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Bend at the waist
be a doll, doll,
dance your *** down
this way, my way
into sentiment, burning
images onto the brain
you can't get away.

Bend babe, shake or
shiver as you please
let lethargy melt into
unkempt smiles, deep
dimples of face-skin
softened in sweet sun ray.

All the people in the street.
Where are they going, and
what does that mean in the
end-times, the ever-present hour
of a dying world's last breaths,
here for sole reason of shepherding
the sheep, because you're a wolf
are you not?

Miles above the weeping masses,
holding it together with barely
a grip to give name; coping
they call it, accepting reality as
objective, something separate from
myself.

I imagine the world as a bubble
and I hold the pin-needle, too close
to body to alarm and too close
to bubble to bat away, bend
please, bend at wrist for sake of
sanity, bury yourself neck-deep in
chance. Bend babe,
bend away.
 Feb 2015 Emma Pickwick
AP
my father left on a Thursday
and we buried him on a Sunday
i'd never witnessed an earth so dull
the colors didn't explode and combust
the music didn't serenade and echo
no,
the clouds just poured and poured and poured again
mother said the angels were crying because they didn't want him this soon
their tears fell through the crevasses of a black sky
and my life became a silent film
my eyes could only see tones of grey
and as i removed my small hand from an oversized coat that belonged to him
i held onto the cherry wood of a coffin
i looked into it to see the black and white reflection of a small boy whose sadness could not be defined

and a decade later on Sunday the 8th of the bitter cold month of February
i wake up with colorless vision
and become deaf for the day
i revisit your grave
and the other mourners look on at me
a little child transformed once again
weeping in the warmth of a jacket that only seems to grow larger with time
and the angels can't help but to cry again
their pain reverberates throughout the field of death that appears to have no definite end
i peer over the gray hill of gray tombstones
and my eyes glaze over with a sheet of liquid melancholy
because i realize everyone has their own February the 8th
 Feb 2015 Emma Pickwick
AP
in a foggy haze
amidst my highest of highs
I still see your glow

my lungs breathe heavy
opiates flood fragile veins
I fly with numb wings

the syringes pile
so i can forget your lips
the spring taste of joy

here I say farewell
***** needles, leather belts
*I still see your glow
Withdrawal from a human, abuse of a drug
Haiku x 4
/
When turning to cross
The  known road
Nightfall sought at transition
Juncture in the global
The road was not going
To go straight to,
Long trees standing as rows
The situation was the frolic of shadows

What a strange illusion
In the air
All the time together
Calling with his hand  
Meantime few steps to the New street
Evenings Came
Tuning of falling leaves
It was all the upset heart
Of the tune
Dry leaves on the road
With the wind in love
The impatient soul

Known moon far away,
Solo
Moonlit falling on the street
In the gap of trees,
Half-light, half shadow
Of aesthetic
Sudden heart bothered
For whom
Restless reflections breaking the heart
Known music floats
In the air
Yet too mystic!
As if the time,
Passing thousands of dreams  
Moving toward the ultimate way to
/
@Musfiq us shaleheen
The ultimate way to/
 Feb 2015 Emma Pickwick
SG Holter
So the doctor said her foot
Was broken.
Yes, I like a woman tough,
But it's been two months
Since it started hurting.
Suppose few things are as
Subjective as pain.

I rub my right hand when it's
Cold. The one I crushed
Between two containers.
Crane driver was still
Drunk from breakfast;  
Suppose few things are as
Subjective as responsibility.

We're all scars. Broken bones
And bruised hearts.
Embarrasing memories and
Bitten bullets.
Walking on broken feet until
They heal.

Suppose few things are as
Subjective as
Growth.
Listening to the magpie sing,
Hoping she brings me a lucky day,

I watch the sunrise in your eyes,
I watch cherry blossoms bloom,
As they say hello to Spring,

I look at you my Dream,
Wondering?

Why, loving you is as impossible,
As fixing a broken heart?

My Dream,
You are the last poem,
I will never finish writing.

Copyright 2015 © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Not Spring, Love or Cherry Blossoms Song
http://youtu.be/ouR4nn1G9r4
 Feb 2015 Emma Pickwick
Sjr1000
I was invited,
She was dressed in red,
A long sleeve blouse
to hide
the upper arm gills,
Cuts inflicted with
perfect knife skills,
Invited by the friend
of a friend's friend,
That never slowed her down.

She appeared before me,
Inviting me to her bed,
When I said, "Hello"
She was wounded and insulted
and told me to go.
When I started to leave,
She lay on the bed,
Threatening suicide
if I left.

She held me in high esteem
or so she said,
When I came forward
she told me to "drop dead. "

It's a black and white world
in her head
with no hues or colors
but dripping dread
it's what happens
with trauma's invalidation,
No boundaries, no barriers
rip tides running
takes her under.

Everything changes in a
moment
from tears to rage
and back again.

"I'm warning you," she said.
A gut check,
I thought I was up
to the task,
When she was silent,
I just had to ask,
"Is there anything I
can do to help? "

She jumped out the window
made a mad dash.

I sat on the curb
to consider my fate
smoke my last cigarette
she had taken my pack.
I fell into my shoes,
Staring,
Waiting for one of them
to move.

"I love you sweetheart" she said,
"You'd better go,
I love you sweetheart
don't go away.

I love you sweetheart
stay here - no not
there
over here. "

A dancing puppet,
I learned to love her truly.
I made the moves,
Learned acceptance, too.

Then she saw you.

I returned from the borderline
a little less smug
not so refined,
Now late at night
when anxiety has passed,
She comes into my mind,
I toss and turn
fall off the bed,
I don't know if she's
alive or dead
in
heaven or hell,
A test for all those
who think they know love.

If you fail, you pass,
If you pass you fail.

Beware of uninvited guests
dressed in red.
Sights set beyond starry skies
Close enough star where daylight lies

Sleepy lids waiting to catch it in its rise
Brand new day to try on for size
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