Poetry

i think about?

peaceful mom — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 18:19:09 GMT

I think about life and everything that's in it ,

I think about the people in my life that care for me

I think about how much i care for them

I think about in the people in the world ,that they have nothing

I think about they do have something called love

I think about when people lock their hearts away from the world forever

I think about forever is a long time in life

I think about forever could be as close as tomorrow

I think about tomorrow ,anything is possible

I think about everything that does happen ,if we see or not

I think about the unknown ,stills happens

I think about if we don't see it ,how do we know it happen

I think about we just have to believe in unknow things

I think about life and the journeys we all take in life

I THINK ABOUT LIFE ,I LOVE THE THINGS THAT I THINK ABOUT

personal poetry post

wildhorse — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 16:18:47 GMT

It's Not About You...

I hung a picture on the wall today filling that space with color and feeling ...it let me display the me I was concealing...it was of horses running free and it was not about you ~ it was more about me.

I listened to a song today feeling the words fill me with hope anew ...and it wasn't about loss or even about you...it was about making it on my own ~ it was more about me and just being alone.

I wrote a poem today allowing myself to purge the hurt, dump the pain ...to just let it go to start over again...it was about me and the dreams I know to be true ~ it was about my future ~

and it wasn't about you.

The End of a Restaurant

Flozell — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 05:50:06 GMT

My favorite restaurant closed today

At least I noticed today

No more sandwiches at break time,

No more lemonades at end

My favorite restaurant closed today

I have to drive by that now vacant place everyday

And I think about the people that owned it.

I think about the hard decision they had to make to pull the plug

Can you pull the plug on your dream, after living it for years and years?

It must be hard.

I'd like to think that they are at a better place

Kinda like when someone or something dies

One thinks, they went to a better place

A busier intersection, maybe a busier place in town

So many memories I have of eating there.

So many times I've gone

It's over

My favorite restaurant closed today

My favorite restaurant is done.

-Flozell

The Importance of Election Day

Flozell — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 05:24:06 GMT

The Importance of Election Day

I wake up to the sound of SRV that my phone sings to me.

It's early, it's my day off, why did I set my alarm so early?

Election Day! It's Election Day!

After today we will know who will go and who will stay.

After today there will be no more phone calls, propaganda, no more anything, it's Election day!

I head to the shower, I am starved.

I want eggs with bacon, waffles with too much butter on them, I want sausages with syrup, and pancakes with jam, pancakes with jam, pancakes with jam!

I want it all.

I head to the kitchen and begin stirring and mixing, blending and kissing my finger tips when I get them covered in jam.

Chopping and dicing, smearing and slicing, I am finally done!

Why did I wake so early today?

I must have been dreaming of pancakes; yes, dreaming of pancakes with jam.

-Flozell

Panic Attack

serenityjs — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 02:38:54 GMT

This is you as seen by them,

Undone, forsaken, broken, in tiny pieces

scattered amidst the graves of insanity.

Time, god's own nakedness, has revealed

the truth.

There is a quiet noise that screams

inside my head ,but I am asleep.

Comatose, Catatonic, confused

I wonder about the stones as the

darkness hides in mid afternoon.

My smile, plastic, painted like a portrait

on a face of glass. I vent openly,

sobbing as harrowing flashbacks invade

the tiny spaces in limbo. In my hands

I hold the stethoscope of terror, taunting

suffocating, inside unable to breathe

the memories in.

Panic seizes the night as shards of words

pierce the secrets, packaged in beautiful

boxes with colorful bows, deception, as

the unquestionable odor of death escapes.

The darkness has become a forest of words

in which I loose myself. I stutter and advance

in slow motion as I miss an o clock passing,

and miss now.

Me, my friend, my foe, and my opposite

all emerge as one in a bottomless black

hole. The way out is lost, hidden, covered

by madness.

The End

MR.SPD — Tue, 16 Jan 2007 14:06:48 GMT

The End

They say that the end is coming.

They say that the end is near.

Our judgment day

And dark dismay

Will very soon be here.

They say the dark is coming.

They say the dark is strong.

Our judgment day

And dark dismay

Will be here before long.

They say the reaper's coming.

They say the reaper's sharp.

Our judgment day

And dark dismay

Will hand us horns or harp.

I say the end is coming.

I say the end is nigh.

But why waste my life

Fearing my final strife?

Too much to do 'fore I say 'Good-bye.'

UNSPOKEN

NEOPHYTE — Sun, 29 Oct 2006 18:58:00 GMT

Unspoken

Freckled yellow,
a crimson leaf
eludes gravity,
pirouettes and careens,
tumbling in flight
until succumbing
to land
upon blades iced white.

I eye up to its wooden womb
that bore it not just through birth,
but existence.
Misers of vitality,
the leaf’s brethren cling
in prismatic protest
to expiring essences
suckling the dried teats
of a sapless mother.

