¡ POETRY ! discussion

note: This topic has been closed to new comments.
745 views
GOODREADS NEWSLETTER CONTEST > PLEASE POST YOUR POEM FOR THE NOVEMBER 2012 GOODREADS NEWSLETTER CONTEST!

Comments (showing 1-50 of 267) (267 new)    post a comment »
« previous 1 3 4 5 6

message 1: by Amy (new)

Amy (AmyKing) | 567 comments Mod
Want your words to reach 7 million people?

Goodreads and the ¡Poetry! group have partnered to create a contest in order to select a new poem each month for our newsletter.

1. Post your best poem here (*one poem per person*) in this folder (below as a "comment").

2. Goodreads and our three judges, Wendy Babiak, Tara McDaniel, and Ruth Bavetta, will select six poems as finalists to be voted on by the Goodreads community.

3. ¡Poetry! group members will vote for the poem they like best (one vote per member). The poem with the most votes will be published in the Goodreads’ newsletter – distributed each month to more than 7 million people!

** If you have been a finalist more than three times in a year, you may not enter a poem for one year.

** Please refrain from critiquing the contest entries - this is not a workshop thread.

Good luck & please post your best work!

Thanks,

Amy King
¡Poetry! Moderator


message 2: by Theresa (new)

Theresa (ivymuse) A Writer's Story

Write a line, write a word
To be read but never heard
Closed away and tightly shut
Beneath a wall collecting dust

Your life and soul just stored away
Slave to both age and decay
Withering worlds, unbroken seals
Drift away on time's wheels

Yet just one eye could sole revive
What has been so of love deprived
A tender touch, a gentle breath
Chase off the ever looming death

Under caressing gaze it blooms anew
A story, never paid its due
As it blossoms afresh and tastes the sun
The author's work is duly done


message 3: by Susan (new)

Susan Marie how do i explain


how do i explain
the sunset
when she drapes herself elegant
climbing through tree limbs
still green with summer
dappling brick buildings
causing brown to change to burnt sienna

how do i explain
a solitary leaf
each vein sprawling
as arteries and veins
spreading life
throughout one being

how do i explain
the rushing wind
as she kisses my cheeks
gracing my face
as the touch of an angel
on a summer's eve

it is how one would explain a science
of chemistry and emotion
all six senses alive and acute
stirring and spinning
as Autumn leaves unberthed from their rest

it is as difficult to explain my love for you
as simple as it is

to love you.


Susan Marie 2012


message 4: by Crystal (new)

Crystal (ShellWolf) | 2 comments Forever in my Heart

I search your face,
for the slightest sign,
the slightest whisper.
I drink in every word you speak
and stare into your beautiful eyes.
Each moment is breath-taking.
Each moment is heart-breaking.
And I wonder,
whatever happened?
What happened to that love we once shared?
Has it left you?
Or is it still there,
softly singing in your heart?

You left.
I cried.
We both moved on.
I found someone new,
though I always wonder the true effect,
upon that sweet heart beating in your chest,
of your old love and good friend finding each other.
Did you hurt?
Did you wish it was you holding me in your arms again?
Or were you unaffected and content with your free life?
Though you were happy for us,
I wonder if, perhaps, there was some pain,
some jealousy stirring inside.

Almost a year has gone by,
since you left me sitting alone in that place.
Though you were also torn apart,
you thought it was the best action for us both.
And, with some time,
I fell for another and spent good times with him,
although I was unable to ever truly love him,
at least, not the same as I do you.
Now we are no longer together and though you only just discovered,
I am unable to see how you feel,
for so much distance and time has passed between us.
It all confuses me now,
and I cannot see into your heart as I once could.

Do you want me back?
Are you secretly celebrating the break-up, though still hoping we are alright?
In my heart I am wishing you do... I am wishing you are.
In my heart, I silently plead to you,
for I am much too afraid to express it in spoken words:
"Please come back to me, my love.
Hold me once more in your arms and kiss me with your sweet lips.
You are my world, my everything.
Do you still share those feelings you once had?
Or have you moved on and wish to be nothing more than friends?
I want you to know the truth dwelling deep within my broken heart-
I miss you...
I love you..."

I still treasure each moment we have with one another,
no matter the mixed feelings either may have.
Us, being nothing more than good friends,
only fate can say what the future holds for us.
Together? But still far from each other?
Completely apart? Yet close in our hearts?
I cannot say, for my heart does not know.
Even so, this much I do know and can also feel-
That I shall always hold a place within your heart.
I promise you, you will always have a most special place in mine.
No force in this universe could tear my love for you fully away.
Whether or not we are together romantically,
I hope we shall always be friends, until the end of all time.

We are both without someone to fully love,
without someone to express our true feelings to.
Though we can steal special looks at each other,
though we can show our feelings in small, hidden gestures and actions,
we may never be able to outright speak those feelings to anyone.
Perhaps, we cannot even admit them to ourselves.
But, both our hearts will, in time, tell us the truth we seek.
Then, the only question left is- Will we both be able to accept those truths?
Will I be capable of accepting your truth if it is not what I dream of?
Will you be able to accept that truth, if it is so, when it will hurt me?
Doubtless, I hold these feelings in my heart,
and you hold your feelings in yours.
Someday I hope for them to co-inside.

You are as sweet as iced tea,
and as kind as a kitten.
You are as intelligent as the most re-known scholar,
and as beautiful as nature ever could be.
Though we don't talk as often as I'd like,
I spend as much time as possible with you, as my friend.
I talk with you, I laugh with you and take joy in your smiles.
Your voice gives me chills and your touch makes me shake.
And, slowly, each and every day,
I gather every bit of courage I am able to sustain,
to hopefully use one day to reveal my feelings to you.
And, if your heart agrees,
we may be together again to share in the joy we once had.

