Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
The thing with poetry is when I start
I can’t stop
It’s as if everything I've tried so hard to keep in
Comes tumbling out
And sometimes I admit to things that
I didn't want to
And most times I can’t deny the truth
because it’s written onto paper
With every line comes my undoing
And little by little
I can feel myself breaking away from the ties
That I am bound by--
slowly I am becoming my own person
The thing with poetry is when I start
I don’t want to stop.
(h.l)
 Jun 2014 Manda Clement
Court
Sext:
 Jun 2014 Manda Clement
Court
Everything you ever said was always picturesque and it's no wonder that I fell in love with you.
(Cch)
you know that it’s really over
when you can’t remember
their phone number anymore,
even though you’ve had it
memorized since the third grade.
5.41
is the time on the clock face,
when the first kookaburra
calls.
this corner of the world,
still dark and cold.
but then i suppose,
some poor sucker,
had to get the early bird gig
i just wish, it was'nt,
the noisiest bird in the park.

look out worms.....laughing death is on the wing.
and thus starts another day.
it was a blood vessel,
within the brain.
that gave out....
too much thinking.
no, more likely to be,
a genetic imperfection.
undectected until now.
the brain, became flooded
and succumbed...

it was mostly painless,
if confusing...
synapses firing,
one last time.
a fireworks moment,
of
absolute brillance.
of
knowing all questions
and answers.
of
rememberance sublime.

and
then the quieting
of the soul.

the folding of the deckchair,
the closing of the book,
receding steps...
some bars,
of classical music.
the light,
being switched off.
and
the closing
of the door..
all that is left .... is darkness

and the sound of distant...
                             ...weeping
upon hearing of the passing of one of my mother's friends husbands death....
anuerysm...i did not know the gentleman... so the poem
is more about the style of death, than the man.
may he rest ip peace.
it seems, my words
have lost their allure,
this morning.
and i am too fixated,
on vainly scrawling.
to see
the crafts of others,
floating on the river poetry.
i am, hands to the oars, rowing against,
a beautiful tide.
endevouring,
to attain a mooring,
on the inside of a thought. what would happen,
if i.....
let go and read just
one or two poems
from other,
weary skullsmen
and made comment.
it mayhap...
nothing, but then it,
maybe...
instead of poetry,
decrying a dying state.

the poet in the other boat,
rowing silently,
for a moment, or a lifetime
is encouraged to,
greater acts
of creativity.
just maybe.....maybe.
AS THE DAYS GO BY...
Somedays you wonder will it ever end...
Somedays it flies by...
So much to do, and not enough time...
But then you stop, and say,
Slow down, there will be another day...
If your lucky, there will be another day...
Only TIME will tell...

by judy
My back has been hurting, and when you can't do things, that is when you want to do them....but, there will be another day...)
My dad lost his arm to cancer.
He was 61 years old,
did he let that get him down?
Heck NO...
The day he came home from the hospital
minus one shoulder and arm,
he jumped on his bike and rode
it down to our house,
which was a long block away.
balance, how did he do it?

Dad was always included in
all our neighborhood parties.
if he was sitting in my backyard,
he would be drinking a cup of coffee
with Jim, my husband.
If he was sitting in my neighbor Dennys backyard
he would be drinking a beer
with Denny.

Dad worked as a machine repairman
with out his arm for two more years.
Because he was good.
Dad bowled two times a week with one arm,
and he walked out at the Park
the days he didn't bowl.

My amazing dad, with one arm and no shoulder,
built my kitchen cupboards,
put up a ceiling in the basement,
build doll houses for my daughter
and the neighbor girl,
and also one for a church raffle.

My dad went to church every Sunday,
and when he was so ill,
the nun would visit dad and mom,
mom would play the *****,
beer barrel polka,
while the nun and my dad danced.

He was known by many, taught kids
how to bowl, including my son.
AND HE IS MISSED BY ALL....

This is a tribute to my daddy
named Fritz....
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY...

by ~ judy
When your an only child
and have a dog,
that dog becomes your best friend.
My dogs name was Trixie
a little fox terrier
who was as gentle
as a best friend could be.
We would sit underneath
the dining room table
while mom sewed, and
I would dress Trixie up
in baby clothes
and push her around
in my doll buggy.
As a best friend
Trixie just layed there
like she knew she should.
Why should she,
because I talked her into it.
Dogs understand things
more than we realize.
But....
One Christmas Eve
Trixie ate a whole bowl of
chocolate German *** Candy.
Imported from Germany
And....
She lived to wag her tail for us.
that candy had real *** in it.
She wagged her tail, and staggered
as she walked.
Trixie never chewed up things,
or bothered anything,
but...
it was Christmas Eve
and I think that the devil
told her to do it....
My best friend Trixie
lived for many, many years
and they say chocolate can
**** a dog, and certainly
*** didn't seem like it
was made for a dog.
But...
Having Trixie as my best friend
made my childhood days
really fun.
When your a child a dog is a best friend, and as a senior citizen they again become ones best friend...now my best friend is called Budy.
I have fallen in love
With the air, the trees
The thinly paved and often cracked roads
And even moreso with those covered in cobblestone.
I have fallen in love with the tanned locals
Old shopkeepers with hats and bifocals
Their calling voices
The natural movement of their hands
The cool sea water
And hot white sands.
I have fallen in love with espresso
And how it feels in my throat
The smell of leather
Taste of gelato
Harbours full of fishing boats
The sound of a vintage vespa
Weaving its way through a crowd
The arguing couple, arguing loud
And this is a country of which to be proud.
I have fallen in love with the architecture
The vast and complex history
The more I learn the more I admit is a mystery.
I have fallen in love with the way the sun shines brighter
The air is fresher
And the fruit is sweeter
The men are bolder
And the books are cheaper.
I have fallen in love with the words they say
And how those words effortlessly roll off their tongues
I breathe in their culture
And try to hold it in my lungs.
Pizza, pesto, cute cafes
Absence of anxiety, holidays
The tourists who view it all through a camera lense
Adventure begins and tension ends.
I have fallen in love with it all
Every flower
Every hue
All those pairs of knock-off sunglasses
I love them too.
Every cloud
Every ray of sunshine
Every drop of ***** riverwater
Every painted line
Every brick
Of every church
On all those hills
In all those tiny towns
That populate the green countryside
And every visionary who in them has lived and died
I love
But most of all
I have fallen in love with the version of me
That comes out when I am in Italy
Next page