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 Feb 2017 Kim
Thomas P Owens Sr
I visited my home for a few days
smelled the ocean as I thought of the time
we decided to drive to the beach and lay there
in each other's company for a few hours
I got wind burn and we drove back in a storm
leaning forward, my back on fire
we laughed because we were happy
to be with each other
I loved You
you know
as crazy as it was
I didn't know where we stood
we didn't talk about the possibilities
of you and I beyond this day
you were spoken for
this I knew from the start
and I waited for you to tell me different
but it never came
even though I saw the burn
in your eyes
we would get high together
and sing as we sat around the candles
on your living room floor
though we kissed like vampires after blood
and held each other until the Sun arose
we never made love
perhaps we both knew that
we could never turn back if we did
this was what I wished for

I am back to the place where I live
and must return to my life such as it is
put the memories of you away
until I am home again
I loved You
you know
for Lisa
true story
long ago
 Feb 2017 Kim
traces of being
Wondering through
the complex mazes
of the wind,
trying to feel beyond
what I cannot see;

trying to see beyond
   what I can feel ―

The echoes of the breeze
invigorate the stillness

The weight
of a world heavy
expands like the traces
of life lived
packed deeply beneath
jagged fingernails

Lost in the wilderness
of my soul,
a feral wind
abides silently
as I wonder alone
from end to end

...  side   to   side
    
through a portal
shapeless as the wind

Blinded by a collective
bioluminescent light
rooted deeply within,
intimately touching
crystalline fountains
as the deepest pools
of innate blackness unfold
in the wake

I reverently touch
the inward rhythm
where a heart strong
     runs alone …

feeling its
pulsing cadence
    quake and thunder
    in reach …

Rivulets thrumming across
the burgeoning blossom
of soothing netherworld seas

Washing away
all the memories made
like the shapeless waves of wind
moving the stillness
beyond


wild is the wind ... 1. 27. 2017
the answer is blowin’ in the wind
.
 Jan 2017 Kim
betterdays
amber drops
 Jan 2017 Kim
betterdays
my mind returns
more often now

to those simpler days

when to seek a thrill
was to ride a bike
no handed down a steep hill

where to while away hours
you lay on your back
and counted clouds

friendships were made and sealed
by the fine art of daisy chain production

when others worried about important things
and we spent our dollars on lollies and chips

the time when all wars were fought in one day
then forgotten and forsaken for the next day's adventure

when you went to bed pleasantly tired
and slept with no sword hanging
over your head....

my mind returns
with a fondness
for those carefree days
those moments caught
in the amber of my memory

and sighs, longingly
before coming back
to the here and now
of adulthood.
 Jan 2017 Kim
jenna elizabeth
I've been having moods lately. Not good moods either. These are the moods I hide from people. Moods where I snap at a harmless comment. Moods when I cry for no reason. Moods when I cry for a dark reason. I hide these moods so you won't pity me. When it's late at night and I'm crying and I feel so alone. I start thinking then. Thinking when I'm in these moods are never good. I've never acted on these thoughts but these thoughts are still there. When it's late at night and I'm crying and I feel so alone. You assume my thoughts. Where could I feel hurt and no one could see? What "great plans" are supposedly in store for me? What am I supposed to do with my life? Will I amount to anything? The pressure sets in then. It sits on my chest and creeps into my heart and lungs.
I have to remain strong. These thoughts and moods will pass.
currently listening to what now: rhianna
 Jan 2017 Kim
Paul Marfil
In Shadows
 Jan 2017 Kim
Paul Marfil
Some nights, I would set sail
To a thousand words on paper,
And one by one, they would get lost
Beneath the rip tides of your skin.

In sentience and in sleep,
Darling, you are only as real
As the last verse I wrote
On the crumpled walls of dusk.

While the world slaughters dreamers,
I watch you, begging the moon
To drop pieces of itself on sea foam.
I am a slave to your every step.

Tucked underneath crystalline sighs,
The stars would come out to put up tents
In the corner of your eyes, their light
Guiding the way for misguided missives.

