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Brody Blue Jul 2019
When I met you, love,
On last April's fourteenth day,
While on that month long
Road trip, we got lost,
Found a bar, and went inside
With an empty hand.

I fulfilled my hand
That night, when I met you, love.
You snuck me inside
Your room night and day;
I must admit, I got lost.
But not for too long.

‘Cause the road is long
Ahead; and a bird in hand
Is worth two you’ve lost.
When I met you, love,
It was on the fourteenth day,
And you stayed inside.

And you stayed inside
For just way too ******* long.
Windows shut by day,
Lights at night in hand.
That night, when I met you, love,
Were you just as lost?

That night, we were lost;
At the bar we sat inside.
When I met you, love,
I still had a long
Way to go. But bird in hand
Was worth two that day

Till there comes the day
When I’ve found what isn’t lost,
That a bird in hand
Is worth two inside
The bush. It’s been so long since
When I met you, love,

That day spent inside.
I lost you; it took too long
For your hand in love.
This is a sestina made up of six pairs of haikus, and a single haiku at the envoi.
Brody Blue Jul 2019
When I learned your love
Was now not mine for all time,
I disarmed my heart,
Because I thought life
Was what you saw with the eyes,
Not what you could feel.

Now, all I can feel
Is loathsome hatred, not love,
For my trickster eyes
That looked into time
Without seeing any life,
Neither soul nor heart.

And yet, still my heart
Beats on, till the day I feel
How swift is life,
And learn I need love.
I will beg of you this time,
With blood in my eyes,

With blood in my eyes.
Fragile is my lonesome heart;
Help me thru the time
So I learn to feel
Once more the fullness of love,
And how to live life.

For to have a life,
You owe the light of your eyes
And sweet breath. What's love
To a pale-green heart?
Not even worms does it feel,
Unimpressed with time,

Unexplained by time,
And knowing that dream called life;
How bad it did feel!
With blood in my eyes,
I beg you, take it to heart
That you have my love,

When in time, my eyes
See life in anothers' heart,
And it's me you love.
This is a sestina made up of six pairs of haikus, and a single haiku at the envoi.
fallon Apr 2019
a pity it is to watch the one you love
speak about her skin
to watch him play with her hair
hearing him speak about her lips
knowing she didn’t treasure him like gold
praying for her to release him, for him to be free

delicate as lace is his skin
his star sign is reflected by his hair
sweet as sugar are the words on his lips
he is more precious than gold
i know he prays for his spirit to be nothing but free
for him i am filled with nothing but love

that morning i played with his hair
and as he spoke i watched his lips
he sang to me with his voice of gold
that night with him i felt so free
i thought between us there was love
because that morning he traced my skin

and i thought he was watching my lips
i thought he was showing me the parts of him soft as gold
i was foolish to think loving him was free
his eyes seemed to reflect love
i thought i had him because of his blushing skin
or how he sighed when he smelled my hair

maybe he doesn’t see my heart of gold
maybe with me he doesn’t feel free
maybe he simply just isn’t in love
maybe it’s because i don’t have the softest skin
maybe the last time we connected was when i touched his hair
i’m sure he can never see himself kissing my lips

but with i’m i’ll always be free
something that will never fade is my love
i’ll never stop thinking about his skin
my favourite thing will always be his red hair
i’ll never stop thinking about that promise that came from his lips
i’ll always treasure him like gold

his lips, skin, hair
i’ll always remember like gold
but but my love for him will never be free.
Eileen Black Jan 2019
Estelle (Sestina)

I look out at the universe tonight,
High into a lonely dark sky;
Yet a single star stays shining bright,
Burning with an eternal flame.
An entire night sky, one twinkle of light;
I think she deserves a name.

Worthy of a star, is there such a name?
Not one I will find tonight.
I watch her glow until morning light
Till the sun takes over a blue sky.
Yet nothing could put out her flame;
She lives in my soul, eternally bright.

There is no other that can burn so bright.
I wish she could know my name.
In my amazement, jealousy burns like a flame.
She alone rules the sky tonight.
Will I ever rule a sky?
She seems to laugh, that twinkle of light.

Grant me this wish; be my guiding light.
Lead me to the passion to make my life bright,
A love that’s as deep as your endless sky.
That the world knows my name,
My only wish tonight;
Cast all other dreams to unending flame.

I will light a match and fan my dream’s flame,
Heart filled with hope till morning light,
The smile on her face I can feel tonight.
Oh dear star that shines down so bright,
Will you ever know my name?
Still she is silent in her moonlit sky.

How many wishes shall I place in the sky?
Will you silence me with a ball of flame?
Grant my wish: the world to know my name.
Please hear my words or I will have no light.
I can see you still shining bright.
My wishes are yours to answer tonight.

Estelle shall be the name of my twinkle of light,
Her flame burning always so bright.
I send one wish to the sky before I sleep tonight.
JR Rhine Oct 2018
High above dear Maple Street
There looms a cold iron curtain of fear
That dares to drop and let all the monsters
Unleash their dreaded promise of chaos
As in Europe despots gift a new World War
Trembling parlors hug the radio

Hallows Eve: the radio
Begins to sing throughout dear Maple Street
The Seventh Trumpet declares all out war
And that heavy iron curtain of fear
Eclipses the sun and invites chaos
In vacant hearts of men into monsters

Halloween Night: the monsters
Now dance to the tune of the radio
Raiding the stores, jumping bridges, chaos
Entombing the stretch of this blood strewn street
Parlors gorging on endless waves of fear
Riding hysteria, imminent war

O great catalyst of war
Twisting the minds of men into monsters
Diving your hands in that great pit of fear
Now throbbing with screams from the radio
No fences nor faces can save Maple Street
Now plunged in the throes of sweet sultry Chaos