Instead of Gaia,
I’m reminded of words
Not the kind that stain parchment
which pale in comparison
to the resonance and emotions
of human chords
but those that never came to being:
Ones that budded in the mind,
meant for a moment,
yet, through reservations,
stemming from fear of pride.
tugged at the tongue,
denied,
truncated away
for another season
maybe a different day.

As the arctic breaths
pull the leaves
one after another
into a dancing decline.
Each one whispers
echoes of the past
utterances of missed opportunities:
“I’m sorry,” comes from an orange
“Don’t go,” from a red
“I’m proud of you.”
“I have faith in you.”
“I love you.”
Regrets that pang my soul
and I know
I do not wish
the sum of my scattered remains
to be a pile of words --
unspoken.

Lament For The Absence Of Content

Christina333 — Thu, 16 Mar 2006 05:24:05 GMT

The anorexic thinness of a smile,

goes well with threadbare tee shirts; argyle knits.

With broken wings it hangs there for a while,

wanting the inside out; a thrift store pile.

The seeds of sounds through headphones still transmit,

the anorexic thinness of a smile.

In darkling dreams the soul begat black bile,

and left a vacancy; an open split.

With broken wings it hangs there for a while;

a purple bloom, a Lily of the Nile.

Cast not your probing gaze lest you admit,

the anorexic thinness of a smile.

The photographs are wounds in art school style.

A pain cut deep has ruptured from its slit.

With broken wings it hangs there for a while;

a radio that’s broken off its dial.

Black liner runs; a cigarette is lit.

The anorexic thinness of a smile;

with broken wings it hangs there for a while.

My Father's Guitar

guyfmga — Thu, 06 Apr 2006 15:53:31 GMT

My Father’s Guitar

I saw it

Standing in a corner

Of his closet

Out of the way and

Safe from small hands.

Its tone

Of golden softness

Blended with thrumming notes

And melodic voice

As he strummed

The unforgettable tunes

Of the old country.

How I yearned to deliver it

From darkened recess

And to entice the music

From its memory.

Oh, how I longed to hear its

Song once more.

But I cannot make it sing

For I never learned.

Perhaps what I truly want

Is to hear my father play it

Like he used to

Before heaven called him home.

Untitled #30

AlanaMortensen — Fri, 26 May 2006 19:42:52 GMT

Untitled #30
-For Shaun.

“Thief immortal,
Claim me as yours?”

To be forever by your side
I want to be

Lifeless within life
Roaming beyond this time

Lost to the days
Hidden within shadows
Deepening this soul’s despair

The years gone by
In darkness
Robbed without end

Nothing remains
Stumbling within darkness
Sightless and night-blind
The night inside transforms
Into the light of day

Behold the sun’s rays
Warm upon this winter chilled skin
As you awaken my senses
With a touch
Or a word whispered

You are the thief of my heart
Steal me from the death within
And bestow your gifts upon me
The gift of passion awakened
To live always within you

Alana

"Something To Say"

M.E. Stucky — Sun, 14 May 2006 21:32:37 GMT

Again there it is again. Guitar maybe, maybe not still it strums the heart and it sinks him down low. It's good to be low - so low - slow and low. Eyes open barely wide enough for light to pass through lashes and there she is. Is she? No of course not. Of course - no.

Eyes close and there she is. She can't hide - he can't hide from her even in his mind. Breathing one breath hold it. Stop breathing just long enough to die. Sleeping would be oh so damned nice if just once pray it be twice. To sleep to forget to open eyes to a new world a world free of pain a world where - where she isn't.

Such a terrible thought! Lips curl and brows furrow. She can't go; don't you let her go. Hurting is good; anything is good when it's got something of her in it. Hold it still hold her deep never ever let her go not even in bits of sleep.

One eye opens she isn't there. Look around. My God she is gone. She didn't leave time to speak. Words should have stayed her. Words if only words had come to save her. Nose burns and eyes water if only words had done to keep her.

One eye closes lips parting - waiting for words, words leaving him just as quickly as they had seemed ready to spill. Every moment she tempts his soul on toward her madness quiet sadness not so bad this deep blue madness. Not so hard this place of bliss. If only words had come in time. If - only - if.

One eye opens and words stay inside. Wrapping around behind his eyes they laugh run to hide they won't stop taunting his tongue. Maybe these are the right ones. Just as quickly as before they conspire to abandon him.

She left so why not her words with her? Why not - all together? Why should they stay on when she - when she has gone. What need has he for words anyway? Would they make her come? Could they make her stay?

What need of words? Ephraim rubs his head feels sweat's cooled granules coating his brow and wishes for a ride. He'd do anything for a ride.

Space and Time fill his dreams as he rests his head against the bench and again simpler thoughts slip silently by never lighting on his tongue. Simpler thoughts teasingly catch at the fabric of his mind every time he rests seldom and never for long. Ephraim listens thus endlessly on for words he is beginning to think will never come.

Smiling she meets him with whispers she greets him and her hands guide his own. Ephraim smiles too creasing the sweat and dust staining his face. He wakes his smiles turning to frowns for letting her go is the hardest come down. The daylight delights in pains slapping him around again.

