Poem That Cannot Be TitledImagine if you will, a world without this sinPoem That Cannot Be Titled9 years ago in Open More Like This
This hideous sin that hurts and wounds so thoroughly.
Imagine if you can, no one evermore screaming through a hateful hand in vain.
Imagine if you want, that nevermore will a selfish penetration consume an innocent soul
A blinding selfish act that plunges us into the frigid cold of confusion.
Imagine with all your might, we need keep no more secrets, and our shame need never be.
Imagine if you choose, none of us are victims, and none of us are predators.
Imagine if you wish, a world that never knew this evil.
Imagine if you can, that this demon never existed in the world.
Oh, glorious thought.
Imagine for a moment, that no one was ever so overwhelmed that they ended their torment
All for the blame of a selfish body.
Imagine for awhile, no chains to be broken and no chain to carry on.
No vicious circle to be an unwitting part of.
Imagine if you will, the countless children with their innocence intact.
Imagine tender youth never wondering why
NakedNaked10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Remember when I caught you
dancing on your bed?
And as you undressed my body,
with clouds hanging overhead,
"We'll both strip down to nothing
until the room is still and dead."
The smell of liquor and cigarettes
swallowed the summer air,
as you doubled over
and I held back your hair.
The moment wasn't perfect,
but I didn't care.
"We're not made of heavenly substance,
we're barely even alive,"
"how can we live in denial
and expect to survive?"
But it wasn't too long ago
when we forced a song from our tongues,
and it wasn't the best of laughter
when the water filled our lungs.
But it wasn't meant to hurt,
the way our song was sung.
And so we share uncomfortable silence,
our corpses touching the sheet
that's wrapped around the bed,
on which our toes and fingers meet.
And someday I'll find you stripped,
long after we deplete.
But until then just keep dancing,
drunk, with heavy feet.
__. I'm sorry__. I'm sorry10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By Tony Tran
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when it was your 5th Birthday. I wasn't able to see the happiness striking across your face, the anticipation running through your veins at the point of opening your presents. The blissful joy of all your friends and family around you as they sang happy birthday, that day was a memory I never had the chance to remember.
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you had your first day at school. It was like a new world for you filled with friendship, independence and above all, fun. I'll always regret not being there to pick you up after school and having you run into my arms at a thousand miles per hour, as though you hadn't seen me in years. Those days when you came home and started humming a harmonious song that you learnt, it was a tune I'd never hear.
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you were eight years old and just learnt to ride your first bike. The breeze going through your hair as yo
Janie's got a gunJanie's got a gun10 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Janies got a gun,
She holds it up to her head
Saying Talk to me or Im dead,
But no one says a word.
Janies got a gun,
Its fully loaded and locked,
But shes got the euphemism
To end her life.
Janies got a gun,
Please stand by and watch,
You dont have a clue as to what
Is this circumstance.
Janies got a gun,
Tears well up in sad eyes,
Shes so sad, so dead inside,
But no one seems to care
[Cause Janies not there
At least not, in their minds]
Janies lost control,
The trigger, moving so slow,
She wants out of this pit
The fastest way she can.
Janies lost control,
There is no mother for her at home,
Just an alcoholic whore
Who has never opened her heart.
Janies lost control,
She thinks shes all alone.
If only she knew about you
Janie wouldnt be here right now.
Janies lost control,
She has no life of her own.
She lives by fear and anger an
I'm SorryI'm Sorry8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
today I accidentally
killed your ladybug
tangled in my mess of hair
onto my shoulder
not thinking I grabbed
for the tickle and
with a fingetip
on her round
and I watched her fade
FragileI'm okay with beingFragile8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gripping the folds of too-big sweater,
like an extra skin
to compensate for her own,
pulled tight over a collection
I'm okay with being
while yet imagining her hip bones,
to be hips
knowing that she would never
achieve the hourglass femininity
I'm okay with being
Sisyphus and ISisyphus and I12 years ago in Humor More Like This
Or is it? The title confuses me. I can't seem to remeber anythign before, so we'll assume that it's day one. If it's day 5 or, worst case scenario, day 505, then I apologise in advance. It's a funny thign, amnesia, the sudden blackness where you feel you should actually know where and whenand how, and countless other question words.
