you say i talk too much
then why isn't it enough
why did you crush all of my dreams
or did i do that yesterday?
its becoming all a blurtwisting
tighter and tighter
until i drown in my own tears
can i get off yet?
i lost something the other day
what it was i don't recall
but i think it was important
something i can't live without
wouldn't it be nice
if we only remembered the bad times?
today would always be brighter
like a tear in a volcano
i'm sitting here in this crappy little room
nothing but infomercials in this 130 channel town
life's a stagnant stinking pool
goldfish floating in the toilet
call me crazybut i think the sky is falling
the ground opens up beneath my feet
was it a delayed reaction
from all those embarrassing scenes?
this little room is the cramped center of my world
where i wear a mask and dance upon the bed
until the last spring is busted
i'll get my quarters worth
i laugh at all the jokes you tell me
as tears are falling in my head
you say i should get counseling
who the hell do you think you are?
i got somebody else's luggage off the plane
how'd they get their socks to match?
none of the clothes fit, i wish they did
much nicer than mine but god, i look stupid in size
50 underwear
the ceiling leaks and the pipes creak
i close my eyes and dream of a sunnier place
where margaritas and chocolate cherries
are served all day on silver trays
yeh, yeh, i'm not living in reality
but my life is more real than your's anyday
down and dirty, i shoot the shit
if it comes to that, with myself
i guess i'm destined to spend my life
looking out stained windows in little nowhere motels
clothes too big, bed too small
trying to pretend i've never done it before
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Emotions
Are found in mirrors.
You feel them -
You see them straight forward.
So clearly
A frown,
A smile,
Maybe even a tear.
Mirrors unfold emotions.
Close your ears,
Silence your mind
But look into a mirror.
Honesty appears.
A face can be blank
For only so long.
Emotions -
Are found in mirrors....
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AUTHOR of this poem.
In the shadowns of the moonlight
My eyes search to follow your sight.
Silently you gaze across the sea shore,
As if it's your last open door.
I watch as you walk out into the calm blue sea,
The chill of the water never slowing your destiny.
You shed your clothes, freeing them to float away,
Knowing without them, you have no need to stay.
I find myself running wildly toward you,
Screaming your name, seeing what you're about to do.
You never look back as you dive through the waves,
And I lose sight of the person I tried to save.
Tears falling, I drop down on the cold wet sand,
As I see something slowing drift back to land.
Reaching down, I gently hold up your shirt,
Holding it close to my heart as it drips with dirt.
I look out across the water that has swallowed you,
And suddenly I felt what you already knew -
It had taken you home to a place so safe and kind,
I smile softly, realizing what I need to find.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
In the early morning light
The sky looks down to greet me
Good Morning and I marvel at its sight.
The rays of the sun cover me
Like a homemade grandma kind of quilt,
Comforting my fears that try to break free.
The day before me will challenge my weakness
Like a lion stalks his prey in the dark forest,
As his stomach growls from the hunger he possesses.
A few clouds find their way above me
Making a double of me with my shadow
And helps me to escape from the powers at be.
The night has come and the sky is dark with thought
Its blackness hiding my shadow, giving me permission
To slip back to the comfort that I have always sought.
Quickly my soul begins to come alive to the sky above
Like a slow motion replay of a flower opening in the
wind,
The darkness covering me, protecting me with its calm
love.
While others rest their minds and dream of tomorrow
I will stay awake, planning my careful escape once
again
To a place where only the real me can go - alone -
to grow.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
I stand on the heaving deck once more
and feel the sea breeze upon my face
and look upon the calm blue ocean,
to reminisce of these won't replace
the sensations I have had before
of sailing upon the ocean deep,
feeling underfoot the gentle swells
that would easily rock me to sleep.
There were days of tumultuous rage
upon the angry, briny sea,
even these cannot make be forget
with fondness, the calling plea....
Come back and ride upon my waves
I'll carry you to distant shore,
I'll show you all the foreign ports,
and you'll feel the gentle swells once more.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Study the sky, watch the white
richness billow and puff,
ever changing moisture
become quiet scenes of fluff.
Let your mind's eye wander
over the panoramic view,
will them to become a portrait
then change to something new.
Whether they are high billowing
piling cloud upon cloud,
or rolling, racing, chasing
darkness of threatening shroud.
We can see what we desire,
enjoy each wispy refrain
drawn on heavenly canvas,
or just run from the rain.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
(This one is about a subject very close to my heart, my Vietnam experience).
I carry a heavy burden in my soul
and wander through the rest of my life
not knowing where or how to reconcile
the horrible events silently filed away
in the dark recesses of my mind’s compartments.
Many scenes of war reside there
crying out to be replayed
as an acknowledgement of reality
begging to be completed with
the promise never to haunt me again.
