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BlockThe words aren't coming
The flow has stopped
The spindle runs thin
The flowers cropped
The letters dropped
Hand on her chest
Wishing she wasn't
Entwined in this mess
The honored guest
To maritial ties
All too late
To bid her goodbyes
StructureI'm not a fan of structured poems, at least
When they're imposed on me, like subtle frames
Of written code which keep each line the same
The trapped voice a bird that yearns for release
Allow the flame to grow, please free the beast
Don't snuff the candle's fickle, frozen flame
Set meter and rhyming, you are to blame
Rendering my creativity deceased
But for you, I'll accept the forms you wish
Consume, swallow words with a grain of salt
My heart, wrapped in paper, I'll give to you
In a stanza, a line, or a swish
Of reason, confining words to a fault
Just don't think you're the only one who knew
Lucid - WIPI'm lying here on a table. Nothing but the sweet hum of machinery, both around and within me. They'd mentioned something beforehand about my hearing. Something about sensitivity that wouldn't hurt in higher decibel ranges.
My hand twitches to touch my new ear, but it remains limp by my side, paralyzed. I think they'd mentioned something about the risk of muscle atrophy in low-gravity environments. Something like that.
I'm hearing my heartbeat now. It's strange to hear such an organic sound in this sterile environment. If I cut myself, would I still bleed red? Or had they replaced my blood with a substitute? Was it still red, or another, foreign color?
With a slight click, a bright light switches itself on from overhead, illuminating the capillaries in my eyelids. Still red...
Squinting, I try to turn my head, but my neck won't obey me. As if reading my though
Ghost of the PastEver been haunted by a ghost of the past? You know, those recurring memories of a time long gone, the ones that float uninvited into your head? Maybe it's triggered by a memento, or a visit to a sacred place, or the mere mention of a name. The moment relives itself in your head, then disappears, leaving you with only a scrap of cloth or a pressed flower to remember.
But what if these ghosts aren't really ghosts at all? What if they're still living, breathing creatures? Maybe you never see them anymore. Maybe you live too far apart. Maybe you see each other on a daily basis, but you both pretend the other no longer exists. Maybe you're enemies, or even friends. Either way, you've both made an unspoken pact to never speak of the moment again. In a vain attempt to smother the memory alive, you flood it with fresh oxygen, fresh consciousness upon which it can feed.
Is it better this way?
PerfectionistsA writer in a group of artists
Is hardly a place to fit in
In a glance, one can admire a picture
But writing takes much longer to sink in
We've all learned our native language
But not all have picked up a pen
Yet sketching is somehow extraordinary
Simply because not everyone can
We can both stare at a vase for hours
Yet come up with an empty slate
And our details of realization
Rarely come sooner, but late
For despite our apparent differences
Our goal is the same: to learn
And only by way of practice
Can this mastery of skill be earned
LifewishA mourning dove hobbled across the road
And I wondered, "Why didn't it fly?"
Does the pleasure of crossing the pavement by foot
Outweigh the risks if it should die?
Maybe the bird remains ignorant
That a passing car could lead to his demise
Unsure of the dangers in the world of man
With no sense of fear in his eyes
Or perhaps he is simply cocky
As he struts across the road in pride
Knowing all vehicles will stop their procession
In order to let him pass by
But I, for one, think he enjoys it
In the way a human walks instead of drives
So the next time you see a bird walking
Maybe you should be the one he walks beside
ScrapVersion 2.0 is ready
The beta is complete
Its release date is tomorrow
And I've heard it will be l33t
This one's fully moddable
No need to deal with flaws
And it's piracy-protected
So you can't break the law
The calendar is built-in
You'll remember all your dates
And the autopilot feature
Will ensure you won't be late
It's compatible with everything
The computer, the tv, the phone
And it'll download all your contacts
So you'll never feel alone
But if you choose not to upgrade
You'll be alienated, at best
Your communication will be archaic
And your accuracy, second-guessed
This isn't really an option
Conform now, or be scrapped
Humanity is overrated
Believe me, the entire brain's been mapped
We've discovered all your problems
And fixed them, one by one
Even those pesky emotions
We've sparked the revolution
NephelaeToday is a sad day.
Why is the sun shining?
I thought the sky was supposed to reflect emotion
Like a heaven-mirror
Answering the prayers of the living
In the form of precipitation
Are the clouds our gods now?