I will respect your decision no matter the answer,
no matter the pain I may feel.
Rejoin me or be only ever my friend, or even only a mark on my heart,
it is your choice and no one can make it for you.
Take time if you wish, to search your heart for your decision.
If you are confused of those feelings,
or if you are unsure of the right path to tread-
Always remember to follow your heart and believe.
Whatever love you may ever feel in the future,
whether towards me or another,
let it blossom and grow,
pluck the weeds and water the ground.
Always allow yourself to feel that love without any reserve.



message 5: by Aaron (last edited Oct 06, 2012 03:37PM) (new)

Aaron Swenson | 8 comments BABA YAGA

Baba Yaga came to me before the sun had set
Her cottage hopping on its chicken foot
Her lips were crusted with the blood of children she had et
Her nails were grimed with human fat and soot.

“I stole for us a baby—plump, unbaptized, and a boy—
So we may use his rendered fat to fly
Without our skins to hinder us, the better to enjoy
Our congress with the bannik and leshii.”

She saw that I was unimpressed, and so she pled again
With promises of nostrums, chants, and charms
For potency, to bind my foes, to cause a callous swain
To wither in his weeping lover’s arms.

But I was promised from my youth to make good on the claim
That righteous seed, and virtuously sown,
Would be the proof against the witch, whose eldritch, secret name
Has not, since time was young, been truly known.

“My boy, if you will come with me and, in my mortar, fly
I’ll show you all the pleasures, dark and wild
That could be yours, if with me in my narrow bed you’ll lie
And give to me the present of a child.”

I raise my hand and say a charm of power, bright and old
I watch as she pretends to writhe and burn.
My own bed is too wide for one; my house is dark and cold.
I pray that on the 'morrow she’ll return.

Aaron Swenson


message 6: by Kelsey (new)

Kelsey (writers_read) Red Hair

I.

There was a war in my mother’s house.
Drew, my mother’s brother of red hair,
his fist drawn back to punch pain—
only pain’s face resembled my mother’s.

Pain in the form of red-hair Joellyn.
Baby sister of green-eye tie-dyed
swirls of heroin haze,
betrayal in an overdose.

Splinter pain and memory
like cracked orange ceramics.
Only once it’s cracked, there’s an urge to crush:
obliterate the thing.
Like it will never hurt you
once the pieces are collected into an urn.

My mother wants to burn the stacks of newspapers
piled in the corner; my grandmother’s attempt to preserve
lost time lost children.

II.

I remember his house,
next to my grandmother’s.
Dim light or none
with burnt-orange couches
and cigarette butts budding
a sickening stench that burns
into cushions.

It reminds me of the stories
where the man snatches the girl
and there is no ending
because she is stuck with him indefinitely,
and no one saves her.

(Maybe I made that up.
Maybe they are not fables at all.)

I choke on unwashed air and ash.
Stem of smoke grows out of my uncle’s mouth;
but there is no bud, or hope of one.
Smoke wheezes by branches
of barren bronchial trees.
Nothing grows here.
At least, nothing sustains.

III.

I dream of red hair:
a red hair rope
wraps around my ankle like vine
and pulls me from my grandmother’s house to his.

I dig my heels into Louisiana dirt,
severing grass roots.
Resist. You are not them.

I want to burn the rope.
Let it gnarl and smolder into ash.

But a rope burns to both ends.

So I continue being dragged.

IV.

Drew’s life of abuse spanned people and vice.
Alcohol sought revenge,
Was avenged: liver failure.

On his dying bed, dressed
in mourning, regretful eyes
and graying red hair,
Drew summons a priest.

He admits he cheated, stole, and bullied.

He begs forgiveness.
But from whom?

He wants to be saved.
From whom?

My mother is ashamed to believe it is we who are saved.

V.

After all of the years of burning,
he will dissolve into his real parts:
ashes of wretched flesh and red hair.

My mother’s mother asks her
if she wants some of the ash.
“He was good to me…” my grandmother reasons,
(without reason).

But how does a daughter forgive a mother who pities her abuser?
How does a daughter love a mother who is blinded by her own delusion?
Blinded by red hair.


message 7: by Cynthia (new)

Cynthia Stewart (cynthiastewartverizonnet) | 8 comments Milk as the Metaphor

Because milk is our first sustenance
On this earth place.
Because we are human beings and we
crave immunity from our mother’s breast.
Because milk is white and liquid and warm.
Because it contains the lock on our psyche.
Because it is like water and flows from
the female rock of pure giving and strength.
Because we look up and see our first face.
Because we seek everything through the
mother.
Because we weep and are comforted.
Because we are defenseless and mute.
Because we acquire strength to stand
And hear the beat of the heart -
Drawing us to the fight.


Cynthia Stewart


message 8: by Richard (last edited Oct 07, 2012 10:30PM) (new)

Richard (RichardWells) | 95 comments SNAKE EYES

No game fast as craps
dollars down
dice tumble
swept up
'fore they hardly bounce.

Craps best shot
sober and sharp

that night
yellow-moon street light
Billy D'Lyon was
Stagger Lee
was not

and Billy adjourned to the bar room
in Stagger Lee's brand new Stetson hat.

One thing faster than craps -
bullets.

Stagger Lee said, "Yo…"

Billy said, "Oh no…"

.44 smoked

and Billy slammed against that bar
slumped to that bar room floor
neck on the rail
hat over his eyes.

Stagger Lee retrieved his hat
walked out those swinging doors
and stepped right up, ladies and gents,
to the scaffold gallows.

Old bare-headed Stagger Lee
all snake-eyed
bowed his head

thought -

ain't nothin' colder than a cold wind

Ain't nothin' slower
than a trap door.


message 9: by Jane Ellen (new)

Jane Ellen Glasser | 32 comments Robert Buell’s Last Meal


I planted my seed in Krista Harrison.
She never even cried. So young,
her neck fit into one hand;
I squeezed till her legs stopped
dancing. Is it a crime to destroy
what you have loved? On death row

I had eight years to contemplate
how to spend twenty dollars.

For his last meal, Peter Miniel
gorged on fried chicken, 20 beef tacos,
2 double cheeseburgers, a pizza
with jalapeños, chocolate cake
and caramel pecan fudge ice cream.

His executioner said it was like
flushing money down the toilet.

I chose 1 unpitted black olive.