Small slices of scenes have played
across my mind from time to time
darting fleetingly through consciencesness
to tease and torment me slowly
that which I am afraid to view in totality.
I have no peace to offer my mind
nor rest of the haunting question
that chases ghostly round and round,
“Why were my brothers killed and why am I not with
them?”
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AUTHOR of this poem.
A hillside in vibrant color ablaze
feels the warm caress of sunshine fingers
stroke every tree, bush and rock in its path
as the sun smoothly rolls across the sky.
Warm sunshine fades low into the evening
as the sun is buried below the western rim,
still smoothly rolling across the heavens
as somewhere else fades low into the western sky.
Look around yourself and see nature's wonders,
see the tiny details of God's intended creation,
placed here with loving care each tree,
bush and rock by His authority.
The sun keeps pace in its orbit
around the never ending galaxy of space,
and yet making room for another world
created by God's powerful word.
He knows every detail of all He made,
each person belonging to which family,
He knows the eternal order of things...
We are
His and He is ours.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Fly to the top of the blazing mountain
admire all the colors along the way,
its that time to change the plumage
autumn sees to it with each sun’s ray.
The climbing forest is ablaze in color
each tree and bush as if a flaming torch,
fire colors of orange, red and yellow
seems so hot, if touched they would scorch.
Each tree becomes the painter's brush
as if dipped into the palette of dye,
I do love admiring the fire of autumn
a sight so very pleasing to the eye.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Lonely and cold, in the dinginess of the cave,
Fastened tight to a stout pole,
With ropes curled around my feeble body...
Like snakes spitting venom at their hapless victims,
In mortal fear and writhing pain,
I lay in torturous wait for my tormentors.
Not five, not fifty, but hundreds of them,
Slashing swords and swishing canes,
They rushed in like bees from a hive,
Their hearts bursting with fury,
Against their defenceless prey.
Left to right, right to left, their hands they moved,
Their whips and canes found their destinations
Upon my fragile body.
Blood oozed from a thousand wounds,
They bruised me afresh, rejoicing at my pain,
But never a tear did I shed,
Facing upto my agony with courage.
No, this is neither folklore nor fantasy,
It is the life of a dumb animal
Tortured by the lashing whip of its master.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Is laughter always with tears mixed?
Is love always with tears mixed?
For an answer I seek...
As pain sears through my heart.
Love....thou art a thief...
That robbed me of my naivete, my freedom;
That snatched my body and my soul away from me,
Donot peep, cause my treasure trove is empty.
Love... thou gave me a pain...
Of a magnitude never known before.
Thou demand of my person...
More than I possess!
But donot spare me sweet love...
Let me revel in your splendour;
Let me reflect your glow on my cheek,
Let me drink the pleasure in pain;
And devour the pain in pleasure.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
hearts apart
at the start
hearts together
now and forever
the love we hold
will never grow old
connected together
like a bird and feather
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Death calls me
asking me to come forward
walking with me side by side
like old friends on a stroll
it's deceptively calm
seemingly peaceful
walking hand in hand with death
instead of fighting
fighting for life
day turns to night
being lead away from the light
turn away, turn away
face the light
but it's painfully bright
it's easier to shy away
slink down into the dark
slip quitely into the night
for the battle is lost
and the eternal end is near
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Life is cold
love grown old
slipping away
slowly each day
in the end
nothing left to mend
their time is gone
love was the pawn
and the game's been played
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Dancing between light and dark
seen but never touched
always out of reach
no heart or soul
a hollow existance
you will never really know me
but I will be with you always.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Hired gun
on the run
fighting a war
to even the score
souls gone cold
death is old
shoot to kill
no longer a thrill
lay down your gun
for the war is won
now the hardest part
time to heal your heart
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AUTHOR of this poem.
I am a Phoenix
rising from my own wake
dark cleansed in the virgin flames
and burned chrome-bright.
I am Lazarus
casting off my robes of death
shedding the translucent skins
of many different hours.
I am Persephone
slipping from the pomegranate grasp
of winter brimstone
into the irony of spring.
I am Michelle
rolling the stone from my tomb,
up mountain after mountain,
to come again to you.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
When I was 16 and broken
by things I never understood,
and after some fight we'd had
over boys or clothes or phones,
you would take me down to Baskin-Robbins
in the mall and we'd sit on a bench eating
ice cream and say nothing at all.
Now you are 87 and broken
by age and her death,
and we don't fight, there are too many years
between those speaking silences
of ice cream forgiveness
and love.
I know now
that ice cream was a metaphor
for pain that slowly melts, the taste of it
sweet, cold anger on my tongue.
You taught me more about hope
in long silences between countless strawberry cones
than I ever learned in the nineteen years since.
