Jupiter in the 21st Century
Traveling without wheels
on a morning with Mozart.
En route to meet St. Jane of Grape street,
Symphony #41 in C major
begins just beyond Rita's house.
A walking meditation
performed on aching feet.
When traveling without wheels
ignored rhythms become ghostly memory
faceted by sensory recall.
Time seemingly stands still,
grounded by a gentle spring snow fall,
resurrecting the tulips.
They rise to the occasion enthusiastically
in the neglected gardens of foreclosed homes
where the columbines have returned to the wild
and the neighbor's dog has left his mark.
I miss my car.
Not far away,
in the fast lane,
the new world order has arrived
heralded by many twittering voices
echoing talking head sound bytes.
Suspiciously green busses lurch to a stop
inhaling and exhaling passengers,
then lurch forward farting eco-friendly fumes.
Cars school along asphalt paths
transporting passengers with no sense of purpose
Story Time“Tell me a beautiful story.”Story Time1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
© L. L. Kelly 2013
The Vulnerable OnesLittle lies.The Vulnerable Ones1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
©L. L. Kelly 2014
Where's Your Self-Esteem?"I'm a mess."Where's Your Self-Esteem?1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"A beautiful mess."
Childhood Thoughts...AlwaysChildhood Thoughts...1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
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© Rocio Belinda Mendez 2013
For ScienceBrought toaster to bathtub.For Science1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Heart's ApocalypseYour lips on my lips-Heart's Apocalypse3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
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aurisunflower, you growauri1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
in an ache of hushed words;
face to the sky,
a murmur of a girl
gloria in whispers
that wax a little more
with every moment -
in strengthening breaths
and in footsteps.
you are light and gold
throwing shots at the moon;
arcs that arpeggio
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watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
'Till Death Do Us PartWhen you died, you killed me.'Till Death Do Us Part1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
seastormI,seastorm6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the sea(m)s
of tidal vacancy;
I am the ocean, and
the moon has
cling to reason,
I stumbled on
abrupt. bedridden yet
ever chas(m)ing, I
fell to salt-soaked
ground from a
words were all it took
but all you do is take.
I am waking
and I am shaken
tsunami waves that break
in empty frantic fury;
the briefest repose
or instant of stillness,
I yearn; instead
I am abandoned by language,
I am bound to languish beneath
tempests that swell,
even the most desperate of breaks
for the shore.
Artists on Writers - No. 3, Pablo NerudaArtists on Writers - No. 3, Pablo Neruda1 year ago in Art Features More Like This
Issue No. 3|Archives
Poet of Lovers & Rebels, Poet of Dreamersby MARX77
As is the case with all artists, poets too are greatly influenced by the world around them and how they perceive it.
The splendor of the heavens above, the dynamics of the earth beneath their feet. The uncertainty of life, the inevitability of death. But more importantly, a poet's inspiration comes from what they carry within themselves; their memories, relationships, their dreams, joy and grief. Verses borne of turmoil and tragedy decades ago continue to resonate to this day and are as relevant now as they were back then. Truly poetry is an art form for the ages!
Among the few greats still spearheading the world of literature today, long after they themselves have pass
magmawe would sit and discussmagma1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way crystals would form
when magma cooled,
(ignoring the irony
of drinking water all the while).
and in that time, i realized
that if i were magma,
i wouldn't want to harden into stone,
no matter how beautiful.
i am magma
and magma, however crude,
and i never wanted
to be set in stone,
let alone become it.
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