Now I wait, in an unmarked grave
in a barren corner of a public cemetery,
for my seed to sprout an olive tree.


message 10: by Mark (new)

Mark Major (MarkDavidMajor) Edge Dwelling

Breathing in the air, tiptoeing on the edge, living in this place.
Knowing it is truth, framing the frontier, what was and what we could be.
Float on the water, soaring into a blue sky, feet firmly grounded.
Pierce the hidden veil, dream of the good life with you, in Nature’s repose.

Watch and observe all, an impressionist canvas, writ across the sky.
Delve inhale deeply, draw the shade down where hidden, until light invades all.
Elevate above, a terra firma set free, dew brushes your feet.
Entice towards the verge, cross the threshold into Being, together its dreamt.

An endless horizon, a margin without limit, dive another side.
Dwelling in this place, in delicate environs, virgin and untouched.
Anchored to this life, soar above seedlings, grasp stars while twinkling.
To live and to learn, understand what’s forgotten, that which is between.


message 11: by David (new)

David | 4 comments A Quest

Name me a quest.
Tell me loudly,
what it is I should do for you.
Give me a tryst, naming time and place
on a billet-doux of blue scented paper.
Find me a dragon,
imagined or real,
to kill, maim,
or merely quell with steely nerves.
Send me to Seychelles or Siam
demanding I return
with turtle shell or lapiz lazuli,
or ancient rhinoceros tusk
or crocodile tongue from the mugger of
the Holy Ganges.
Tell me, with scornful words
and scowling brow
to leave forever and find a new love,
yet keep that lithesome, sparkling
jewel eye glint
so I may know
this is but a quest


message 12: by Andrew (new)

Andrew | 2 comments Slam, slam. Great doors of learning open to release the hordes. Stomp, stomp. Youths move through halls of knowledge like mindless mechanisms of the institution. Like so many cattle to pasture, they march. Their minds; complex yet simply defined. They see a prison of mental stimulation for which escape is immoral. They do not see, cannot see; the chance of opportunity for a life of which countless others are denied. It is a privilege not a right. Yet these thoughts are part but of the process. The institution is a great machine for which even the most successful are just mindless cogs for this great beasts purposes. Individuals do not exist, the concept created to delude the masses. They go to earn knowledge, but they lose conscience. Thousands of minds enter, one mind leaves.


message 13: by [deleted user] (new)

Playthings

I look at the mark
My watch gives me,
Itching to scratch at it,
Claw away the ruinous effect
Of Time, marking its territory
By discretely excreting seconds
By the hour until you close
Your eyes. And then it cackles,
Pushes dreams through the cracks
Between your closed eyelids,
Playing knock-and-run childishly.

You open your eyes wearily.
I rub at the imprint,
And you and I both know
That Time is its own master,
And we are its playthings.
As it rolls the die, we are
Its playthings – nothing more.
Don't kid yourself that we move
Forward on our own volition
Towards our impending demolition.
Faith and Grace are Time's opponents.

--Blake Curran


message 14: by Uvi (last edited Oct 06, 2012 04:20PM) (new)

Uvi Poznansky | 188 comments Don't Open Your Eyes


Don’t open your eyes
Try not to see
Things are no longer
Where things ought to be

That voice—is it her?
Behind a closed door
She calls you a stranger
Your mother no more

Breathe through the moment 
Turn, turn your eyes
The past you imagined 
Was all lies, lies, lies

Things are no longer 
Where things ought to be
Who is this stranger
Is it still me?


message 15: by Estermann (last edited Oct 08, 2012 05:51AM) (new)

Estermann Meyer (estermannmeyer) | 48 comments The Power and The Glory




There was silence all around him.
That place was very much like the world:
overcrowded with lust and crime
and unhappy love.

It stank of heaven.

But he realized that after all
it was possible to find peace there
if you knew for certain
that the time was short.

The lightning shot down over the harbor
and the thunder beat upon the roof.

That was the atmosphere
of a whole state—the storm outside
and the talk just going on—terms like
'mystery' and 'soul' and 'the source of life'
came up over and over again
as they sat on the bed talking
with nothing to do and
nothing to believe and
nowhere to go.




-Estermann Meyer


message 16: by Pepsie (new)

Pepsie (PepsieJ) | 78 comments My Daughter

Maybe she's happy this time
her choice
not being forced to do anyone's bidding
and two can you believe there are two?
Baby A and baby B
one conceived on Monday and one on Tuesday


message 17: by Vickie (new)

Vickie | 7 comments DRY

Dust dry hot
in this tomb-like
weather you
invited me into,
if not for
my making friends
with that lemon
bush
and its'
bull snake
hidden in
leaf drop,
I would have
no one,
no one,
as I see
you are dousing
your hostess skill
your guest room
offering
in red wine
and duck,
duck and
cover
and sweep
until you
have it all under
rug,
where your dust
faith gathers
and your
clocking husband
hides his
steering
schedule,
you are my blood
yet you
choose water,
merky soiled
unfiltered,
and we try
to sing as
cousins,
wounded
in the sun,
baked in the
scabbing heat
wih your
shadow standing by
with stories
and anthems
and a salute
to your
loyalty
as the
good wife,
confessor of
nothing,
dedicated to
the
unremembering,
the safe,
and the
dunes
under your carpet.
-----Vickie Davies


message 18: by jo (last edited Oct 06, 2012 04:35PM) (new)

jo | 11 comments boundaries and the patient’s psychoanalytic superego

We negotiate boundaries. Incessantly. Boundaries are that which defines when I stop and she begins. Boundaries make the baby whole.

Boundaries are less given than you might assume. Than people assume. I see boundaries inside me and I fight for them. I fight for them because they are the contour of my being. For me, it’s a question of existing.

She plays along. Sometimes you can see the pain in the corners of her eyes. That is when it becomes painful for both of us. Sometimes she embraces the transgression.

Judith Butler; Marjorie Garber; Samuel Delany; Michel Foucault: pleasure is in transgression.

I thought analysis was the blotting out of pleasure. I had to re-educate myself, de-traumatize myself. She taught me that analysis is about enhancing pleasure.

Is this fight over boundaries an exercise in pleasuring?


message 19: by Randi (new)

Randi | 2 comments Society

Beautiful ice shattered.

Creating the crystalline reflection.

It mocks us everyday by

Showing us our every imperfection

While hiding it's own.



