click, clicki will make my unapologies--click, click by disrhythmic
mark my skin in the patterns on prey animals.
i will hide but i will not stand transfixed,
and neither run:
lemmings are an urban myth,
Busted!All the body bleaks the moment: Dear now,Busted! by ExistenceWeSummonYou
I was with you once, but eternities change
and it shouldn't matter except the grass
at green is grooming new confusions.
Dear bodies, bleak with knowing where you go,
you must flatter certain folds of perceiving
with feeling's foam; it is the only way
to hold us forward, toward this dented sky.
All these soggy sounds that boast of dear death,
that dime you purchased with a start.
I was with you once, but eternities will change
and still fold us forward, toward their awful skies.
AttendantThe words you spoke:Attendant by PoetsHand
quicksand of illusion
Used to deceive
The barren of hopelessness
Used to punish
I could no longer manipulate these:
consumed concern of distrust
—I couldn’t be there
When we needed me
PrayerPlace your poemsPrayer by Scarlettletters
on the lips of angels
so you can teach their wings
how it feels to fly
Mark the summer evenings
soon to come
with the grace
that carried you
warm and cherished softly
and know we will always place
among the stars.
LessNo matter the madness that stranglesLess by jade-pandora
the news of this world
now it comes down to a friend
someone I've known for years
here, with every organ big enough
to hold more than many of us could
until, after a long struggle,
something gave, and yet
this wonderful man kept on
until there was no more road left
to walk on life's journey.
He still walks the journey
it's just not on this level
where the rest of us must wait
while the madness of this world
doesn't matter as I ache
because I feel there's less now.
|'Cause I dig... <3|
|A hero, if ever I had one.|
MovementThere’s enough anger in the airMovement by FuzzyHoser
to strangle anyone. Anyone can
say they’d do this or that. That
isn’t the point here. Here and now
makes our tomorrow. Tomorrow
is the focus. Focus on that – that
we need tomorrow. Tomorrow
will be our truth. Truth is noted
after the fact. Fact isn’t respected
in the now. Now is when we react
to what happened then. Then was
the foundation of it all. All must
recognize what is needed. Needed
now is ground to stand on. On this,
plant yourself – yourself, and not
someone else’s voice. Voice instead
your hope, your rage. Rage against
the wrongs, with your rights. Rights
ought to be as free as breath. Breath
should never be taken by hatred.
Dear Parents:Strike the soft skin of your children; leave marks.Dear Parents: by FuzzyHoser
Go on: show them how hard they must become
to be like you.
Mold them to be mindless: coach them to react
with fists; make them believe that words have
Shape them into an almighty monster: modern man.
Destroy their purity and imagination by damning them
with absurd words of a god who previous men
Teach children to follow a leader, and to not ever
break the circle they belong to, so society never
Above all: train them to question love, even your own.
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.
I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze
like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.
Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;
safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
The Town WitchEvery town has its witch. At least I think they do. I know ours does. She isn't scary like stories say she should be. She has a face like my older sister's, the one who isn't married yet, with an eager smile and bright eyes. Her hands though are like my Momma's, calloused and stretched with small roots under the skin.
Her cottage is just outside of town with a small path that runs down to the sea. Her garden is full of overgrown plants that Momma would always "tut" at when we walked by, but it's full of herbs and flowers that she tends with care. She always smells like the honeysuckle that grows around her door and like baking. She bakes often, with her windows thrown open, her singing drifting through her garden all way to the road, the thick sills stacked with rows of cooling pastries. She always leaves batches of small, sweet buns on the outer edge where us children could easily reach. Not that she ever let on that she knew we were taking them. It was the great game amongst us, pret
|I'm around if anyone needs to talk about anything. I miss being active with you guys and a part of your lives, so any time anyone needs an ear - I'm around. And if I don't know you, you're still welcome to give me a shout. Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes, and I never mind listening (or reading) anything.|
|I can't always keep up with proper thanks, but know that I do thank anyone who reads anything of mine. |
Also, you're already welcome. So no need to thank me for a thing. (: