep I could hear the faint sound of a knock.
In the wee hours of the morn, as I sat up to house it,
Only scattered phrases and broken lines floated around.
A crazy excitement made me trap them in ink.
But nothing worthwhile showed up on the writing pad.
I found I had only violated the virginity of the paper.
After hours of spasmodic labor pain
What came out was a stillborn with no heart beats.
It lay limp before me and all excitement died down
It's still body, I found had closely resembled me.
Something of me was there stamped on it.
How could I who had parented it,
Callously discard it in a dustbin?
So, I carefully stashed it away in a secret place.
Where no one’s prying eyes would ever fall over it!
April. 6. 2023
~ Placed Third~
Free Submission Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
Characters in action
Talents in multiplication
Shapes and sizes of many version
Skills on display with tension
Over the top ropes one would gape
Under the ropes one can escape
Apron of thick mattress
Arena of countless matches
Highlighted are dressed to kill
Fronting the crowd that fill
Seats of spectators that cheer
Feats of competitors, not jeer
Matches roll with blunder
Rumbling and grappling like thunder
Crutches and splints spread over
Bodies of the bruised fall over
Grueling matches live on
Under any pressure show must go on
It's not "business as usual" that linger
Players of theatrics in danger
Venues are slated by dates
Participants stipulated as mates
Previews of expected bouts
Reviews that excite and shouts
Year after year is the Rumble
Inside the ring that crumble
Event that sounds so noble
Fame, not fortune that bubble
A prelude to Wrestlemania
An interlude of regalia
A shot coveted in spotlight
A spot asserted with delight
Let's get ready to rumble!...
Out from the pound comes something so horrifing no one has even seen this gastly thing because they fall over dead from hearing it's growl. The townsfolk who enjoy their smokes don't venture near the woods at night because they fear what might come out for a bite, the creature who they call Paul is truly a frightful sight if you lock eyes with him during the night. Be careful not to get too close because he might bite! This being isn't your friendly neighborhood animal it's far worse than a bear, eyes glow orange beware of it's stare it's blacker than night the darkest of dark he even lurks in the park. Beware of where you stroll because this might be a troll a boogeyman that doesn't hide under the bed, it might have come for your heads.
Come to me sweetheart
pale and wane befit your name,
yes I named you
and not just that ordinary noun.
Come not sweeping grimly
but dressed for a wedding.
I call you my 'nightingale'
my little bird of sorrow and joy.
I watch you fly in the dark and light
bewitched by time and place
life beginning on the tips of each wing.
Come to me sweetheart,
let your dress fall over my eyes,
I shall be in you then
as your lover forever,
together we shall light the lamps.
Does anyone see the people, perhaps its just a crowd
Does anyone hear thunder, from inside a popcorn cloud
Does anyone smell the fire, after lighting up a smoke
Does anyone taste hunger, before the gluttony chokes
Does anyone feel the pressure, building inside my head
Does anyone sense imbalance, pallbearers of our dead
Does anyone know for certain, oh my she looks so pure
Does anyone rarely mistake, the stale breath of a whore
Does anyone get a laugh, just as we're spilling our guts
Does anyone state the obvious, mankind's going nuts
Does anyone hate another, and feel love for themselves
Does anyone fall over the edge, when left on the shelf
Does anyone recall moments, wishing they'd never end
Does anyone wake up hopeless, a dream's only pretend
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