We are trapped within the crystal.

Forever doomed to solitude.

No one can break free,

Contained forever.

No chance of survival,

Entrapped by the norm.

No way to escape,

The reflection is to blame.

Without it,

We'd be free.


message 20: by Marian (new)

Marian | 12 comments Bob, My Former Colleague, This Poem is for You:

Kierkegaard,
Soren Aabye,
on whom our fellow colleague
(whose name I do not recall)
was a scholar

Kierkegaard
a name bandied about
associated with knowledge
such as Eve and
Adam
sought

such as the internet
offers:
instantaneous
knowledge
snaked along wires
(or wirelessly)
along with universal
love
via social
media
face to face
book
linked together by
tweets algebraically
processed almost
as fast as
but not quite
instantaneously

a platform
necessary for proclamation or
publication or
balancing
prior to diving
into the abyss.

And Buddha …
his tenants to which
you hoped to adhere prior
to your
“excommunication”
for being
too radical
despite your love of
Jiddu Krishnamruta
whom you
disciple
proselytized:
“Truth has no path,
and that is the beauty
of truth,
it is living”
as is the living
church
God
as human
humanity
community

and under all
we find
common ground
where we
agree.
Marian O’Brien Paul


message 21: by Charles (new)

Charles | 9 comments Virtual Reality


My virtual reality
eyes closed imagining
fig leaves branching
rain falling rapidly
moon following
the mountain.


message 22: by Michael (new)

Michael Holland (Tigerino) | 2 comments Clouds

There was a shift somewhere in the night,
a pause, where I melted into you,
coffee kissing caramel,
and for just one moment,
a slight hesitation transpired:
I swear I could hear the clouds.

I was wrapped in your stealthy embrace,
hand clasping hand, the gentle caress
of two pulses synchronized,
conjoined, as one, and it dawned on me
for the first time in many cranberry moons
and sweltering summers,
that I felt safe, appreciated, joyful –
could it be that I felt loved? –
and, as we lay, I prayed and forgave
sullen secrets and betrayals ago, transgressions
that feasted on blanketed fear
and palpable pain.

I forgave me, you, irony, and destiny,
established faith in feeling human, whole,
for all its riches, glories, and pratfalls.
I saw that little boy, that sweet soul,
and rather than cover my eyes blind,
or bend an ear towards self-loathing,
I completed him, just as I felt the wind rush
past sticky lies, just as I heard
sparrows strum in sycamore trees.
The clouds, the clouds:
I swear I could hear the clouds,
feel your breath, allowing the tension
in swollen muscles and cynical bones
to finally relax.

I have no illusions that there will be eternal sunshine
in silken shadows, but there is no doubt
I have been changed, transformed,
and if tonight delays tomorrow,
if yesterday yearns to haunt,
there will be an unspoken truth
that will forever remain
in just three words,
foolish words perhaps,
but words I desperately seek,
nourish, and covet:

What about today?


message 23: by Natacha (new)

Natacha Pavlov (NatachaPavlov) | 4 comments Remembered

Remembering the place,
These walls of innocence,
Memories of another life, in another land, long ago
So young and pure
Unsuspecting hearts, yet susceptible to the
Complexities of love

Love,
Proximity creates
Familiarity, endearing
Boyish thin fingers, betraying a kind
Of delicacy, almost fragile,
Feminine; artist’s hands?
Neck-length, dark wavy mane
Pale skin, creating a lifelong standard of
Attraction?

Un maghrébin, oh the age in which you were known
in that language

Bits and pieces of memories
But always, the one most striking

A sky blue box of treasures, full of precious objects
Holding the key close, lest a wandering hand
Should come uninvited
Words whispered, “I’m going to bring you a gold ring,”
Testament to his devotion
Is the delight to be had in wearing it? or merely in the
Awareness of its existence and possession, and so instead,
Kept locked away to be looked at and admired at will?

Yet ephemeral, the state of love in its material form

A dark figure approaching, perhaps angry,
But maybe also, at least somewhat amused-
Ah-the boldness of a son eager to transfer property
To the one he would leave her for…
But surely not until at least a few more years!
The audacity, invincibility of innocence
Of which I was only the recipient—emboldened no doubt?

The deed undone, the reprimand I know not of

Yet the imprint remains
Setting the standard so high
Creating an outline of desired traits
Throwing praises my way, enduring wrath for things
I never requested
I wouldn’t have known what to ask for, and if so,
would it have been for material things…?

And as you are indeed remembered—Zacharia—
So am I always,
Even with my crazy bursts of passionate fury,
Thinking I know what I want when I sometimes do
And sometimes don’t
Always the all-caring protection, forgiveness, love
That leaves me wanting for nothing at all.

Natacha Pavlov


YourFriendlyNeighborhoodSpidey Fixing Life

Step one: Admitting you have a problem is the first step to solving it.
So I’ve said and said again,
I’m wrong, I'm depressed, I don’t know how I’ll survive,
But no one tells me how this helps,
And it certainly doesn’t keep me alive.

Step two: Take a deep breath.
So I’ll breathe and breathe and breathe,
Until I’m blue in the face,
But it gives me no reprieve,
It doesn’t help my problems erase.

Step three: Separate yourself from the problem.
So I walk away, but it follows me.
So I close my eyes, and it haunts my thoughts.
So I try to breathe, but it won’t let me.
So I bleed it out of my skin, the only thing that makes it stop.

Step four: Think about it rationally.
So I slow my thoughts and think:
I’ve tried to sort this out myself.
I’ve tried to ignore it,
Maybe now I have to ask for help.

“Well, that’s helpful.”
Bang!

Step five:
Fix Your Life.

-Monica Postma


message 25: by Andy (new)

Andy Smerdon | 16 comments Lovers
Fingers fumble with fabric.
Finding folds that offer,
Passage......
Finally.

Skin shines seductively.
Soft silken slips,
Radiating......
Sensuously.

Muscles move minutely.
Members massaged magic'ly,
Until......
Magnified.

Looks loiter longer.
Lovingly, lustfully, longingly,
Before......
Lingering.

Bodies become bold.
Beauty betrays breath,
to be......
Breathless.