I watch you flicker past me now
in and out of the shadow of the valley of death
to accept spoonfuls of the forbidden past
I smuggled past the nurse guards.
I don't know if you remember,
but as you journey on without me
in that longest silence,
know that I will never forget.
and for whatever parts of me are whole;
they were glued together by poignant silences
of ice cream on a bench in the mall.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Mountain laurel twists its way down
the broken side of the Cove.
There is a cabin there, remember,
behind it, deeper into the laurel than daylight,
a stream, swift, deep in places--
with a flat shelf of rock above it
wrapped in a bed of moss so green-thick,
so like plush velvet.
We made love there,
chilled to the bone
from a silly dive, mid-July,
into that cold, biting water.
If you touch me now,
touch me with those hands,
the ones wet with mountain springs;
shimmering rainbows lighting
each caress, shaking from passion
as much as cold.
If you kiss me now,
kiss me with those lips,
the ones that broke themselves
calling my name in the hoarser moments of sex.
If you ache for me now,
ache for me the way you did then,
without caution for eyes that might find us
entwined, new made, flushed and open.
If you remember me,
let it be that me...let it be this me
the one who is both women--
lost between the two...lose yourself
in me...and in laurel, twisting itself
down upon us on our green moss bed.
Let that be the me you hold now.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Rise and shine!!! Wake up, sleepy-head!!!
(.....oh....god.....)
What a beeeee-autiful morning!!!! Ready for some breakfast?
(...oh god....please....kill her...no, kill me,
first.....)
Mmmmmm!!! Hear the birdies? They sound WONDERFUL, yes?!!!
(....birdies..BIRDIES?...how many would fit
in your ass...oh god...)
Mind if I raise the blinds, love? Ahhhh, SUNSHINE!!!!
(...god? you still sleeping, you
bastard?...satan...please..kill her..)
Cmon, morning-glory! Smile at me, and I'll bring you
breakfast in bed...Cmon...just a little-teeny smile?
(...i'm going to get up....oh yes...and get a
nail-gun....a claw-hammer...and a
blow-torch....oh yes....)
There's that smile! But not enough of one, tho...Uh
oh! Here comes the tickle-monster!!!
LET ME SLEEP, DAMMIT!!!! GO AWAY!!!!
Oh my, grumpy...you really want to sleep? Are you sure?
Are you.......sure?......really?
I JUST WANT.....ummmmm......hmmmmm.....
You want what...this?....or this?....mmmmm.....
oh my...OH MY! (...god? satan? umm..hey,
guys...forget all that stuff i said earlier...)
...See? I TOLD you it was a good morning!
Yes, love....good morning!
By Michelle Leasure (m'chelebug)
and William Firesheets (GrimBeeper
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Can't stand you
hawking your wares
in front of me
another parade
confetti crop dusted
no winning teams, or GI march
just me, trying to exorcise you
I take a bullet
in the brain for you,
the least I can do,
roto tillers might take out
my short term memory,
and drugs, hell, I might
like 'em, and you
perhaps would be
bearable, and that
is unmentionable
I take the bullet in the brain for you
cheaper than a divorce twice as clean,
twice as fast two times the speed of sound
two times too much past
I let that little lead bug
termite around
bite and fleece you out,
those slugs can give a
mean emotional tennis match
burning and serving up
past displays of your kindness
to the scrolling backdrops
my manic modes and depressive
cycle overloads
I let that little lead bug
ferret your presence
from my blanket of thought
bleeding your colors mute
bullet whittles my memory down
another soap sculpture; me
alone, I am most happy
alone, the irony, of my life,
being so happy alone,
I wish for someone to share this with,
I pray for rain,
and the absolution it brings
washing my sculpture away
cleaning the pedestal flat
a new beginning perhaps,
or another cycle,
I am hopeless.
Lou de Miguel (DarkSmoke)
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AUTHOR of this poem.
That maw,
black mouth liberty,
words, mutiny
bone filet, brawl
curb crawl,
their way out
systolic syllables leapfrog,
slap walls, echo,
fall forward firm footprint begets handgrip
they are in control
they animate
the lips,
you see
movement
before you,
my O-ring
possessed,
you see
their language
destroys you
look at you
sputtered
or shattered,
don’t you realize
the words
are their own master
they playground
and ride slides,
swings too,
but mostly they pinch
kick and poke away
us black and blue
they want attention,
you only see them
when they misbehave,
the stragglers left, are bullies
and bandits, stealing, what remains,
your children, of my seed
bleed us dry to the bone,
beginnings of our end,
nothing left of us,
but words,
hard as stone.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
The Moon
so pulling
our strings
only bind us
when she reminds us
how close we are
to animals...