But can't. I think the whole thign happened sometime before yesterday. I'm pretty sure it takes longer than an evenign to grow maybe a foot and a half of beard. I'd have to check on that fact with Docotr Galapogas. Knowledgeable that he is. In a few areas, at least. I'm not placign psychiatry on that list. But bizarre trivia and other thigns like that are certainly on his list of talents.
It just occurred to me, how would I remeber Docotr G
in apartment b16I throw you as I hear the widow cryin apartment b1610 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
beneath us. I imagine
her to have a veil of make-up running
down her face, or maybe she is bent
in the shadow
of a crucifix or a sun catcher,
starving for some light.
I heard she once went bicycling
over the dry dirt
roads of Italy, and chased the man
she loved into a private
Then in Boston, or New Haven,
she would laugh, throwing
her stockings to the wind
as she watched them parachute
down where the children
They would smile ,
and life would begin.
But, really, as we drag and pull, she
is gone. She has moved past Amber
Street, and has taken
to baking breads,
and holding them
in her arms
as she once held
The Book of Forum, number 1The Book of Forum, number 110 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The Forum According to Curran
Creation- or the First
In the beginning, there was nothing.
Then, there was more nothing.
Then there was someone's dog, but it went away really fast with our slipper.
And there then was still nothing.
Then there was a great blank stare.
The Great Blank Stare loomed over the blank, gray-green world and decided that something had to come. It took him three days. Well, we SAY it took three days, but who is to say what time is to the Great Blank Stare. To it, there was no day, par se. So let's just say it took a certain amount of time of random thoughts going in and out of its orange head for the decision to be made. Having decided, it then set to work creating the realm of Forum, and the many nations and inhabitants to populate it.
First were the Forums, many in number and layered like the frosting on a bundt cake. The Deviants realm, with its wild growth and cycle of life and death. The fiery and dangerous lands of Complaints, where only the stou
Wrong temptationWrong temptation13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I saw you standing there
Bidding me to come
I tried to look pass you
But the temptation is driving me to
so I did.
I grabbed you and tasted
A bit of your liquid
not long enough
I started to swallow
I can feel the heat running from beginning
Inside my body
Burning my soul...
to the end
I want more!!!
Quench my thirst
Make me high
I then felt so heavy
I looked at you
As I see the transparent in you
You are empty
And I am still sober.
Nov © 2001 d.fernandez
Together with everyoneFoggy.Together with everyone10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I fucking ran
ran through the clouds like they were
pasted in the sky
some immortal immovable way.
Searching for significant thoughts
I let slip between my fingers
like sand - falling through
the smallest cracks,
but my hands are clasped
so fucking tightly..
it shouldn't work that way
entering through exits
every morning afternoon
being fueled by moments that
only I can really see..
I can't seem to decide
whether I'm fueled or isolated
by the fact that I'm alone
together with every one of you
and the different people
that he thinks he is,
I can't push myself even
into one of them
no matter how hard
I rub his hands or
look into his eyes,
I can't crawl inside of him..
"I'm laughing with a broken face."
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Importance Of Being Frank
At the end of this story, a Frenchman will be eaten by African driver ants.
* * *
Silvie closed the stall door behind her; she closed it timidly, with an empty expression on her face. Her hand shook. She paused for a moment, her mouth half open, her lip curled upward, and a frown on her forehead.
Then she walked over to the wash basins.
A fly buzzed between her and the mirror. She turned on the faucet, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on her face. She looked at the stall's reflection in the mirror, closed her eyes, and slapped herself.