Erotic emotions emanate.
Erect entries ensue,
Climaxing......
Eventually.

Pleas perfectly posed.
Passionate promises please,
Ensuring......
Paradise.


message 26: by Cora (new)

Cora (cheezy101) | 3 comments I Know

I know
of the pain i caused you
of the hurt
of the longing
for the right thing
to happen
but it never does

I know
of the not

I know
that I will try
to fix
whatever has been destroyed
but no promises
only because

I know


message 27: by Arthur (new)

Arthur | 175 comments From the Classroom
Not even I could blame them very much
for averting their eyes from the character charts,
conjugations or how to write leads.
Sometimes I cast a glance myself walking
towards my desk, away from my monitor,
at wind-rippled water ringed by green trees
shielding sight of traffic but not its sound,
large white clouds heading for the distant coast.

If icons are indeed eternity’s windows
showing reality beyond this life
to inspire during ordinary time,
then the long, high-reaching windows transform
the classroom to the border between
necessity and joyous adventure.


Arthur Turfa


message 28: by Lori (new)

Lori (Gungirllori) Just Groovin

A Engineer’s dancer
Deep runs her treasure
Ink is his pleasure
Fancy a grand
Walk through her sand
Dare she touch his rod
That classy broad
Time tastes fine
Bottled as swine
Crisp like bed linen
There will be sinnin
After five
We shall thrive
Arms around our face
I desire her in this place
Show a bit of leg
Let him make you beg
Drop that shoe
Carbon copy hue
I know I know
Not white but snow
This for that
Tit for Tat


message 29: by Taylor (new)

Taylor Tell Me

Why won’t you speak?

I need to know why
Your sweetness causes such cavities.

Tell me.

I want to understand why
Your darkness consumes the stars in your eyes,
The sun in the sky.

Tell me.

I have to know why
I long for your voice,
Pattering rain
Bringing life
To yellowing grass.

Tell me.

I’ll cherish your departing words
As they escape like sparkling dust
Whispering through my fingers,
Freed by the breeze
In the wake of your silhouette.

Your echo fades.
I slowly pine away.

I only want to know why
You won’t speak.

Please tell me.


message 30: by Stu (new)

Stu | 9 comments My Morning Jog

Every other day
I leap out of bed at the crack of dawn
to jog a few miles upon the new highway
that runs by the forest just opposite the marsh

A healthy way to greet the morn think I
as down the road I fly
And there is a little game I play called
what shall I see today?

As I round the first bend a little rabbit's
in my way
I'll count him he wasn't there yesterday
A little further on lays a possum but he's been there a while
I can still score though because there's two more
and I've gone but half a mile

Just beyond the fox that's lasted a week
I spot a raccoon still twitching his little feet
Over there is a cat who almost made it across
opposite the squirrel who's really a total loss
There's a doe that must've been hit by a truck
and a pup that ran out of luck

That's it for the first mile
Now as I run I'll look up for a while
for if I look down and around
all the night creatures abound
And I tire of this game
of slaughter and maim

But even as I gaze aloft I can smell that up ahead
a skunk lies dead

I quietly groan
retrace my steps and head for home

There must be a better way
to get my exercise every day

I would like to swim
but that's a whim
I can't endure
Since they began pumping sludge
on the ocean floor

From the plant that the new highway goes to

Those fellows don't miss a beat
On their way to work the creatures of the land they deplete
The fruits of their labor foul the sea
And I believe their ultimate aim
is to get me

So I'll stay in my yard
And do sit-ups and breath
deeply of the air
Which I know is no longer fair
From somebody doing something

Somewhere


Stuart Reininger


message 31: by Jeff (new)

Jeff Buehlow (jbbugz) | 6 comments Sexual Perversity

Hard bodies collected in a field of dreams, sustains imaginary beauty.
Pressing firmly upon our visions, motion occurs, as we reach for power.
The strength within conjures up sensations that illuminate seedlings of sweat, that streep across fogged mirrors.
The need to touch
The need to be one
The need to be with another
And a lover
To stroll a cruise pounds the blood deeper as the excitement mounts into overwhelming intoxication.
Pressing firmly against hard with hard
Presses stimulation beyond control
We may touch. We will be one. We are three.
Sexual perversity is our reality.

Jeff Buehlow


message 32: by Jeff (new)

Jeff Buehlow (jbbugz) | 6 comments As The Music Continues

Notes play, with chords harmonizing in a room of echoes.
Mesmerizing the beauty in air, as it unfolds against my lips.
Enchanted by the chorus
Feeling alone and becoming forlorn, I only wish to be there.
In a place far away the dreams are desired, and the smiles cordially endless.
I come to you with music filtering enchantment, whispering love to your ear.
A return of heaven glorifies me with a simple touch and love echoes us a harmony, as we become one.
Yearning your masculinity with vocal's splendor, I caress each night with the passions of you upon my skin.
Sweet and desirable, I have beckoned the cry of lust, fulfilled.
To keep your touch embraced within these arms entwined, I hold you here.
Forever it will last with adequate time, at least within these rhymes.
The music flows to a minimal note leaving behind the cry: our masquerade affair has ended
as reality etches a sigh.

Jeff Buehlow


message 33: by Michael (new)

Michael Falotico (Poetmike) | 5 comments "You In Mine"

Your reflection is on the side of my heart...
I only see it when I'm alone and in the dark...
At times I can't breathe and I stretch for some air...
Gasping and swallowing fear and endless despair...
Through a past of drowning outside of discolored reality...
To falling into the cracks of hope and sense ability....
That reflection still stands the test of time...
For there is always a piece of you in mine...

