A Message for my loveI wanted to grow old with youA Message for my love1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and go through thick and thin.
Together enjoy our pension age,
Just we two.
Its so hard now to remember,
though I know we share so many.
Memories for me too painful,
to ponder on any.
I get through each day somehow,
I´m grateful for your love,
which even tho you´re no longer here,
pours on me from above.
So rest in peace my lovely man.
I miss you everyday.
I´m thankful to have been the one,
you chose to be your woman.
A poem by Suzanne Karbach
Riot.The rage of imagination that riots in my headRiot.8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
is drenched in a spectrum of colors in a notebook by my bed.
How can I translate my insanity on paper
if my mind knows no reality than it's own creator?
Death DealerDeath lingered behind his eyes,Death Dealer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ruthless his lips edged up
in a killers smile,
it was the moment
while his prey
lie blissfully unaware.
a heart beat
was the only sound,
while the shadow
prepared to descend
with the swiftness
of a falcon.
Blood paints the darkness
of the night, not even a scream,
it is true what they say
you can die within your dreams,
for what was he
but a phantom unseen,
a death dealer who will
take flight with your life
while you sleep.
He is gone
even before the very last
breath can be drawn
but he never leaves a doubt
none escapes from his
Prose: LithiumLithium.Prose: Lithium3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Oh dear god Lithium.
I sighed deeply and looked at the orange pill bottle that was sitting in front of me. In my head, I could see the pharmacist's face when I handed her the prescription, the pity and the judgment.
I stared at the little pink pill that lay inside my palmthat horrible pink pill with the little brown writing. This small pill had such powerful affects. I didn't know what this was going to do to me. What if it kills me? What if it takes all my problems away? What if it doesn't do anything?
How is that this small pill, this element have such an impact?
It seemed so simple when I had to study it in science class. It is number 3 on the periodic table I still knew this from all that time ago.
However, this wasn't science class. This wasn't high school. This was life. This was my life. My poor, sad, depressed life. I couldn't get anything together, so what does my therapist do? Prescribe me Lithium. Zoloft didn't work; neither did Prozac, nothing wor
Perfection is an IllusionPerfection is an illusionPerfection is an Illusion3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
As heaven is to Earth,
A painted cloudy paradise
Inspired by human dearth.
Flawless is the pole star
Leading man to fabled land,
Still distant the Polaris
From man's conceited hand.
Yet perfection's only flaw
That it will never know,
Perfection appears resplendent
Draped in fault's shadow.
Death Of LegendIgnite hell's biting bullets that scorch and sting,Death Of Legend3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Against heaven's armies that stand and sing.
When the might of garish gods befalls us all,
Where nations crumble and meek mortals fall,
Then celestial suicide will be our fate's call.
Skies will turn to smoke and seas will burn to steam,
Demons will howl. Angels will die. Men will dream.
To believe in an eternal peace beyond war's breath,
No more to suffer through eyes that despair death,
Never to crumble hearts into pits of blackened dust.
Blind hell's hope that bring waves of ruin and rust,
Against heaven's anguish that bring terror and trust.
When the sight of humble humanity suffers defeat,
Where societies tremble and lost leaders meet,
Then universal disaster will be our's generation's treat.
Spirits will turn to shade and souls will burn to sleet,
Demons will growl. Angels will cry. Men will scream.
To believe in an internal lease beyond war's sight,
No more to fear opposing voices that murder might,
Never to extinguish minds in
The Poet's QuillRiver's ink flows deeply from his writer's quill,The Poet's Quill3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
He wields it's worth with signs of sublime skill,
And those magic words materialise under his will.
Where once was a vacant void of white clear light,
Now comes a sorrowful song aching for his sight.
Man's blood drips softly from his writer's pen,
He holds it's honour with odes of ovation often,
And those complex symbols collude in his den.
Where once was a musing mind of black air dark,
Now comes a powerful poem burning for his mark.
Tear's oil runs boldly from his writer's grace,
He bears it's beauty with paeans of perfect pace,
And those platinum verses protrude below his face.
