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 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
Dead Lock
She used to write poems about slitting her wrists

About monsters that did but did not exist

About band aids and stained paper towels

About grubby toilet seats and empty bowels

And well, now

She regret the scars

Fishing line trails out of them

Transparent until noticed

Then tangled and messy

Catching on hot sweaters in the summer

On the eyes of friends

Of her grandparents

She found them to no longer be the uneven lines of art she loved

She'd stick to colored pens
Don't self harm. It leads to lots of regret.
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
ryn
Submission
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
ryn
He toils all day and all year.
He takes each misgiving
and gives them momentary life,
through one lamentable tear...
Before he carries on digging.

He gets his hands *****,
as he digs through soil, earth and sweat.
No end in sight,
or he'd rather not see.
No solace he'd find,
no peace he'd let.

He only sees this expanse of land...
Of which he diligently keeps.
Tales told by dishevelled sand,
covering secrets
which he has been burying deep.

He has made this
his past, present and future.
He'd make sure that each would fit.
Tied to this grounds,
he is the worn-out keeper.
He never tells but he buries hatchets.
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
Oskar Erikson
you have outgrown
the roots within me.
and as branches spiral upwards
searching for another place to lay,
your oaken memory will

Slowly.       Wither.        Away...
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
Poetictunes
-P.t
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
Poetictunes
There are days
where happiness
lives deep within
these sad walls of loneliness.
From September - 2016*


"Comforting", it is-
in its application"

"Calming", it is-
in its purpose"

"Love",
is its message"

Whether applied to an infant babe in a crib....
or making the tears of a crying child disappear...

or, simply giving a hug to mom and dad.......

or, your children.......grandchildren.........

or, to a friend.......

Channeled thru you... from heaven..........

The "power".................of..............a "touch"


r.riddle: 09-18-2016

*inspired by Pradip Chattopadhyay's "Distance"
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
James Leggett
his hands are not coated
by the same coal instilled in his place of work
they arise out of ashes of an unseen fire
wielding its flame in unwelcomed areas

where truth and lies are rooted in the same sin
masking filth over pale skin too afraid of the sun
and telling shadows their worth can never be proven
in the ether of endless night

his rot, his grime which he wears like a badge
safely dissolving his shame
for he breathes in isolated air
which lingers in the pockets of smoke

hiding the last face she showed him
for its disturbance evoked a different life
than the one he'd like to lead
and kept his hands from the pillages of dirt

hands too terrified of wash
to see what's been hiding all this time
when their sense of duty finds its limit
when the work becomes fire
and the fire becomes forever
venturing into the forest of night
taking pity on the poor souls
too blind to see what they've done
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
LD Goodwin
Visit my home
Visit my Parents
Parents are shaky
Parents are old
Old and crippled
Old and afraid
Afraid of life
Afraid of death
Death is real
Death is coming
Coming of age
Coming and going
Going for broke
Going to try
Try to behave
Try to shine
Shine and sparkle
Shine my shoes
Shoes to fill
Shoes are big
Big, but belittles
Big and bad
Bad little boy
Bad wooden cane
Cane or crutch
Cane for Dad
Dad is old
Dad is limping
Limping too much
Limping from Karma
Karma is debt
Karma is old
Old and battered
Old and grey
Grey brings fear
Grey and blue
Blue on blue
Blue but free
Free as wind
Free as snow
Snow and snow
Snow must go
Go back home
Go from fear
Fear and tears
Fear is past
Past is gone
Past is insane
insane....
past...




*Blitz Poem
Line 1 should be one short phrase or image
Line 2 should be another short phrase or image using the same first word as the first word in Line 1
Lines 3 and 4 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 2 as their first words
Lines 5 and 6 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 4 as their first words, and so on until you’ve made it through 48 lines
Line 49 should be the last word of Line 48
Line 50 should be the last word of Line 47
The title of the poem should be three words long and follow this format: (first word of Line 3) (preposition or conjunction) (first word of line 47)
There should be no punctuation
Miamisburg, OH    March 2013
Dressed-up words
misguide our naked thoughts
far more than naked thoughts
influence the use of dressed-up words.

Words can be a narcissistic cover-up
or
masks expressing secondary emotions,
even if the wordsmith
is begging to be
needed.

If one desires to communicate
with a purer intent,
to cut through language's sinew
of misinterpretation,
and into truth's marrow,

such communication can happen
within wordless silence
where blooms
touch
waves
salt
sweat
true north,

pantings
in the cold;
the swelling heat
of iron ignition.

When my tongue dissolves the words,
laps up innuendos
and syntax errors of reality
from in-between
the honeyed surface
of language,
over-stimulation
spins me deliriously.

If
this
needs a pause,
a breath to breathe,
to feel the distance,

our wavelengths
will never cease
to communicate.



September 12th, 2015
 Feb 2017 FJ Thomas
Chris
There is a room of everything I wish I’d said.
It tastes of everything that’s empty.
I brush until my mouth bleeds.
Do not touch me with your forgiving eyes,
I do not deserve to be whole.
There is an ocean full of light here somewhere,
I heard it.
It’s a shame I cannot swim,
there is so much I can’t lose.
You said you’d be here.
You said you’d be here.
Maybe one day.
One day it will exist.
The place where we remember.
Where everything remembers.
But it has been quiet lately.
I am everywhere but here.

There is a room of everything you wish you’d said.
It tastes of everything that’s empty.
I stay until my mouth bleeds.

— The End —