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Nightly Meal

Submitted by Eduardo Cruz on Sat, 2011-05-14 00:30

Holding on to the precipice
of my reality.
Darkness over shadowing
creating a monstrous
personality

Surveying all that is before me,
searching for that one kill
which will bring
the orgasmic satisfaction

There I see them,
traveling with their fear
of the sunless sky.
While I am home in its blackness

The quick pounding of their hearts
attracts me,
like the beat of a seductive drum
pulling me to where the blood will run.

Nearly there

Submitted by Roscoe Lane on Fri, 2011-05-13 23:51

Nearly there…

It’s early morning and yet me
and six billion humans are rushing
headlong down the road to nowhere
with only a lifetime to get there.

This long dark road curves
like a steel rope
carrying all our weight
our hope

white lines pass intermittently
with a click of the cats eyes
under our wheels
my mind turns to road tax
politician inconsistent selfish
untruthful the shady deals

Forever In My Heart

Submitted by The Rain Sprite on Fri, 2011-05-13 13:38

I wipe the tears of the rain

That run down my face

I'll wait for love in vain

Until time will shatter like grace

 

I'll hold you in my heart

Like the wind in my hands

I'll keep your memory as a whole part

Of my dreams that drift like sands

 

Until time is no more

The wound and pain of loving you

Will remain in a closed door

As a living existence of a love so true

 

In the hour glass

Memories of you will forever live

Like the beautiful lass

What's Up?...

Submitted by Geezer on Fri, 2011-05-13 11:28

Realization of the weaker set
is part of the anatomy
Strength; reserved, is the proper thing
No match, no equal, has been observed

Certainly not this puny mind
nor the weak frame, needing support
Bones of steel, and cool blood
make for a champion

With ease, and a certain aplomb
the opening of doors, and holding them
leaves the impression of courtesy
"Control, is more like it"

THE CARELESS BIRD

Submitted by scribbler on Fri, 2011-05-13 10:36

A mocking bird just flying by
no intent on doing harm
but being a bit inattentive
landed on a long dead branch
which promptly broke

Before the branch did more than crack
the bird flew off not looking back
leaving the dead branch to fall
but that's not all

The branch was on a mountain top
and fell and hit a little rock
which was holding back a boulder
now unfettered
now rolling
now flying
over a short cliff
high up on the mountain

orange blossoms

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Fri, 2011-05-13 08:25

after the firestorm
when the earth shakes her fury
the time of rainbows.....

her devastation
but a path
to what cannot pass away
the spirit that thrives
inside orange blossoms
that roar and howl
with flesh

stranger than fiction
stronger than chains
imprisoning
then linking us to earth,

a flash,
here then gone.

SICK REPEAT SICK

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Fri, 2011-05-13 07:40

SICK REPEAT SICK
Margaret Ann Waddicor
1st May 2011

Sick as sick as sick can be
when being sick is sick to me
I'm sick of it fair sick of it
as you can see

yes sicks' the word for this
I'm sick in my abyss of pain
I send the sickness back again
but sickness follows me
as you can see

and now you're even sick of me
repeating sick again
for sick is just a pain.

No Easy Explanation

Submitted by brittle light on Fri, 2011-05-13 07:14

I have faltered
in my walk
as a man
stumbling
fumbling through
menial jobs
for daily bread
(and visible means)
taking no advantage of
generous opportunities
graciously offered
rudely rejected
no plan
no map
from here to where?
drifting
rootless
wondering;
others work hard
diligently
purposefully
it's clearly unfair
I should be so content

Reality ( quadruple senryu )

Submitted by mand on Fri, 2011-05-13 06:12

Reality is:
The circumference of our lives
in this space of time.

It is perception,
an analogue of senses,
consciously awake.

It’s recollections,
delusions and elusions,
clearly undefined.

It’s our molecules,
the essence of our being,
every breath we take.

writing poetry for lovers

Submitted by CCfire on Fri, 2011-05-13 00:43

youth is tough for dreamers
i write that
intending it
to be all i say

but you remember things
little ones
like
shallots are spring onions
and it leaves me
impressed
you listened

there should be
something more profound
than just outlines of myself
more to run your hands across

more lasting than
whatever 'this' is

and there again is
a reason to make you
into poetry

so 'this' is remembered
by the poet

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