Something to say something he should have told her. Something pulls him slowly apart inside every time she walks through his mind and lately she has taken to coming by whenever his eyes are closed.

One eye opens only one and there's a kid smiling up from his bicycle. It's a red stingray chrome head light and chrome fenders. The kid waves. One eye closes. She smiles and he knows that pain again.

Something needs saying but it lies in wait helping his pain. She speaks. An eye opens. Ephraim watches them talk as if they are puppets shadow puppets telling their stories to sleepy eyed children on a hot autumn's afternoon.

"There it is," says the first one.

"Yeah?" answers the second.

They sit across the aisle on the bus and they talk about catching trains.

"Yeah I caught a freight from Vancouver here last month. Got stopped here right the hell here and then the damned thing turned back to the South!" says the first.

"No s***?" asks the second.

"No s***," says the first "spent three days in this hole waiting to catch another ride north."

"No s***?" asks the second.

"No s***."

One eye closes and Ephraim rolls his head away trying to ignore them. Nothing to say they've got not one of his words.

Hailstones fall and an eye opens as she slides away another eye looks to see ice dancing across the ground. Beer smells and somewhere someone sells "Hot Bowled Peanuts get yer Hot Bowled Peanuts!"

"This is it, off the bus at last."

_________________________________________________________________________

The following poetic-prose is off my website, www.thoughtup.com

Michael, just a run-through, in Seattle.

More Than a Thousand

gabe_gregoire — Fri, 21 Apr 2006 22:21:26 GMT

They may ask you

How many coward's deaths

You've died

Or where your mother lives

You'll have plenty of time to think

While you're waiting to be free

And later

Far from suicide-proof rooms

and beige corridors

You'll stand

And give your answer

Which will take the form

Of a shout

Like the one you gave

From the opposite bank

For Josh and Jason

To pick up your clothes

And pick you up

On Town Farm Road

Where you'd be walking home

Feet and soul bare

On the gravel shoulder

And if they had never arrived

If you had walked through fields alone

You would have cried

But this time

You'll leave the tears

To someone else

Gabriel N. Gregoire

Virginia Beach 2006

3:28 A.M.

pnugent — Sun, 02 Apr 2006 22:07:32 GMT

3:28 A.M.

We slept tonight

woven together like

hemp

in a basket of love

You like a babe

gathered in my arms

enfolded

protected and cherished

Our naked warmth

the continuing

reward

of love well made

Occasionally, gently

I roam the moonlit

‘scape

of your body

Your mounds and valleys

satin-like skin

soft

you stir a little, I stop

You wake, “I have to go”

You re-dress, it’s

finished

You return, turned over

But it’s only an intermission

We’ll love again

together

Our naked warmth to return

“Never Me”

AlanaMortensen — Thu, 30 Mar 2006 09:10:25 GMT

“Never Me”

upon innocence
turmoil abounds within
warm-heartedness
problem presented
answer sought

burnt alive inside life
shattered and broken
chosen weakness
solution found

life taken
by my own hand
an end
to mortality

“Never Me”
a promise made
in youth

sightless and alone
driven
to this promise
broken

callous and numb
a marionette
living life
upon the threads
of manipulated life

Sunset Rising

tyler_giusti — Sat, 25 Feb 2006 09:36:03 GMT

A poem I just made...

Sunset Rising

I sat outside yesterday

Just to see what you would say

To see if all those things you said rang true

I was sitting there, upside-down

Feet faced up, head to the ground

I watched as morning sky turned blue

I felt blood rush to my head

I wondered surely I should be dead

But the day's not over yet we'll see

The birds they chirped and clouds ran by,

And I started thinking if I could fly,

Would I ever come back to this old tree?

I stopped trying to figure this out

And sure enough, I forgot about

All those things you said to me before

My mind was soaring through trees

With the dandelions and bumblebees

Surfing along from shore to distant shore

I saw again how nice things were

When you didn't care if you let things blur

And how simple happiness could be

I lost track of the ticking time

Of the dreaded clock in the world of mine

In this world where I fit in so perfectly

And among the hills I saw my life

Free of danger, free of strife

I saw the perfect life in my mind

It was sitting there where I could grasp

But I did not stare 'cause It would last

It was right there in a place I could always find

But then I lapsed out of my dream

Of a perfect world in harmony

And back into my life of dispair and woe

I cursed the earth and I punched the branch

I screamed real loud why did I miss the chance

I should have taken that perfect life I found

Now I had to live in misery

What happened to my only harmony?

I couldn't look at the sky so I decided to face the ground

To my surprise what did I find?

A thousand ants all in a line

And they all lived in harmony

What did they know that I did not?

Then I found it was quite a lot

They knew how to live in simplicity

It was then I decided as I looked to the west

If I was simpler that would be best

Just with a complex thought from time to time

I took a breath, dropped from the tree

Started seeing what I could see

In this imperfect world in a perfect mind of mine

Oh... I just noticed you can attach files (I haven't been on the site in months) Oh well...