By Michael j Falotico


message 34: by Gianna (new)

Gianna | 1 comments "When Sadness Was The Sea"

1.
When sadness was the sea
You taught me how to swim
When fear was a tree,
You taught me to go out on a limb
When anger was magma,
You taught me to settle down
And when heartache was an earthquake,
You brought me to higher ground

2.
Her sighs control the ocean tides
Because happiness comes and goes in waves
Her eyes reflect the cerulean sea
And if you look closely,
Into her sunglasses,
You can watch the shoreline recede

3.
A storm cloud formed above her head
She was filled with this sadness
That she could not comprehend
It rained on her all day and all night
She kept waiting for it to pass
As raindrops fell
And cascaded down her cheeks,
Tears began to well up
Behind her eyelids
So she let them free
And then the rivers collided
Below her feet

4.
She doesn't know what to do
Because she has nothing left to lose
She knows the right choice
But she is too afraid to choose
Her face spells out lies
But if you looked elsewhere
You'd know otherwise
She wants to talk
But she thinks too much
And her thoughts scare her
So she hesitates
Because she already feels out of control
She believes this is her fate
And that there is no escape
Because she's fallen in love
With self hate
She's no longer scared of the path
Just of the chance
That someone will put a stop sign
In the middle of the road
Because she doesn't think
She can slow down

5.
Your eyes were as vacant as the sea
I watched the tide come and go
I saw the scars left behind
When the tide was love
And I rode the waves with you
Even when they were crashing over me
We could've drowned if we let it
But we refused to sink

6.
Some people fall in love with their sadness
It's a sad sight to see
But I want you to remember
Just how much you mean to me
I never want to lose my best friend
To the turbulence of the sea


message 35: by ilse (new)

ilse | 1 comments August

August. First leaves fired by the notion of last chances,
more beautiful now, like all things desperate.

As are we all. Growing older--a phrase that seems
a contradiction in terms.

ilse mozga


message 36: by Gail (new)

Gail Shazor (GailPoet) | 2 comments "Waiting"

Every man is born of woman
Of mothers and grandmothers
Aunts and sisters
Nurtured in the belly of hands
Palms to palms held close
Inter-joined and together
Touching hearts and souls
Becoming one with the world
Born of prayer, of God
A desire for us
In that we can ever continue
To be raised up in the image of love
Before your name was spoken
I knew that you would be called to me
A legacy provided at the dawn
I never understood how my mother
Felt about the birth of your father
Until now
When I look to the east for your arrival
Like the anticipation of the sunrise
After a restless night’s turning
My hands await the curve of your fingers
I want to hold your soft face against mine
I want to smell of your innocence
And kiss the top of your head
To feel your little heart beat rapidly
As if you are in a hurry to grow up
And yet I would not have you afraid
To Live Good
To experience all that life has to offer
The exceptional, the bad, the tiresome
I want you to know the people I love
So I will endlessly tell you stories
While you sleep in my arms, on my lap
And often beside me in church
I will give you poetry, my words
And even though I cannot sing
We will raise the rafters in voices
We will call out prayers
And yes, the humming jones
For happy has its own unique sound
It is the sound of God
It is the sound of family
It is the sound of me
Saying I will love you always.

(c)4/10
Gail Weston Shazor


message 37: by Scott (new)

Scott Toderash (raggedclown) | 16 comments Time and Eternity

I woke up and rolled over on my cot and checked the arms on my clock
Because I knew if time flew it wouldn't stop to wait for me.
Cause I can't fly on the wages that I get from Alexander Graham Bell
Working in his laboratry. Under a tree. Beside the sea
Where I contemplated that this used to be a long way off from hell.
And the sea looked at me and I looked at it and I thought a bit
About all the times that I had crossed it.
And I said right back, "You're not a nation, what do I care?"
Only to feel cut up and drowned as if just then the sea had learned how to stare.
That's when I knew that I had to get out of there, but I was pulling on a stuck lever.

Time is Eternity's twin. Together they live in a place called Forever.
Except that time is invisible. Time is like a ninja. You can't see it but if you could, you wouldn't be able to see it.

I woke up in the laboratry and I saw Eternity.
Staring at me and she asked me for a drag of my cigarette.
Cause she didn't bring any and there's no Time like the present.
To suck in a moment of time. And blow smoke rings in a fine line.
But I had run out weeks ago, I was only faking, my burning ember was spent.
I looked at her and said, humming, "You've got a lot of nerve coming"
"All the way down here just to ask me that."
Like it's some kind of thing I can do like a tip of my hat.
And that's when Eternity crushed out her cigarette on my weary forehead.
So I could fin'ly feel what she felt without having to imagine pictures in a book I read.

Eternity's Time's twin. Together they live in a small apartment.
And on Friday nights they like to go out but not with each other. You can't see it but if you could, you wouldn't be able to see it.

I woke up outside which is kinda weird because I don't remember
Being there in a place where you would have let me sleep. And I said
"Where's my dog and what happened to all the stuff I fed her?"
I was saving that, I was planning to give it to the dead.
The dead don't bug me, they don't try to get inside my head and ask me to say which one is better.
Like Eternity does every time I meet her. Fish don't swim without a fin.

Time and Eternity are together agin. See, they never broke up but they thought they did.
Their break-up was on Youtube except it didn't happen. You can't see it but if you could, you wouldn't be able to see it.

I fell asleep dreaming, and when I was out cold then I stopped.
I wondered if I should check if I was still breathing, but realized
I still could do nothing about it even if I wasn't.
So I sat there and waited in case the next thing would happen.
It took a long time till anyone opened their eyes but when they did, we had a conversation.
And we talked of fish, ponies, pictures and fields with great big leaves of tobacco.

Time and Eternity wait to be born again. They've never really lived and they're not dead yet.
I saw their births announced in the paper last Saturday. You can't see it but if you could, you wouldn't be able to see it.

--Ragged Clown


message 38: by Lee/ leeta (new)

Lee/ leeta (llumpkins) Cabbage and Woodchucks

My garden patch held cabbage
Until woodchucks, a family of four
moved in, a trap was set unlocked
caught # one, took down the road
Along the ditch
let out of cage.

He ran fast as he could out of the cage
headed for the ditch
hope he does not fin the road
and come back for my cabbage
looking for his family of four
He will find the trap unlocked.

my trap is unlocked
waiting for # two of four
Disappearing still are my cabbage
I wait to take woodchuck # two down the road
open the cage
dump them by the ditch

Lots of weeds and debris by the ditch
carried one more in the cage
One more in this family of four
Carried my trap unlocked
trying to save my cabbage
taking them down the road

Taking them down the road
seemed best. caught # three in cage
Interrupting mowing down my cabbage
Once more we end up by the ditch
Ready to have the cage unlocked
for # three in the family of four.