Let us slow down to take in the sights. At the exact moment Silvie's hand hits her cheek, everyth
The Loneliness of The HopeThe Loneliness of The Hope11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Stains of dense night
which is expanded as branches
it shades the sky
colours which grow dark
shading the sight in the tears
in the branches of the pain
covering the stars
covering the moon
darkening every light
darkening every smile
tears as leaves
they come off the branches
they fall in the night
they mark the shade as falling stars
and they dance as feathers
in a winter of pain
where the moon cries the own sun
where the tears are blood
and where the river begins
pain drops transported by the current
the time dies
been drowned in the despair
fingers drenched with blood
which for the answers still look
they follow the river
to understand that the end is only the beginning
to understand that every tear
will cut for always the soul
wounds on a bark
interrupted the rings of the life
bleeding the despair
shouting again the snow
winter which dances in the darkness
clouds of shade which melt themselves in the air
shivers of intense cold
dress made of stone
I fall in the river
Seasonal ChangeSeasonal Change9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The air is cold, and
every word that
freezes and hits the tiles
like a bottle top--
I scoop them into a plastic
cup of lemonade
(the sugary kind we spilled on the sand
when the sun was pink and the ocean green
and the sky overhead was an e
SolitudeSolitude11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Drink The Tears From My Eyes..
Taste The Blood From My Pains..
Only Than You Might Know..
What Runs Deep Through My veins..
Feel The Depts Of My Soul..
Smell The Scent Of My Fears..
For To Know Me By Heart..
Will Take More Than Just years
Bevi le lacrime dai miei occhi..
assapora il sangue dal mio dolore..
solo quello che tu puoi conoscere..
Che corre in profonditą attraverso le mie vene..
Senti le profonditą della mia anima..
Annusa l'odore delle mie paure..
Per conoscermi con il cuore.
Prenderą maggiormente...che solo anni
per la traduzione in italiano non sono sicuro...
...l'ultima frase la potrei tradurre con un "Durerą di pił che solo anni"...
FreeFree10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I do not even know your name
You're always there it seems
I close my eyes, I see your face
You haunt me in my dreams
You're filling up my senses
You drive away the doubt
Your heart your soul, the whole of you
don't want to live without
Your body wrapped around me
Your touch so full of care
Your forgiveness and acceptance
Says you always will be there
Your eyes to reach into my soul
Your lips, you found the key
Your arms to lift me up again
Your love to set me free
HomeTime is weird.Home8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I spent months in a vortex winding, and winding.
And finally wound in to a tunnel.
Tubular and long, I'm walking through it.
The end isn't a thought or a sight.
No cliche's about light, just tunnel.
And I'm thrilled about it.
Walking straight and diligently forward.
Every day the scenery repeats.
My actions repeat, with mild differences.
There's only one sadness.
Life burns quickly, like the wick of a bomb.
And the tunnel is the wick.
And again there's progress.
Achievement and reward.
An unexpected departure.
I want to find my way back.
I'm scrambling, moving shifting fixing talking screaming.
Sleep is a memory, time tumbles, patterns disappear.
I look forward to returning more than anything else.
With a whoosh, it's back.
The first day is different than the others.
It's particularly exciting to organize the pace.
The next day it's as it was.
And I'm home.
if I am nowhere am I everywherif I am nowhere am I everywher12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am talking to her saying our roads
will be all that's left; that our avenues
will turn to altars, set in onyx.
look what we remember of Rome,
all pavements and temples
arranged like vertebrae in dirt
that goes on living, full with prayer;
and as I say this, it occurs to me that in a Mexican bar
in Florence I might disappear
to the streets and run, eyeless
through an eyeless crowd,
(take me, Florence! I am a son among these heartbroken stones,
take me from the marble block lift me out!)
to laugh hysterically; she is pulling me,
her warmth comes breathlessly from the air;
we are foreigners,
we are rain. (I am inventing this,
all of this happened elsewhere, another night)
her face turns to laugh illuminated
and everything else wobbling is blue
and forgotten; lifeboats drawn away
from our bodies that are continents
moving full with rice and squash and sins
named in small homes before saints and fire;
listen. I was not there by the long bar
when everyone turned and pulled us
into the st