Moored to your voice, I listen
As you speak in the language of waves,
Your words undulating with my metaphors,
But stirring holocausts for the heartbroken.

But you are here, and the lines between your eyes
Get tangled up with thoughts bred by midnight.
Your hair, your hair, they tessellate and play
With the colors of honey and amber.

Perhaps, if one were to crack you open
The light of a thousand adjectives
Would come seeping out of your skin.
I am but the shadow it will cast.

And in shadows, they whisper
That dreams can get lost
In the vacancies of the night.
Every night, with you
I set sail to my words
To find them
And lure them back.
 Jan 2017 Kim
Emily B
I had a vision once

jeeps and dust
an apocalyptic America
and I was scared

this morning I stood in the shower
thinking
maybe I should tell my daughter
to let her hair grow
to pretend to have a boyfriend

our system of checks and balances
is being stomped on
civil liberties
and inalienable rights
are extinct

psychic vision
is poised to become reality
and I never imagined
it would be our own government
holding us hostage
 Jan 2017 Kim
Damian Murphy
Ne'er can any mountain be climbed
Unless at first one is inclined!
 Jan 2017 Kim
Phil Lindsey
New World
 Jan 2017 Kim
Phil Lindsey
In 1492,
Columbus had a few
Things to do
Before he sailed the ocean blue.
He needed some green,
If you know what I mean,
So he went to see the King and Queen
Of Portugal, England, and France:
They laughed, shook their heads and said, “No chance.”
While his Homies back in Italy
Said, “Christabo, you gotta be kiddin’ me.
You want to do WHAT!? And you want US to pay?
We think you're a nut, now go on, go away."
But he didn’t give up and he didn’t complain,
He shook it off and took off for Spain
Where Ferdinand and Isabella,
Thinking him a righteous fella,
Told him they would float his boat,
If their country he’d promote,
Plant their flag on lands discovered, and
Bring them riches he uncovered, so
They all signed on the dotted line, and
Columbus said, “The pleasure’s mine!”
Then he smiled and bowed and said, “I’ll see’ya!”
And hopped aboard the Santa Maria.
See Christopher knew the Greek Geeks found,
That instead of flat, the earth was round,
So he thought he knew, or at least he guessed,
That it might be best
To get Far East by sailing west.
He pulled up anchor, set the sail
Told ninety men, success or fail,
West, they’d go, and west they went
Seventy days, provisions spent,
When land was spotted, dead ahead,
Columbus planted the flag and said,
“I claim this land for the King of Spain,
In doing so increase his reign,
And underneath this flag, unfurled,
Declare New Spain, a brand new world!”
What Columbus didn’t anticipate
He was 500 years or so too late,
For Eric the Red, and Leif, his son,
Long ago discovered Newfoundland.
Now when history tells North America’s story,
There’s room for both to share the glory.
But another fact, it’s become quite clear,
There were thousands of people already here,
See life in Asia wasn’t so great,
Some folks decided not to wait,
They just walked across the Bering Strait,
So Chris and Leif both got here late!
Phil Lindsey 1/27/17
 Jan 2017 Kim
wordvango
Am I myopic?
 Jan 2017 Kim
wordvango
just wait one minute
the theory of art
can it be like VanGogh's
stars be monumental
for the sake of drama ,
is the winsome guitar in my favorite song
just  a prop in this play
of a rock opera?
Can it be art is just a
short way of saying artificial?
Does my heart sing her song
play a song of ethereal  longing just for a
effect?
And does art
in her theory stand for artificial , is my sight
so shortsighted?
I held his hand firmly on the fairground.

There were ferris wheel and rocking boat
even a flying saucer
of rides worth a few pennies

but the boy embracing that unlucky age
had his eyes stuck on the shining silver blue
beaming behind the sparking glass
full with rotor blades ready to take off
dreaming a ride to the sky
past the high tent of the circus
over the tallest coconut tree
into the haze of stars
where to only lonely pilots could fly
for being loved and understood
and not questioned for the cracked voice
for the thin hairlines on upper lip
for glancing at the girls
but inducted into the team of thirteen
for perpetually traversing between stars
on free rides into freedom
worth a lifetime.
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