Now I have # four of the family of four
Of woodchucks caught in a cage
they cleaned out my garden of cabbage
One more ride down the road
stopped by the ditch
left trap unlocked.

My trap sets unlocked, waiting for the family of four
To return for cabbage, guess the can't find the road
let them stay in the ditch and avoid my cage.


message 39: by Kevin (new)

Kevin Waggoner (skbpen) | 11 comments What is to be?

More learning, and learning is, what learning will be.
A chasm, a cusp, a feeling a bust.
But what is to be?
Is it all up to me?

What of the fields? Do they not lay in wait, of some deep rain wake,
by which the ground will set to immediately dry;
only yielding their fruit, to those who take root,
and return the favor in kind?

What is to be?
Is it all up to me?

What of the chair? That sits so bare,
and takes on time, in an event unkind;
which shows its wear, tolling away every care,
giving comfort to those who fair?

What is to be?
Is it all up to me?

What of the books? The books that look,
with envy and care, on those people over there;
who sit and do nothing, with a televised something,
while we sit and collect dust, full of knowledge – waiting to bust.

What is to be?
Is it all up to me?
A chasm, a cusp, a feeling, a bust.
More learning, and learning is, what learning will be.

Lee Waggoner. 2012


message 40: by Indu (last edited Oct 06, 2012 07:46PM) (new)

Indu Muralidharan (indum4) | 8 comments Audit Thoughts

Project scopes, efforts, schedules and resources
Their metrics that arise from the actual process
Their variance from last week, and the week before
Project plans - Check one. Metrics sheets - Check two.
Risk Register. Issue Tracker. Checks three and four.
I fake smiles and words, and bring to the fore

What needs to be exposed. What I must and can, I hide
The audit goes on. And on. And on. All the while, inside
I wish that I had audited my life at least once, years ago
Had set other goals to live by, processes to meet them,
measured life-metrics that matter. (What are they? Who knows?)
If only it had been so, the high points of my present while

might have been so much more than these audits that
make me want to adjourn my life every month or so.

Indu Muralidharan
http://awriterfromindia.blogspot.in/


message 41: by Ashley (new)

Ashley (ashleykemper) "Come here little stranger"

Come here little stranger
And fill up my arms
Lay down your defenses
And calm your alarms
Close your eyes and your fingers
Touch forehead to thigh
Your skin reveals stories
And handprints tell why
You have dirt in your toenails
From where you’ve been planted
So long in the grasses that
Blades have been granted
Some swipes at your shin-bones
And cuts at your knees
In the darkness where whippoorwills
Cry in the trees

I bet you enjoyed how
Your feet made a wind
In the weeds like a maelstrom
Beneath your soles bend
All the pines that weren't lucky
And lived by the sea
No Norwegian fjord
Could save them or thee

You’ve beaten the meadow
And rolled in its flowers
As if you’re the ocean
The moon-tide empowers
To rip across shorelines
And rock-cliffs their faces
Destroyed by your salt-spraying
Wave which erases
All signs of your passing
And lines where you’ve grown
Like a moss up a wall
Pushing cracks in the stone

Your palms and your elbows
Dried blackened with clay
In a bed made of fern-leaves
Where dreams flew away
From the pastures of field mice
Who starve what they bury
And take sun from seedlings
No coon-hair would carry

You are not the mouse
Or the pod or the bear
But like them you've lived
Off of water and air
And like them you’ve taken
A life from another
As soon as you’d face them
To call them your brother

You've let the earth take you
On top of the mountains
Where streams poured their blood
Into rivers and fountains
Reflecting the starlight
Now pooled in your hand
Forsaking the dust born in
Bowels of the land

O stranger your travels
Are over and starting
For you have grown faster than
Minnow-fish darting
Through crawdads and reeds
In the waters supplanted
You watched them from bridges
Alone and enchanted

And now you lie knowing
You’ve conquered worlds over
A new day is coming
And you are its rover

So where are you going
And where will you be
What more does your heart
Wish your soul to foresee

For you are a stranger
And ever grow stranger to me


message 42: by William (last edited Oct 06, 2012 08:45PM) (new)

William Krueger | 12 comments Lasting Love

I remember clearly when it was I first saw you
it was on the playground of our elementary school

I was in the 7th grade and you were in the 6th
I was watching quietly as you played pick up sticks

You were the cutest girl that I had ever seen
I knew you were the angel I kept seeing in my dream

I didn't understand the feelings rushing through my vein
but I knew I had to meet you and get to know your name

Soon we were best friends and I'd walk you home from school
then I met your mother, father and your brothers too

Once I entered high school we seemed so far apart
but I knew we'd never lose the love we both had in our heart

When you became a freshman I offered you my high school ring
and when you slipped it round your neck my heart began to sing

It was in my sixteenth year we had our first car date
and your father told me to have you home by eight

Our love grew so much stronger as time went passing by
I asked you if you'd marry me and then you started to cry

I held you close and wiped your eyes and took that as a yes
our mothers went along with you to choose a wedding dress

We laughed, we cried and fought a bit as we raised our family
a girl, two boys some dogs and cats and many a bruised up knee

We sure have come a long, long way since elementary school
and I thank God every day for sending me to you

Yes I can still remember that bright and sunny day
when I met the angel of my dreams who won my heart away

On that crowded playground of our elementary school


message 43: by Premalatha (new)

Premalatha | 3 comments Sweet sweet words of theirs,
Touches the fragile hearts,
Damn they are chameleons.

Portraits themselves to be The Hercules/Angels,
Bold and broad mind in all senses,
They keep steps of fishes,
Mesmerizing all in few seconds,

Sweet sweet words of theirs,
Touches the fragile hearts,
Damn they are chameleons.

Round round eyes, cool cool views,
Changing their thoughts and words,
Good and bad are framed in their stories,
Changing the world, calling its miracles,

Sweet sweet words of theirs,
Touches the fragile hearts,
Damn they are chameleons.
Not chameleons, they are chamelions, Lions with attitude of chameleons.


message 44: by Dr.sajesh (new)

Dr.sajesh ASOKAN | 3 comments TRUTH


I search endlessly
But truth lies within
Crying out without a voice
Nobody listens to anymore

Why do you hide o truth?
Why do you cover beneath a mask?
Is it so difficult to stand out and speak?
Are you ashamed of your many names and paths?

