Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jake Sims Mar 2019
I drank the *****
together with the pretty,
colorful juices

decantered and set
aside for the occasion.
Forgive me, I was

already tipsy,
because meeting new people
scares me a little.

I got drunk quickly,
and laid down on the couches
I just knocked right out.

Shameful, but then it
felt here, as always, like it
happened somewhere else.
Zywa Feb 2019
Eve
I don't wait for the bus
I'm already on my way
it's the Eve

a little busy in the street
everyone's wearing their best
shoes, polished for the feast

Open curtains, tables laid
chuckles and soft music
people will be at home tonight

The candles are dancing around us
the big loaves smell of peace
we have no questions now

The decorated bus
has clean seats
on which no one died

There are pigeons fluttering up
and three angels above the stores
are blowing their buisines
“Three angels” (1970, Bob Dylan)

Collection “The migration”
HeWhoExplores Feb 2019
Crowds gathered and the noise of disobedience shook the neighbourhood whole. I was in the southern part of the city, where sinners sinned and the practitioners groomed the bars and off licenses solely to quench their thirst for liquor. It was almost midnight and hordes of young and old alike chanted and sung merry making song that rang through city; and what a noise it was. And it was on this night I met a lad who dressed as if the night belonged to him. A tall, slender fellow who hadn’t a care in the world. His Caribbean afro would bob up and down as we giggled to anecdotal stories of the past. We were rebels of the night, breaking away from the fragile unity that was the friendship circle.

A few stragglers in the form of Chavs had joined. Many of them formed bonds with the pretty girls, rivalling us out in the end. Deciding momentarily on what our next plan was, we split away from the group and continued midnight drinking into the Holy Lands. We could hear the barking of neighbourhood dogs tangle with the distant explosions of fireworks in the sky. It was beautifully chaotic. But as midnight sinners it was like music to our ears.

“I’m off mate, take care of yourself.” The fellow said as he guzzled his last remainder of his bottled Budweiser.

“You heading home, aye?” I smirked, clearly egging him on to stay out just a tad longer. But, this was to be it. With a hug and a good luck, he was off, towards the mystic backstreets and towards the Ormeau Road. I never caught the young lad’s name, nor did I ever catch his age. It was a strange meeting between the two of us. As if, for one singular night we knew everything about each other yet knew nothing at all. I recall sitting back down on the sidewalk and smiling, before looking up towards the decorative sparkly night sky. And, what turned out to be a spontaneous and random night ended up as a completed final chapter, to a superb little story.
A little story reminiscing a lovely time long gone.
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2019
In every get together
We recall, the old us

Some start with cheers
Some light, the fire
Some signal, the same old
Secret gestures
Some try, the nostalgic
Old familiar rhyme
Some tell account
Of their gray hair
And how wrinkles
Change with time
Some find a good reason
To smile

Some smile in support
Memories of
Once upon a time
Genre: Observational
Theme: Colleague || Get Together
Numb

I can’t
Feel anything
I sit
I blast music in my ears
To drown out the sorrow from my brain
I can’t stand it
The tidal wave of nothing in my head
It has settled at the bottom
Rising almost all the way to the top
Where my only living emotions lie
Pain
Exhaustion
And their friends
I want to end it all
I have to end it all
I can’t end it yet
But I wish I could
But what’s keeping me from doing it
Nothing I have is worth keeping
I’m not worth saving
I wish I could die
It would be better that way
For everyone else
And me
No one will miss me
Least of all those close to me
I am a scourge to all those around me
Why can’t I do it?
Why can’t I **** myself?
The answer is all to plain to see:
I am a coward
I’m stuck in my ways
I’m passive
I can’t even bear to do something
Anything
That would improve the quality of life
For all those around me
I don’t have to be here
I don’t want to be here
I shouldn’t be here
So I ask you
You over there
You
You have a knife
You have a stick
You have something
You can do it
Do it for the world
Do it for yourself
Do it for me
It would really be a favor for yourself, though
Go ahead
Rid the world of my shadow
Let the spot used to fill me encapsulated in light
The world will celebrate my death
There will be a national holiday
Dedicated to celebrating the lack of me
And remembering that
I, too, would be celebrating if I could
It would have been the only time I could feel joy
Heccc
Harrison wisdom Jan 2019
THE HARVESTING CORN*
For two decades, you keep writing under the blue;
You begin to fade away petit á Petit
Like chalk particles.

You worked tirelessly in order to fulfill the demand
Of the professors;
I thought everyone who works deserves an incentive?

Where’s your incentive?
Where’s your compensation?

You engaged in a war with mortar and pestle;
You were grinded from inside to outside
Till you were broken into meaningless form.
I miss your essence.
*Stanza 1,line 1*
For 20 years, we keep working on earth.
*Line 2.*
As we begin to work, we advance in age and our strengths keep reducing.
*Stanza 2,line 1 and 2*
In a quest to become someone worthwhile in life, he embarked on the so called 6-3-3-4 educational system.
Getting to university which is like the final lap, he worked hard in order to graduate with a better grade.
*Stanza 3,line 1 and 2*
Although he read, he tried all his possible best, but it's like there's nothing to show for it.
*Stanza 4,  line 1*
He diagnosed of a heart disease
*Line 2*
The disease started eating him up little by little till it became obvious.
*Line 3 and line 4*
He died.

The poem was actually written to honour a friend of mine that died recently
Steve Page Jan 2019
Forgotton memories stomped in like strangers at a funeral, uninvited and unwanted, smiling like they belonged, but no one recognised their songs. As they talked, as they drank and sang, as they told their stories they became more strangely familiar. We found their smiles infectious despite our resistance and started to recognise some of their tunes at their insistence. Faint but familiar laughter echoed from fathoms below and slowly our mourning began to losen its wet hold. Our sadness became tinged with a happiness long forgotton and scenes from years long gone rose from the bottom of our dark well of emotion, lifting our faces to the surface, giving us a glimpse of a greater hope and clearer purpose, to tell our stories, with laughs and tears finding an uncomfortable coexistence as we danced and shared this messy remembrance.
Grief is a messy business.
Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2019
His mind homes
Two dimensions
Simple
Complex

It was new year eve
Not too long
They got introduced
They talked 1day

Once he heard
I miss you
Within a moment he replied
I’m connected

Then he asked her
Will you marry me?
She nodded Yes
Thus the celebration begin
That simple

And other time
The abstract silence
Observant nature
Keep him complex
That strong mindset
He creates
Genre: Experimental
Theme: A moment to remember
Amaris Jan 2019
Count down the clock to the new year
Four, three, two, one, it's finally here
Kiss your loved ones to celebrate at midnight
A toast, raise your glass to new heights
Write down your resolutions to remember
Believe in yourself, this year will be better
Next page