The ThingI lay still in my bed,The Thing2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Mr. Ted by my side,
And listen hard for the thing
That crawls around outside.
He'll start with the scratching,
It's always the same,
His claws carving the face
Of the wooden door frame.
Then he'll move onto the blood
Seeping beneath my door,
Dripping from the walls,
Covering the floor.
The wardrobe will squeak,
Those green eyes appear,
Voices will whisper
Dark words in my ear.
Their dead hands will tug
At the edge of my sheets
And insects will crawl
All over my feet.
I lay and wait
For their games to begin.
But tonight will be different,
I whisper with a grin,
Tonight I will show
Those monsters a scare.
They can come back again,
IF they dare.
Inspiration at Point BlankSometimes I feel as though I am a slaveInspiration at Point Blank2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to a mad muse misfiring synapses
from the barrel of a gun; her shaky
finger on the trigger, locked and loaded,
fae and untamed as the moon, she shoots words
and images point blank into my mind.
Inspiration, oh so random, oh so
She cares not for the hour, or if I am
soundly sleeping and will not hesitate
to enter my dreams like a visitor
who was never asked to cross the threshold.
(I would be utterly lost without her.)
I don't understand honey...What?I don't understand honey...2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I don't know what you're talking about honey
When you go on and on about all the bad shit you see
Every word you speak is leaking
leaking of sorrow
leaking of pain
I don't see it like that hun'
'Cause all I see is the good times we had
I see your smiling face
'cause you beat me in this game too
I hear your laughter
and teasing words
as I'm being all silly again
I feel your arms around me
as you pull me closer
in a hug to make me feel safe again
'cause you've scared me with that spider-thing again
All I see is smiling faces and sparkle-eyes
All I hear is a laughing couple sharing the secret of love
All I feel is butterflies in the sky and the touch of your hand on mine
So when you speak of this so called "misery"
of all this pain
that you've carried for far too long
It breaks my heart you see
'cause I thought you were happy, too
The Sky is Falling TonightThe sky is falling tonight.The Sky is Falling Tonight2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My toes curl inward
as I finish off a cigarette
and flick it to the street corner.
Looks like it might rain.
I bite my lip and taste metal.
A car rolls by with the windows
down and a tanned arm
hanging out the side.
My granddaddy once said
that on the very last day
no one will cry except the earth itself.
I can't hear a thing,
but I smell gasoline and regret.
My granddaddy's tombstone
once had a lipstick stain on it
from where my grandmamma
kissed him goodbye.
I won't even have a tombstone.
The playground is vacant,
the swings rocking in the subtle wind
as if carrying invisible children.
The dirt ground below
dips into a concave bowl.
I wonder if
the thumb of Gob pressed it in.
The clouds are charcoal black
and it occurs to me for the first time
that I will die alone.
I hug myself.
A serpentine chill slithers up my back.
But then I realize
everyone will die alone.
The end will find us all
warped and withered
with nothing left but those fears
we spent o
Salsa, Rice, RhythmThere is something splendid aboutSalsa, Rice, Rhythm2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a Peruvian man leaving the rice to burn
because he is unable to keep himself
when a good Salsa song comes on
there is something exquisite and wild about a woman
paying uncontrollable obeisance to the rhythm
thrilling to the beat
waxing and waning to the sound waves
there is something gorgeous about the
the movements, like an untamed clockwork
the way the line between sound and
limb's poetry blurs
fantasia's demise comes with a soft
followed by a drought of wakefulness
surprised to see walls and ceiling
surprised to be alive in
only three dimensions
Not the CrossThe gold, not the cross, is what defines your religionNot the Cross2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And Christ has no part in your worldly addictions
The Bible's pages broken down into pieces and bits
Remolded to form the scripture of capitalists
The salvation meant to free the poor from their sins
Now the domain of intimidating, middle class individualists
The measure of godliness now the counting of blessings
The poor disregarded while we accumulate things
In our vain pursuits, our god is nothing less than money
The words of life twisted like adverts for economic commodity
I pity the man who walks into our walls
With nothing to offer, or anything at all
Yearning, groping for the Bread of life
Whilst imposing on our comfortable, self-imposed rights
The man who had no place to lay His head
Now the King of the rich and spiritually dead
He who fed thousands with bread and fish
somehow left a way for His flock to be selfish?
Hypocrites! How will we save others from Hell
when there is no love even amongst ourselves?
Where were you wh
pebblesthe sifters discoverpebbles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
among other flaws
lack of imagery,
absence of flow,
and scatter of adjectives.
deciding my poems
are nothing but pebbles,
paper and pen;
send me packing underwater.
for the moment
i get by
using squid ink,
i might imagine
or that a starfish
sees my work
march 21, 2012
First KissI look at you, I'm nervous as hell, hoping against hope that you'd kiss me.First Kiss2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The empty street, the soft porch light, your hazel eyes are all I can see.