Do you have a face?
Are you man or woman?
Are you young or old?
And what of your colour and race ?

I looked for you in holy places
But saw only hideous greedy faces
I looked for you in the hills and the seas
They only reflected my search for peace

I did read many books
And understood some high truths
Glimpses of the mountains high
But I still couldn’t see why

Maybe I need to open my eyes
Maybe I need to open my heart
Maybe I need to open my mind
Maybe I need to open my soul

The snow needs to melt
The dust needs to settle
Then will you come out
And show me the world

Of strange myths and tiresome rituals
Truth, I am beginning to see why
False promises of religions
They will give even the sky

Truth is that which we all know
Yet which we choose to ignore
We interpret it in many ways
And label it to better our days.

Love is but truth well expressed
They that live by the light of truth
Have already inherited
The divine God in them and are blessed

Dr.Sajesh Asokan M.D


message 45: by Nan (new)

Nan Robkin (Polly_Mathe) | 10 comments CHOICE

If I had to choose
for the love of Odysseus
either to be mysterious Circe
or faithful Penelope

weighing a year of magic
in the balance against
a daily dream unravelled nightly
for twenty years

even knowing he must go
eventually to his own hearth
being bound to Penelope
I would cast my lot

for Circe. One magic year
spent in the company of such a man
surely equals twenty spent
without him.

A.L.H. Robkin


message 46: by Ray (new)

Ray (dizzy1) | 7 comments SUICIDE

Something comes at night.

Above you in the dark
it whispers, "What gives you the right?
First the Valium and now this need to live?

First you dance around the hole of guilt,
and now you panic? Well, these, my terminal
friend, are the rules of passage:

Beginning with your fingertips and toes
you will crackle inward, joint by joint, to sand.
Your mouth will fill with roots and

you will soon be wheezing insect wings and ash.
Your shrieks will circle out to a hurricane
of barbs and glass, and you will realize

this room you've brought your soul to
has no doors. Don't think about the dark,
my friend. Just sleep."

-- Ray DiZazzo


message 47: by Jessica (new)

Jessica (jessicalia) | 1 comments Void and wandering
The rings on your fingers are lies,
You don’t nessearily know that
The dots inside your eyes revealed all your deepest secret.
You didn’t notice.
cut out nails and lost eye lashes had star-dust in them,
We both decided to ignore that.
darkness under eyes
Talks about broken dreams.

We couldn’t hide them.
Gravity didn’t matter
Because we stopped living long back.
We wait in forever earning
To die or to hide.
Words are mistaken all over the world.
You sighed.
~Jessica Islam Lia


message 48: by Anisha (new)

Anisha Baid Let go.

Lock the doors, turn the key, The wave is coming, from the shores, I can see It is violent and pink and blue and white, Bring out the armour, and prepare to fight. The wave is coming, marching with the beat, And you must avenge your last defeat, So you will resist, until you sink, Into the ocean, washed of all existential ink. The door is made of wood; the locks are dust and stone, The wave now surrounds you, you’re out here alone. Again, again, it’s here, you’re left to die. To be born again, to think again, left alone to cry. To make believe, and fight out the same perils, Trample mountains and build on molehills Those wondrous monuments were built in vain, All gritty design, washed away in the rain. After all this time, you should’ve known better. You should have survived, been stronger, faster Oh, haven’t you learnt, in the years that have gone? And won’t you realize, for aeons to come? That the wave lies around you as you lie, To yourself, to the world, the harder you try. The wave is here, waiting to be let loose, It’s been watching, and all your cheap tricks it knows. For as long as you exist outside, the wave will defeat you, It will snatch your petty ideals, and twists your flimsy stars too, Unless you live in yourself, and learn to float, Do not resist and you’ll find your boat. To carry you through the waves of change, Take you forward, to the nameless and strange. Live inside, gather your thoughts and pack your bags. Leave the world, your ideals; your drags. Don’t fret to leave your marks on the sand, For the wave will wash away all prints of your hand. So leave nothing behind, let nothing go to waste, Take what you have learnt, but you must make haste. For the wave can’t wait, it’s just outside your door. Prepare now, to set out in search of more, And let go, Let go.

Anisha Baid


message 49: by Dave (new)

Dave | 382 comments POWER KERNELS

Break down the elements, split them
To non-existence;
Then shatter all solidity's illusions,
Free impulses
Beyond the viscous mind, still feeling hard
By vanity's gas upholstered.

And then, for happiness's definition,
Shut the door;
Relax, and don't be squeamish;
For every grit of teeth, a pull of trigger,
A sear, a cloud . . .

Then, if the bacillus, the charge
Breaks through even your filter-screen,
Then paper barrier that defines
Your victims and yourselves . . .

And you, amoebae, become specimens
Now that your brainchild ogres
Have outstepped the frames of will;

Oh super-brains! Limp, flapping squids;
Now that youve burst your crainial canisters,
Now that you've blundered on the combination
To open up the vault
Wherein you case your muffled
Conscience-bleats
to soothing, doped oblivion;

Did you first conquer all remorse, all fear,
Destroy all that might have the power to save?

And will you now be laid low, by yourselves,
Even denied all retribution's flames,
All instantaneous dignity?

Oh ones still solid, cynicism's crust
Thickens and stifles, yet absorbs,
Driving life's final spark to desperation;
No scope to flash
Without full-voiding all outside itself.

Oh loosen now your halters,
Clean growth, no fission-cancers,
Live now; be novae

DAVID RUSSELL


message 50: by [deleted user] (new)

Flower song


White lilies of joy
When will you unlock
Your ever closed
Petals of desire?

Black roses of hate
When will you bloom
And release
Your eternal fire?

Red scarlets of love
When will you grow
On borders
Not so cold?

Or will you forever
Wither alone
In this world
That had me fooled?



Bo Jonas Lindberg


« previous 1 3 4 5 6
back to top
This topic has been frozen by the moderator. No new comments can be posted.