Your PoemOn the twentieth day of July 69,Your Poem11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of the reader?
More importantly, are you reading this upside down?
Every word you read is yours,
Make your own sentences,
Take your own morals.
And even though I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do,
Look within other people,
You'll see yourself.
Find out what you are,
Where you are headed.
Find your own moon and land on it.
nerudai want to read your bodyneruda12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like neruda poem
written in braille,
my fingers searching
the pages of your skin,
gently brushing away
the hair that falls
like a silken bookmark
across your face.
i will work my way
down the page, hands
trembling with excitement,
anticipating which words
fingers will linger
in some areas, reread,
so that on lonely nights
like this one I will
be able to recite
the subtle nuances of
your neck or the mystery
surrounding your navel.
I would try to interpret
the verse for others,
but there is no translation
for your lungs breathing
into the palm of my hand,
or your heart, beating
its ancient tribal rhythms
in correspondence with mine.
A long way from New OrleansNumber nine, the speedo needle roars of the engine underneath.A long way from New Orleans8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yank the throttle, glimpse the horizon, I'll go there,
wherever I want to.
She stood at the roadside, now where did she go?
With me, of course, let's ride into the nothingness,
talk the tales of your tall dreams at the stops we make,
breakfast at noon and tap three times when you need to go.
Cause it's a long way from New Orleans, babe.
Hollywood, hell, I just like to ride,
'specially with a pretty girl at my back.
You told me of your dreams when we stopped for coffee that time,
I smiled politely, cause I barely knew your name then, Kate.
Back when you only had your coat, your sunglasses, your dreams...
You really were a dreamer.
We'd set off again, you claimed you loved the ride,
I claimed I loved the company,
and we'd ride till the sun went down.
Gradually the motel rooms became room,
beds became bed,
and we went from travellers,
Kate, I never forgot the first kiss we shared, over fast-food
Heaven is CryingListen to the raindrops on my window.Heaven is Crying11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Heaven is crying.
Was it something I did?
Something I said?
Is there a way to make it right?
The air is chilled.
The warmth of God's love is gone
and the tears are slowing.
Do Angels cry themselves to sleep too?
The MaskThe Mask12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yes, there once was a time,
Where I wasn't afraid,
To be myself,
And just to be me.
But now the years have past,
Onto a dreamless time,
Where I grow through the roots,
In a bottomless pit of anger.
I have the scars to prove it,
Both beneath the mind and…
Across my once frail flesh,
I fancy them I do, yes…
Proud to have caused pain,
Towards both family and friends,
What do they care?
I am just me after all.
Perhaps I should get rid of the mask,
That has hidden my identity for so long,
Oh, so long…
But I love it so much, I cuddle it, kiss it.
I cannot part with this mask,
For it has become a part of me,
It has overwhelm too much of my being,
What am I to do?
I cannot just throw it away,
No, hold it, pat it, fondle it,
I do love this mask,
But I also hate it with a passion.
What should I do?
Do I have a choice?
There is always a choice,
Perhaps then… I should die,
So I can be free of the mask.
And be me again.
Abject GenteelAbject Genteel12 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
it starts off all twisted,
artistic and meek.
the sheets in a tangle, we tangoed,
in the sleek night.
our wrists chained to floarboards,
past my collarbone's palindrome,
(that sensitive hollow)
making impressions in memory foam.
onetwo, and threefour.
yes, go on-
rest your head here, and read what you wrote.
remember last night,
when that spot in my chest soared up past my throat,
and the light in your eyes
swallowed my conscience alive,
and we burned,
with the stars
and cared not to dream, but be rash: come undone.
on the bedpost.
we sang amid silence,
clutching at pillows and pretense,
feeding black scarves on my eyelids.
needing a breath-
as i sank,
through my webbed primidorial,
to the safety of bloodshed.
That Punk Rock FeelingShe walks down the street,That Punk Rock Feeling10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Headphones in her ears.
Angry music playing loudly,
To keep away her tears.
Her hair is short and messy,
Her black polish is chipped.