And we call it Chaos
This boiling of minds all stewing with war
Once masked with humanity on this street
Now reveals good neighbors make great monsters
Skies of martians (n)or men, the radio
Hissing, twists the knobs and tunes in to fear

And when that curtain of fear
Draws, and shadeless light casts on the chaos
And the broadcast fades on the radio
And mere fiction rescinds the throne of war
What will we make of all of these monsters
Scattered about in a daze through the street

Where there are minds of fear and war,
Chaos reigns and calls to the sleeping monsters;
Tune in to Welles’s radio on Sterling’s street.
All Hallow's Eve, 80 years ago today, Orson Welles gave his "War of the Worlds" radio broadcast to an America terrified of war, enveloped in fear. I tied it into one of my favorite episodes of the Twilight Zone by the same name, where a neighborhood becomes engrossed in fear, resorting to an animal-like defense that eventually tears apart their humanity.
Julia Jun 2018
I don’t have stories to tell anymore.
Maybe because I talk with myself less and talk to you more.
I walk to the car, to work, back to the car, into the house,
always an invisible string, a compass, a radar, looking for you.
There used to be stories, a string tied to a fantasy, a compass pointing into a future
I do not know if I should dream of or want.

There’s this undying want
That is hard to ignore anymore.
When I think about the future
All I think is “more,”
And I don’t know if more means me and you
And two kids and that white and wood paneled ocean house.

Take, for example, my own childhood house.
That was a place that filled me with heavy want.
Though we had everything we needed, I suppose, most children like me and you
Don’t follow our parents’ footsteps anymore
And we don’t see keeping up with the Joneses as anything more
Than a long-dead, rotted-out American Dream kind of future.

Where is the future
In a two-car-garage white house?
I know it’s not about the house, it’s more
About the people in it and being comfortable and I want to want
That future and see value in it, and oh the laughs we’d have around the kitchen table. But anymore
I can’t lie, I want to run and run and run away from me and from you.

I’ll use the cliché: it’s not you,
It’s me and my obsession with the future.
I don’t think I am ever awake in the present anymore.
I’m always up ahead and there are two simulations I play with. That one with the house
And the one where I run and I run, alone, wherever I want
And honestly, honestly, I don’t know which one I want more.

But couldn’t they have guessed? The more
I fear losing everything which is you
The more I want
To play by my rules and **** the future.
So in another imagining, they find me in the bathroom of this house.
My heart isn’t beating anymore.

I imagine there’s something more in the future
Other than you or running or a white-wood house,
But I don’t have stories to tell anymore. I don’t want to look there anymore.
Lillian Harris May 2018
A candle burns somewhere inside of me
And keeps its light despite the steady rain.
I wonder at its constance in the cold
That, flickering on occasion, never dies.
And through the dark a glow reaches my eyes
Like a distant sun; rising and fading

I wait for the sound of thunder fading–
This storm has so recklessly lived in me,
And with it’s biting wind, has stung my eyes.
Though only raging from within, the rain
And sky both fall and weep as daylight dies
But still the candle burns despite the cold

Larceners masked as lovers leave me cold;
Deceivers and thieves with faces fading,
Whose winter hands freeze when summer’s warmth dies–
Craving heat I cannot offer, watch me
Shiver. Each doubt descends like falling rain;
An infinite dance behind my closed eyes.

And the uncertain glow still meets my tired eyes
The blood in my veins boils while theirs stays cold
Those hands I once held and fell for like rain
Those flames for me perpetually fading
With their trails of dark smoke following me
Yet my sallow light persists, it never dies

The sky is drenched in black, the old sun dies
I watch it pale and sink before my eyes.
But it will resurrect again, like me
Each morning from the heavy sheets and cold
The flame will not go out, the darkness fading;
Fleeing from me like quickly passing rain

I stand with burdens heavy in the rain
Holding onto the light that never dies
Wishing to feel the hush of the storm fading
No saltwater stinging and staining my eyes
For once, to feel fire chase away the cold
A heat or heart that warms but does not burn me

.And sometimes the rain gets in my eyes
Sometimes light dies, and leaves me cold
Yet still the candle burns; No longer fading.
A sestina
Oscar C May 2018
Beyond these walls wounded around me, I am free
The walls no longer encase my sickening body
I am able to smell the ever growing flowers,
Accompanied by the vervain bush, and freshly cut grass.
The sweetness lingers undermy nose,
But not long does it come back to the sterile hospital.
It is where I am safe, the hospital,
But I’ll never be if I stay, that is free.
Every hour the nurses come a check my mouth, throat, and nose
Making sure no more disease has entered my body
Maybe mother will let me touch again the grass,
She says I may be allergic to the flowers.
Last time I got very sick being around the flowers,
Something about the pollen, sent me right back to the hospital.
Somedays I sit on the harsh bed, but I rather lie in the grass,
O’ Doctors please just let me be free.
I know there’s something wrong with my body,
Something, I presume, with my nose.
There’s more, but mainly I can’t smell, at least with my nose.
I smell everything, even the flowers,
To smell I use my eyes, hands, ears, words; my body.
I always try furtively to escape the hospital,
But the guards, nurses, and doctors steal my free.
My free is the glowering sun on my body, and my skin on the grass.
I lie in the grass,
The pollen sinks in my nose,
While they countermand my free.
My gentle hands wisping across my mother’s favorite flowers.
As so, she comes out and rushing me back into the hospital,
In her arms, in my sound body.
My doctors examine my body,
Picking off my shirt, the specks of grass.
They let me leave, for good, the hospital.
I can now smell the wonders on the world, with my nose,
My favorite smell is the daisies, my mother’s favorite flowers.
They gave me back my free.
A fixed nose,
The smell of even grass, and sprouting flowers,
I am finally free.
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