They are notably absent
In this clear sky
An expanse filled with light
*Nonsense Poem*Leprechaun and Will o' the wisp
Exchanged a simple magical kiss
Decided to go and hunt for gold
'twas in cauldren black and old
Consulted nearby fairy folk
Who revealed it was a joke
Rainbows sometimes hide away
Waiting for a rainy day.
Now that is patently a lie
Rainbow magic in the sky
Fairy folk, mischievous lot
Really do not give a jot.
Leprechaun and Will o' the wisp
One celtic morning in the mist
Played hide and seek, then they found
Gold bullion spread upon the ground.
Laughter rang out true and loud
Fairy folk were feeling cowed
Gold was placed beneath rainbow
Rain driven day, a silent glow
Congratulations AbbieThis is dedicated to Carol okay and Abbie (big smiles)
I have a friend who can draw the greatest of art.
She can draw anything, you just ask and she'll start.
The other thing about my talented friend,
is you are always surprised at what you see in the end.
So also know this about my friend and I think its a beaut.
She doesn't understand how talented she is now that is a hoot.
The other thing about my friend is she does like the Owl.
But to write a poem for her and not them did not seem quite as fowl.
Orange and lemonAnonymous poem: Orange and lemon
went hand in hand orange and lemon all the people walked across the balcony
They ran all the people sung a song and so very tired volviero orange and lemon
Well this is my first published literature "Orange and Lemon" and I hope you like it and comment or else orange and lemon it will eat you all night ... lol well not really but I hope you liked it bye!
I Do Not Have a SisterDedicated to Carol
I do not have a sister. I know that much for sure.
But when I am feeling down or lonely she comes knocking at my door.
How do I know it is not my sister, it is her arms you see.
They are the only part of her to come and hug to cheer me.
She cannot be my sister and I am only being logical.
Those hugs come at the very best times and I know that they're magical.
I know she is not my sister but she always gets me thinking...
She gets those arms so very long, do they take forever shrinking?
The Noble Bachelor: Lord St. SimonA/N: “Lady St. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such person."
Lord St. Simon
(A name handy for rhymin’)
Was worried about his kin and his kith
Finding out his missus was a myth.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.Everything was so swell,
Disparaging comments aside.
I was madly in love,
But you were here just for the ride.
You told me to shut up.
You slammed the door
And I had enough.
I thought that you knew me.
I guess I was wrong.
I was more so than I should ever be.
But it's okay in the long run.
You said that I was weak.
But who's the one who has won?
You said I was weak, but I am strong enough
Rocking chairs make an odd sort of noise
When they are disturbed.
They are perturbed babies
Squealing for food.
That doesn't mean that I don't like rocking in them.
They just remind me of what never can be.
Memories of things that you robbed from me.
Wipe. Wipe. Wipe.
It doesn't matter.
dead dog julyI.
the summer heat lays limp in the city’s lap,
breathing long oppressive breaths.
it does not even lift its lolling head
to bark out hoarse indignancy
when a strange man brings the mail.
there might be heavy rain today,
brought by some swollen, murmuring cloud.
the world will whirl and howl,
then settle down,
to die a little more.
o, quickly, love,
press your back against the wall in fear
as the universe spreads her arms and
shuts her eyes
and starts to summon the end of all things.
come with me
to the place of windows full of speechless afternoon
hot windy whispers of half-formed solutions and resolutions,
sweltering sunlit meadows we’ll wander and then forget.
o quickly, love,
let’s to the season of forgetting
and unwind all of our harshest memories
and fill the universe’s mouth
with mute cotton.
i’ll whisper these words to you some evening
with all my exigency in the hand i rest on your arm—
AndromedaAmongst the darkened skies
Brightened by only starlight
Field & Sea.
Gravity is only an afterthought
Hilltops become ladders into the sky while
Inferior planets stare down upon the Earth
Jealous of such simplicity yet contemplating grandeur.
Keppler only thought of science
Linear, elliptical, movement…
Mythology had no such thoughts
Neptune & Nebulas both inhabit space
Orbiting across the lonely darkness
Probably never worried about mundane things
Questioning their existence
Right now or for all eternity such as us.
Shooting stars make us joyful while
Terminator is an otherworldly spectacle
Unknown to all those hidden in their houses
Various stars await us outside
Waiting to play like we did before
Xenagogue & inviting
Youthful but ancient curiosities.
Zenith induced euphoria continues until daylight…
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