Her combat boots thump loudly,
Her goodwill jeans are ripped.
She likes her rough fashion,
Ahough she hates her face.
It masks her emotions,
Her hearts delicate as lace.
Yet she grins at passersby,
Who stare with pure disgust.
She leaves them speechless,
Coverde in her dust.
A Not-Love PoemA Not-Love Poem11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[What the stars tossed, salt-casual, onto the not-black of the not-night suggest could be love, but I can't read them.]
This is not a love poem,
not-love, a not-love poem.
Falling waist deep into February
stomping the signatures of lost years
in footprints on the pristine present-
this, not-night has become electric
with memories smashing through
the thin ice of teenage alchemy,
charged, with the possibility of
or even a complete skeleton
of our separate childhoods
we, are the miners of nostalgia, now.
But in this not-night,
with the subtle city lights,
Delicate GashesThe sun set upon the saturation of my bloodDelicate Gashes12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Rich and dripping
Red anguish set upon cold broken skin
And this act was yours...
Intricate destruction of the work of beauty that is me.
The dark is in its deepest metamorphosis
So deadly still, yet churning all around me.
You clung to my chest
Flesh wounds inflicted
By the sharp softness of your tongue
And you drank
Of every pure emotion I had to give
Drank my warmth until you could find no more…
Then disappeared in search of something richer
Leaving only the toxic suffocation of your memory
And here I lay on a barren earth
Paralyzed shards of pain
For the shiver that is my skin
And the lifeless black that is my veins
To open to the possibility
That you missed a drop of my heart
Deep within my bones
My eyes glaze toward a darkened horizon
Unaware of breath
Waiting for the cool glow of morning,
Far away but always unfailing,
To reach for me
With a moment of barest light
To remind me
TrainTrain12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where are you going my train(?)
with a clank-and-grind steady movement,
and red blink
I could hop on, hobo-style
and ride to San Fransisco
on stale bread and a sway of Jack Daniels
howling with Ginsberg
in the clankity night of
refugee-riding away from conformity.
Travel on the road
with my good friend Jack,
who's got the look of highway in his eyes,
small-talking into crazy dreams
and ending up in Mexico.
And me and Walt,
we could sing the song of ourselves
to every passing black cow in Iowa
and still have room for laughter.
hop on and never get tired,
howl and travel and sing,
but each time I hear that whistle blow
my mind says get off the tracks,
but my heart starts running for the clankity-clank, clackity clack.
His HueHis Hue12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He strolls down the beaten pathway
Knowing what lies ahead
Enters his house and locks the door
His futile attempt to keep out
The demon which plagues him
But even that cannot save him
The attention is given to him
But by all the wrong people
His clothing hides the blue hues
Slowly healing, but always repeating
Sometimes people notice the clues
But even that cannot save him
And then, he hears it
More than the beating in his heart
The click of a lock and
Slam of a door
His eyes go dim, as cold as ice
But even that cannot save him
He is kicked to a stained corner
The cracks filled with old blood
In the name of love, he accepts
The torments that trail his troubles
But not once does he shed a tear
Because even that cannot save him
Later the boy can finally stand
Shakily tends to his anguished wounds
The affliction cries out in vain
Tomorrow he shall wait again
To patiently accept his hell
For he cannot save him
The DancerThe Dancer12 years ago in General More Like This
She was either autistic, mentally disabled, or insane. They didn't know. Some days, she could appear normal. Other days, she rocked and danced. Her boyfriend loved her either way. He took care of her when no one else would. She loved him. Today was a bad day.
They were in class, and the teacher was sneering as she sung to herself. He tried to catch her attention with his latest project: a mural, where she could dance and be the centrepiece. She was too far gone. The teacher expelled her from the class.
She stumbled outside, still mumbling. Her boyfriend followed her, yelling something at the teacher.