You lean down slowly, gently, letting your soft lips brush against mine.
You do it again, again, and again... We completely lose track of the time.
On my toes, your fingers lost in my hair, my body moulding to fit yours perfectly.
You kiss my neck, my heart hammers away, your lips tasting like heaven to me.
I was eighteen and never been kissed, until you came along, weakening my knees.
With you it was perfect, as it should be... Would you kiss me once more, please?
obituary"He died, peacefully,obituary2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in his sleep."
Tell me, how
can you possibly know that?
You don't know
what death is any more
than I do. How do you
know he wasn't
wide awake; thrashing and gasping
in the dark?
Hoping and praying - pleading
with fate - for just
a little while longer.
one more year so
that he can walk
his daughter down the aisle
and watch his son
one more year so
he and his wife - his childhood
sweetheart - can celebrate
forty years of marriage.
one more year so
he can escape the terror
that is death. But,
what do I know?
Someone else will be lying
upon me tomorrow - upon
the last resting place
of a dying man - and he,
the patient of yesteryear,
will be nothing
but a false memory
to soothe the loved ones
of those taken,
from my care.
WeaningA little girl stores childhood memories in her teddy bear.Weaning2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A little boy stores childhood memories in the magazine of his m16.
A little girl is tucked into a warm bed by her mommy after her daddy is done with sharing a bed time tale.
A little boy is cold and shivering laying on wet grass all the while hearing screams and explosions for lullabies.
A little girl is dressed in white with red trimmings twirling herself like a ballerina.
A little boy clothes himself with whatever he takes as booty and prides himself for it.
A little girl is born into a tender home of a smart lineage in Columbia, Maryland, USA.
A little boy is spawned at some sort of makeshift tent near somewhere bordering Sudan in Chad.
Memories of SummerDo you remember the simplistic smileMemories of Summer2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that played on your lips,
while the sun danced across your skin?
Your voice was summer's favorite song,
even I hummed along.
Symphony of OneI stumbled late into my garageSymphony of One2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A blinding thirst in my visage
And heard the sound of a somber lay
A little tune by a cricket played
As I heard his soul outpoured
His song, I knew, could not be ignored
This late at night he plays alone
And in my heart his song was sewn
When I passed his song was paused
The halt in rhythm had gave me cause
To stop my walk, to ask my friend
If for his song I could hear the end
My little friend continued, his tone so bright
Laid bare his soul before the night
Warranting me to sit and weep
For this song I knew was mine to keep
For lost ideals and forgotten rhymes
My forgiven soul, and it's pardoned crimes
A loving God who beckons me
Now to His side where darkness flees
In this moment I could thus reflect
Upon my life so richly blessed
With friends and duty, to honour Him
I've grown so much, sang this nocturnal hymn
My song has changed from D minor to F
No reason now to remain bereft
God changed my heart with this little song
And now comes the time when I pl
What it Isn't, What it Ain'tBeauty isn't makeup.What it Isn't, What it Ain't2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Beauty isn't paint.
Beauty isn't purchased.
Beauty isn't; it just ain't.
It's not a thing to be desired.
It comes all on its own.
Even if you have none, don't you worry:
Here is a secret not widely known.
Beauty isn't on the surface.
It's all on the inside.
This kind of pretty can't be faked,
Although many have tried.
It all depends: What's in your soul?
A princess or an ugly troll?
The qualities that you possess
(Like friendship, loyalty, truth, kindness)
Are what make you attractive.
Now go find your ever-after.
lovea writer of poetrylove2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is like a young mother
she has survived the
messy process and
rests happy and
loathe to lay this new one down, even
swaddled in adjectives,
contented or wailing
she will not sleep
she watches the rise and fall,
the slow-breath blinking
wonders if this
piece of beauty
is old enough to love her
Money in a Child's EyesIf I had a nickel for every time you blew me off in front of your friends,Money in a Child's Eyes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd have a lot of money in a child's opinion.
I could buy two or three packs of that strawberry Pocky that you like so much,
and you'd probably convince me to give a pack to you.
I could buy a pack of cigarettes and not smoke them
because I made you a promise and I intend to keep it.
I could pay for two movie tickets at your favorite theater,
and in the end, you'd be the one to go with me.
My point is, you're my best friend,
even though you never apologize,
or pay me back the money you borrow,
or read the books I suggest until one of your friends suggests it.
I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you this time,
just like every other time before.