Where once was a glorious gaze of silver blind pearl,
Now comes a tormentful tune longing for his girl.
fishbowl reality.the boy next to me just diedfishbowl reality.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but he pressed play again and started
to chase his tail across a screen of purple blocks.
five seats away, a girl is trying to draw a human heart.
another girl is trying to finish her test.
"this class ends at 2 and it is 1:55."
the boy next to me has given up and
is checking his e-mail, while still others
pull out their computers to start clicking
away at letters that will never fade.
i am sitting here, wondering how to tell my mother
her sister tried to commit suicide.
some people say that an umbrella turned upwards
is a sign of bad luck, but there is a lot of bad luck
that has to do with umbrellas
so i just want to stand out in the rain
and deal with wet clothes and no bad luck
but no good luck either.
people ask kids what they want to be when they grow up.
(an astronaut, loved, a cowboy, a doctor, happy)
no one ever asks what they want to be
when they die. i guess the answer is obvious:
i like reading poems
from the end to the
The Clock StruckThe Clock Struck3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The clock struck nine
The illusion of a beautiful woman
What madness can this be?
She is calling out to me
My name my name on her lustful lips
And now my hands pressed on her hips
Oh! Her smile! Her caress!
That croon which must be blessed!
The clock struck ten
The temptations of a temptress
This woman, so beautiful in every way,
With my heart, she does recklessly play
Her eyes so dark, yet brightly glowing
Her hair so soft and gently flowing
Her skin so silky cannot be soiled
But to the touch, is so deathly cold
The clock struck eleven
The prayer without the belief
What this gorgeous being is, I don't bother
Yet hold silent prayer to our heavenly father
But now's not the time to worry with such strife
For tonight may be the rest of my ungodly life
My heart beats profoundly in my chest
"I love you" my words solemnly confessed
The clock struck twelve
The love of a man unloved
"Of course you do" my love left unreturned
But with her so near, I was unco
Romance in MetaphorAs we sat in silence, child small,Romance in Metaphor2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
we made shadow puppets on the wall;
and with our right hands, fingers arched,
good lord! We made a heart.
But as soon as our fingers touched,
as though preconceived, all at once,
our hands gave a jerking start;
and we each tore it half apart.
So many times it's come undone
and I've fought for love and hardly won,
but it's never, ever been much fun,
at least not half as much as breaking fingers
on a wall,
sitting in a silent hallway,
Soul CollectorBloody murdererSoul Collector3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Damned soul collector
Tell me, how could you extort the life out of those shiny, brown eyes?!
I'm vividly smiling as he slowly dies
Tell me, didn't you fell a thing while giving the poisonous kiss?
I feel every beating of his heart as we are immersing in the bliss
A soul collector, destroyer of the mind,
I'm about to extinguish his light, to leave him lost and blind
I'll encage his ripped soul,
Just after he'll lose the self-control
Don't drag another soul into your disgrace,
Just one more blanked face
Don't kill again with your breath-taking embrace,
I promise, just one more one more stolen core
You know you shouldn't, but your claws are digging already in his chest,
I'm spilling his blood, the flesh I wrest
Don't collect this soul, not this time,
I must capture his soul before he captures mine,
I promise, just
The Written WordThe written word is wondrous in it's primeThe Written Word2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The glory of the ages past abound
For ink and paper forming wit and rhyme
To spring from open lips as soulful sound
An art perfected in the days of yore
Blank canvas soon adorned in blackest ink
A siren song that sings of those before
As deep into the realms of lore you sink
When man and woman first began to write
Their wisdom was preserved for us to know
As changing, yet unchanging as the night
The echoes of the past forever show
But to the pen a blade cannot compare
As instrument of chaos and despair
The Demon and the Magician: Part 8The Demon and the MagicianThe Demon and the Magician: Part 83 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Part 8: Lost
“Watch it!” the man yells as I jump off to the side, falling backwards into a puddle of murky brown water. The man throws his arm out the window, throwing me the bird before rushing off in his large black sedan. I don’t bother to lift myself up out of the water—the rain has already soaked me to my core. Instead, I just sit, looking around me as people rush back and forth, their bodies immersed in technology, connecting them to and severing them from the world at the same time.
