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She (an early eddy styx poem)

Submitted by Candlewitch on Wed, 2023-08-16 07:17

She

I didn't slay her...

She was gone when I found her

but;

overcome with curiosity

I...

softly touched her pale, swollen lips

and,

smelled her creamrinse-fragrant hair.

---
*eddy styx is my murderous, Male alter ego who writes dark poetry
.

‘The Builder’

Submitted by WealdenCelebrant on Wed, 2023-08-16 06:39

He worked with his hands, worn and weathered,
From years of toil and labour,
His trade was that of a brickkie,
Building was his favour.

Taking time to unwind,
Playing snooker or cards,
It’s only right,
When you’ve worked so hard.

Through decades, countless bricks
Have passed through this man’s hand,
His needs were simple, a fag, a trowel,
Some cement, and some sand.

Working his craft, creating homes for many to enjoy,
With care and dedication, ever since he was a boy,

Hot summer nights

Submitted by Tyler Jakeway on Wed, 2023-08-16 04:32

Dry and arid weather,
Smoke fills the valley,
From wildfires makes the heat feel like wearing a jacket of leather,
Burning trees in its finale.

Sweltering sun brings up the fahrenheit,
No cool down in near sight,
Choking on fumes from the groves,
Mercury rises to one hundred eight,
Hot enough to make you suffocate,
Billowing smokestacks all around,
Blanketing our blue sky and stealing our air,
Turning it hazy gray until the cold front blows it all away, and gets ashed out by the Oregon rain.

Hot summer nights

Submitted by Tawny023 on Tue, 2023-08-15 20:42

A Tropical storm erupted out of no where
Warring and tearing through the skies
No outside force can reckon
Can only brace for the terror and run for cover

Electrifying and jarring
Inciting all the sound waves into a crescendo
With its disastrous crackling cries and lightening frenzy
Quickly I wiped away the rain from my brim
Only to blink to see all glowing turned to night

Fairy Tales Remembered

Submitted by Clentin on Tue, 2023-08-15 19:49

Only in fairy tales are we able to see
all of the characters we are able to be.

Some days the pauper, some days the queen
others, the princess, sometimes the king.

But when we are nasty and ever so mean
the role of the troll can often be seen.

Whatever our mood, whatever our need
there is always an appropriate story to read.

Without tiny stories and beautiful dreams
we have no way to muffle life’s screams.

The beauty of fairy tales should never be lost
there is no possible way to repay the cost.

FOOD PLOT

Submitted by scribbler on Tue, 2023-08-15 18:04

This field is not an easy one.
CLANG! I hit another rock
with the symbol of plow's disk.
another stone another shock.
No time to toss it from my way.

The plow cuts deepest on the turns
but bury's weed on straight ways too.
The first clouds block the intense sun.
I must get planted ere day's through.
The coming rain will wait I pray.

Devil's advocate claims Teflon Trump...

Submitted by Jane A. Rug on Tue, 2023-08-15 15:43

The demagogue reincarnate
feels gifted to reign supreme
captivates, glorifies, lauds,
renounces, yawps extreme
views bellows dogmatic fulminations
in an attempt to redeem
stolen 2020 capital one bid.

A STRANGE STORY

Submitted by Twizzle48 on Tue, 2023-08-15 11:06

A STRANGE STORY

Gather around and let me begin
To tell you a tale that’s very strange
It’ll beguile you, before it lets you in
Before any preconceptions change

A story with no beginning nor end
Just a continuous plot you must follow
As into strangeness you will descend
And realise that everything is hollow

No pauses or places to draw a breath
Like a mosquito it drains your blood
And the prospect of an unusual death
As unexpected tears flow in full flood

crybaby

Submitted by lovedud on Tue, 2023-08-15 07:33

now i'm sitting on the edge of this thing.
this big black bowl that sinks in.
and all i can do is look at it.
and how it holds all these pills that are too big to swallow.
so i bite my lips and dangle my feet.
but once i sit myself up i'm looking at you and your mouth. furrowed brow.
it keeps forming words but saying nothing out loud.
keeps pausing and starting and sputtering.
because i asked the things i shouldn't have again.
i sit on my hands. listen to you blubber.

Star-Child

Submitted by Alan Garfoot on Tue, 2023-08-15 01:34

It is deep within the manifestation of the causal dynamics,
And interstellar energies connected to the shamanic,
To create a resolute determination stronger than granite,
In those of the sacred starseed mission to save our planet.

To inspire our aspirations through an art graceful and sublime,
As the outer limits of space and inner soul begin to entwine,
And through meditative affirmations to higher dimensions align,
And so connect us to the essence of the unique cosmically divine.

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