Like a shimmering ball
made up of the finest
crystal - lead ball and chain
she breaks our hearts,
again and again,
spurs us to insanity
to even lycanthropy,
why do you hurt me?
And some unaware
move the lever
which moves the gear,
the cog
set in motion
an action
which cannot be explained
And you find yourself
making an 'X'
across your chest,
with your arms
so snug and tight
in rubberband fury
hardly a whisper escapes,
a very useful bandolier
but there's no bullets there,
no recourse
And the shiny thick
men
introduce you to
the white jacket,
and you think,
it was only a dream,
and you are so scared
you smile, hoping to forget
The Moon, and it's bad influence.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
It starts here,
too many sticky
syllables slide
around,
in my head
my men slip,
they fall,
break
down
No triple ‘A’
or tow truck
will have truck
with them
they are eggshell
thin
translucent
fertile
yet fragile
sneak a peak
inside
you see,
skate rink
ice, shiny, pale
glass, the tracks
from razor triumph
scars of past
lines
defiant
take a look
inside
my rink
my men fall and stall
somehow getting up
no matter what
ails or trips them
it’s scary in here,
we all cry
our national anthem,
a state of disrepair
we barely get by,
we like it,
our blades, incisors sharp,
our minds, clear crispy
cold.
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AUTHOR of this poem.
Little girl
Sitting on a star
Wishing every dream true
Seeing the evil
Through tightly closed eyes
Dress to impress
With the upmost attention
Swing real high
On a two-faced world
Saying nothing matters
But the truth lies
Under the lizards tounge.
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Clear blue skies
Opening up
With unsteady legs
So white, so pure
Yet so unclear
Unsatisfaction is all
I have left
My wide opened eyes
Seing nothing
But blanks
Confusion,
My best friend
Take me away
To where the fairies fly
And the air is so warm
I want to be near you.
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Stand tall, carry yourself with pride
On this inescapable day
You are to be his gentle bride.
Walk delicately to his side
Through the scented petals of May
Stand tall, carry yourself with pride.
Even though you know how he lied
And your bouquet has turned to gray
You are to be his gentle bride.
There is no place for you to hide
The haughty, costumed hounds will bay
Stand tall, carry yourself with pride.
Sadly, after the knot is tied
His song will continue to play
You are to be his gentle bride
Hope lingers still, Love's tears have dried.
Do not let Hurt define your way
Stand tall, carry yourself with pride
You are to be his gentle bride.
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Into the day
and night
ride the creatures
of the nightmare,
when Reason sleeps.
Fear thrives
Love wanes
Suffering grows
Compassion is murdered
Chaos rules -
through the day
and night
heralded by the creatures
of the nightmare,
when Reason sleeps.
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Sun dreams come,
I have no care magic sun beams fill the air...
Summer life, the easy time
when passion does a gentle climb
reaching up to the azure high
of castles built, in a perfect sky.
Scents and colors everywhere
bring to me a wondrous share...
Rosey days and jasmine love
feathers from a rainbow dove
make a restful bed for me
of nature's best, come soft and free.
Tender breezes touch my hair
whispering love words bold and fair...
Words to keep and love to see
sunlit days appear for me
to help me through winter strife
I'll always remember, summer life.
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I am bound within a hurt filled black void,
My pain is devoured by a beast and enjoyed.
He feasts on angry mortals like me.
A hated inflictor of pain is he.
He dwells within the souls of all.
When one body dies another he shall always call.
He is the evil that often drives man insane.
Power from human suffering is his gain.
He hates the dead, but loves to kill.
The dead are no fun, the living are his thrill.
Greed, lust and hatred are his tools.
Our lives are but a game to him, without rules.
Ironically he has more power over the strong than the
weak.
The strong are more susceptible, refusing help from
the meek.
Pride takes over and the beast will prevail.
The rest is an often told miserable tale.
The solemn blackness of which I am bound
Was created by the beast, I may never be found.
His death tainted hands have led me here.
Though as blind as I may be, his intentions are clear.
I am to suffocate here, within my own sorrow.
Pleasuring him today, while I die tomorrow.
Well, I'm angry now and I shall not abide.
From my life I shall no longer hide!
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AUTHOR of this poem.
A mixed realm of fantasy and truth
Brings forth misconception and confusion.
"Matured" minds believe this occurs only in the youth
But of course I know that this is only an illusion.
A fantasy realm often serves as a continual escape
For those whose time and place is not desired.
This paints in the mind quite a surreal landscape
Where worries are ravaged and pain is not required.
A realm of reality, or a realm of actuality
Brings to the mind a depressed adverseness
Where pain and worries are of great practicality,
And to survive calls for purpetual alertness.
When fantasy and truth are combined,
The mind becomes a chaotic mess
Where absolutely nothing is defined
And all certainty has become a guess!!!
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