“The nineteenth century was so much kinder to me,” I say softly, standing up and continuing to walk down the cold concrete sidewalk. My shoes, slick and black, shine under the soft gray light that filters down from the sky. Lifting my left hand to my face, I look at the dark black scar: there’s been something different about it for a couple centuries now. Granted, it still works just fine; but something about it nags at me, b
telepathyI think if we could read mindstelepathy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the world wouldn't be different
we would just find different ways of shutting
evolve walls inside our skulls that would
come crashing down like blast doors and
the forests wouldn't uproot themselves
the landscape wouldn't change
the ocean would continue to eat at the shore
it would all be very boring
or maybe it wouldn't
perhaps the people would become the
hills and valleys and places would
have their own memories
the maps would read
"here is where John got drunk last night"
"here is where Sasha had her first thought"
"here there be dragons"
art wouldn't be interpreted
it would be shared
and when two lovers felt each other for the
it would be like
a volcano erupting
an extinction-level event
the first shot in a war
the discovery of electricity
WishI wish I could writeWish2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
All along the walls
Paint the sky till it sings
And never let it fall
I wish I could compose
rivers, oceans and seas
Create balance by
Inking every tree
I wish the world vivid
Blurs of green, blue and grey
Oh, it shall be a painting
Of both the night and day
Mirror MirrorMirror mirror on the wallMirror Mirror2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You see me,
My every rise and fall.
Is it you who knows me best..
Seen beyond the mask
When i'm down and depressed
Seen me the downright broken mess?
I look at you
you stare no slack
Behind my back
My knowledge of you ends
When I go my own way
But you watch me come and go
day after day..
Two Cents and Mirror ShardsShe wears her worth around her neckTwo Cents and Mirror Shards3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the form of
From ninety-three years ago
And rusty locks,
Strung on an iron chain,
Along with broken
Keys that go to
She knows of
She finds them, on
Street corners and in forgotten,
Treating them like
And long-lost friends;
She hangs them near her core
To try and remember
Where all the pieces go,
Where they all come from.
Maybe one day.
Is made of a shattered mirror
In the hopes of
Being able to see
Something that isn't on the outside.
She is not sure
Exactly what that is
None of her parts match;
She constructs herself
Out of odds and ends
That others have thrown away.
She is cracked,
She would not know
How to fix herself
If she was whole.
She strings up
Old bottle caps and
Passages from decaying books
While she tries to fasten together
Shards of glass
That leave empty spaces
She loves them
How else is light
Supposed to shine through
Without a few ho
Mothersa warped wickerwork rocker moansMothers3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
under a weary mother keeping vigil.
wisps of her maternal endearments,
leaking, streaking down the balustrade.
her swollen husband sleeping,
seeping, across scattered vinyls.
on her blind cat's chin, milk spoils,
dripping, crowning on the hearth.
her resolve, as if on wings, fleeting,
haunted by ephemeral apparitions.
her baby's in battle, prone in rubble,
seeping, across scattered warriors.
oh woebegone, mothers are heroes too,
and too often we abandon them.
CrushI attempt to rest my head on my flat pillowCrush2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Welcoming a few hazy dreams.
But, how foolish am I, thinking it's possible,
When you're ripping my brain at the seams.
Nary a soft-spoken lullaby
Or a warm blanket could suffice.
For images of your caramel eyes
Are crushing me like a vice.
Do you analyze every word I speak?
Am I causing your heart to do flips?
Do you always become meek
Before feelings can escape your lips?
What does it mean when my cheeks are tinted rose?
When you brush my knee?
Every time you're a little too close,
Is it all because of me?
A cyclone of mystery enveloped me in fear
But didn't affect my hearing.
For there was a whisper I wasn't supposed to hear
During a hallway's clearing.
I let out a gasp and left for class
But not before I heard your reply
A "Shut up!" a little too fast
And a glance into my eyes.