He found her gently hitting her body against a wall, humming, and he got to work. He knew how to take care of her when she got this bad. He took cut out newspaper pictures from his bag and taped them to the wall around her, giving her a still life,
Amber Pools - the whole storyAmber Pools - the whole story11 years ago in Teen More Like This
Prelude: Dream of Me
I'm not sure how I ended up in front of the church, but at the moment it didn't seem to matter. I stood at the foot of the stone steps in a deep blue fitted gown. Blue? What happened to black? Well guessed I must not be there for a funeral... With blue flowers in my hair and a white rose in my hand, I wandered through the large wooden doors, hoping I looked like I belonged. I'm not sure why the sudden impulse to go there, I just knew that I had to.
No one seemed to notice me as I made my way through the church halls. I walked easily, letting my feet guide me as if I had been there many times before. I came to a chapel decorated with pink delicate roses. How nauseating. I slipped into the back pew and placed my rose beside me. Things were making little sense. I looked around me, not recognizing anyone. Why was I in a church at a wedding?
The AstronomerThe Astronomer12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The night is a skin around me
I poke holes in to see the stars.
Wakeful hours, wide-eyed trying to see
out there while perched on the trunk of my car.
The night is a skin around me.
Blue-black, straining to see
myself in the blue moon, red of mars.
Inside of me
so many fireflies, in too many jars.
Night. Skin around me
reaching out in tiny puckered pores.
Image through the lens, tiny planet sea
of sometimes sparkles, desert land, drying shores.
forget the scope, forget mars.
The night is a skin around me
I poke holes in to see the stars.
Self PerceptionSelf Perception12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Some people, Sara thought,
When they look in the mirror,
See themselves fatter,
Uglier and with less hair.
They work hard to change
Things that are just fine.
When Sara looked there
She saw she was beautiful.
Too bad no one else saw it.
Remembering - yourebrokenIt all seems fairly straightforward. Where to from here?Remembering - yourebroken10 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And then onward toward happiness, and after that, bliss, and maybe a little later it'll turn into love.
The perfect roadmap.
Why the hell doesn't she have one?
Breathing is good.
Oxygen is your friend.
Air tore into her restricted airways. It clawed its way into the tiniest membranes, tearing her chest apart. Oxygen rasped in her throat, making a horrible wheezing noise. She convulsed, sitting up sharply. Water sprayed across the bathroom, and sloshed in the large tub. Ada sat, gasping, as water dripped into her eyes. Sighing she rested her head on her raised knees as more memories swam forward, inescapable as ever.
Cold air, bright moonlight. Night from another person's life.
"Here," Lily held out a cherry flavoured lollipop to me, smiling. "The towel was a great idea."
"I don't know, there's something about sand in my knickers that's just so yummy," I drawled, unwrapping th
Bus Thoughts - The BoyBus Thoughts - The Boy12 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The bus was packed. She had someone pushing her in the back, thrusting her into the man in front of her with every turn of the road. Her fingers accidentally touched the hood of his fleece, and the guilt nearly killed her. Another jolt in the dark. He smelled... a mix of washing and sweat and deodorant and sex. She was in love, and could only see the back of his head. She stared at his hair, and longed to feel it between her fingers, dry and rough. Another turn and she bumped into him again, her whole body holding her back and pushing her forward. He was talking with a friend who was at her height, who could see her obsession. She was so ashamed, but she longed to touch him again. Any part of him would do. She peered around and, seeing no one was watching her and her sin, reached out and touched his shirt again, stopping herself before she could reach his hair.
Titus And Raven - For HireTitus And Raven - For Hire12 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
The deep dark city contained many evils, many creatures that never allowed themselves to be classified by normal means.
Two of those beings were Titus and Raven. Titus was a demon; tall and red, with short stubby horns and dark plastic-rimmed glasses. Raven was a hunter; short with long wavy hair and steel toed boots.
The two were for hire by anyone and for anything, if the price was right. They had a small apartment above a Chinese restaurant on a quiet side street. They were given the place after ridding the restaurant of demon-mice, old rivals of the pair. The apartment had a bedroom, a small kitchen and a room they used as an office. The office, with it's two desks, computer and weapons chest, smelled of eggrolls but was clean.
Titus insisted on it. He'd wake up early, leaving Raven alone in their bed, to tidy every morning. As much as he loved her, she was definitely a force to reckon with in the morning,
n00b form letters. -fuckspeakDear Sir/Madame,n00b form letters. -fuckspeak10 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You are receiving this letter due to your remarkable inability to type in a comprehensible language, and your subsequent soiling of the _****_ forum. Those with mental disabilities, and those who learned English as a foreign tongue notwithstanding, one should never allow oneself to look quite so ignorant as you recently did. Should this embarassing and insulting bastardization of the written word continue, a sound pwning will be in order.
kinetic lustkinetic lust11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Honest drops of Tuesday night
(what few there were)
drained into electric puddles
of coffee and midnight.
Mournful whistles of
. (and coffee pots)
rang teasingly between the walls,
dancing in their own
of lust and touch.
All that humming in the thick
warmth of 12 o'something
was less than love
but more than just the coffee.
. (Black with one sugar. No milk. No exceptions.)
He was only 1.2 feet away from her
but in the barren wasteland of human wanting
he was a canyon and five full city streets
from touching her
Her polite laugh seemed to resound for centuries
through his high towers
of almost-did's and wanted-to's.
This man was
[sad to be losing the only thing he ever wanted more than his next breath. He lived with every mistake he ever made resting in a black shoebox under his empty bed filled with memories of 'her'. Lost in a constant kinesis of longing, hope, need, desire, regret and desperation. This kinetic sad can not go on for
The Talewinder's EndThe Talewinder's End12 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The visitors had kept coming. Chloe and the Talewinder hadn't spoken since Elizabeth had left. She didn't trust him anymore, and he was waiting.
There was a knock and the door-demons stirred. Storms were frequent - indeed, the castle seemed to breed them - but tonight, the stones shook with every hit of thunder.
Chloe began to get up, but the Talewinder put his hand on her arm. "I'll get it." He got up and left her sitting in her throne, completely amazed. He walked to the door, feeling her puzzled gaze on his back.
"You never walk when there's no one here..." she whispered to herself. "You never get the door..."
Ten minutes later, the Talewinder came forth with a well-groomed, umbrella-clad young man. The Talewinder's clothes had turned white, simple and clean cut.
"Hello, Talewinder." The man said to Chloe.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she yelled, standing up from her t
Church IncidentChurch Incident11 years ago in Humor More Like This
I was looking around the Church. I was sitting far back enough so that the most of the mass was lost in the high, painted ceiling, among the cherubs and the gold leafing. The people around me were looking for God. There was one man reciting Hail Mary's, one after the other, not listening to the words he was saying. One woman was sitting there, weeping quietly. One or two were asleep.
They would never find God. There was only one way to find God, I knew, and that was to be looking for him out of the corner of your eye…
"Aha!" I yelled, standing up, turning around and pointing… Pointing at a man with a dirty mop in hand, and an overbite. One of the sleepers had roused. The priest at the front didn't miss a beat. "Sorry." I told the janitor. "I thought you were someone else."
The janitor watched the embarrassed man walk out quickly.
"That was too close." He said as h
EmmaEmma12 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Have the flowers come yet?"
"Not yet, mother."
"Well, run and see what's keeping them. Quick now!"
Emma got up and picked up her dishes.
"Faster! People arrive in three hours!"
Emma headed out. The florist's was three blocks away, and her mother knew the phone number by heart. It was classier, though, to send someone along, and with the three helps busy in the kitchen, Emma was the one to go. Instead of going down the street to the florist's, she walked the other way to see if her friend Alice was home. Emma's mother didn't approve of Alice, with her dozens of piercings and long blue hair. She buzzed up to Alice's apartment.
"Yes, hello?" Alice's mother answered.
"Is Alice home? It's Emma."
The door buzzed, drowning out the answer. Emma caught it before it locked back up and went to the elevator. Alice lived on the third floor. The door was half-open when the elevat