Dans le silence épais, mon âme se dénude,

Un abîme profond, où les échos se perdent,

Où les rêves d’hier s’éteignent sans prélude,

Là où l’espoir s’efface, et le cœur se déserte.

Un désert sans fin, où l’ombre est souveraine,

Les jours se traînent, fantômes sans visage,

Le temps s’évapore en une langueur vaine,

Et je cherche en vain un doux mirage.

Mais au fond du néant, une lueur vacille,

Un fragile espoir, une étoile effacée,

Peut-être qu’un jour, une brise subtile,

Ranimerait la vie, dans cette âme glacée.

L’amour est une étoile qui brille dans l’obscurité,

Un murmure doux qui apaise les tourments,

Un rêve partagé, une promesse d’éternité.

Il danse dans le vent, léger comme un secret,

Traverse les tempêtes, résiste au temps,

Et laisse dans nos cœurs une trace à jamais.

C’est un chemin sinueux, parfois semé d’épines,

Mais chaque pas vaut la peine d’être fait,

Car l’amour, c’est la lumière qui jamais ne décline.

I loved, I fell, I opened wide,

the fire was real, I won’t deny.

But what you gave was thrill, not trust,

a play of power, a feed of lust.

You spun your tales, you lit the fuse,

you fed on secrets, you chose to use.

And when the stakes came calling due,

you showed your hand—I saw what’s true.

Love protects—it does not burn.

Love stands firm, it will not turn.

I gave love; you gave control.

That truth I carve into my soul.

So hear me now, the verdict clear:

I end your ghost, I end it here.

What was real has run its course.

I cut the tie.

I drop the source.

Yes, I loved you.

Yes, I burned for you.

But love is not proof—it is consequence….

And my silence is the truest word that I have left.

mTlp

In twilight’s hush, the world lies still,
Beneath the moon on silver hill.
The midnight breeze begins to weave,
Soft secrets that the night conceive.

It dances through the sleeping trees,
A gentle hum, a quiet tease.
It carries tales from far and wide,
Of dreams and hopes the stars confide.

Whispers float on velvet air,
Of distant lands, of love and care.
It soothes the soul, it calms the mind,
A fleeting peace so rare to find.

Oh, midnight breeze, your silent song,
Reminds us where our hearts belong.
In every breath, a story told,
Of mystery, both new and old.

In the stillness of evening, as the light begins to fade,
A heart like mine quietly speaks with endless burdens unfrayed.
Though carrying deep scars from years long gone, it strives,
Imperfect yet blooming; eternally willing to revive.

There humming love songs—the dreams and sorrows collide—
Each note tells a story of joy and bittersweet pride.
Through every ache endured, healing is always a step away,
Resting in soft silence also makes rising worthwhile each day.

So while gentle tears fall like fresh rain on warm soil down earth’s skin,
The heart brims with moments where fresh beginnings can finally leap in.
Finding tender pulses enables mending broken souls indeed,
Filling long lost empty spaces gives the scope for timeless speed.

Through pain as well as grace both work hand in hand endlessly;
With concealed fractures alongside flawless seams realms ruled by warmth are free.
Revive unquiet strength that patiently lies forever aglow;
Embidens weakened areas while loving’s embrace continues to grow.

C’mon wake up, the world awaits,

A bright future you have ahead.

So tell me someone who waits,

Hold your pencil, an art is made.

C’mon, C’mon get your canvas out

For a stroke of, brush it stays

The nature and thunder does shout

“Practice your art nights and days

Don’t have an excuse to go away,

If needed, dig out your supplies from earth’s core

For your talent, can’t you pay?!

You left it, awakening it may seem a bore

But an artist, has it’s own spirit

He makes his imaginations to life

An amazing talent like this, will you leave it!

With your power and talent, don’t strife

C’mon get up, have a morning coffee

Get a shower and start your day

start up with your arts, win a trophy

Practice now, and get better everyday

Sleeping in the sun,

under shadow of thee,

It is a rare pleasant blessing,

for me.

In this dried desert,

of water deprived,

A tree is a chance,

to sleep under,

for the seekers arrived.

Those who are a seeker,

on the path of love,

All doors are always open,

on them somehow.

In the desert of nihility,

from the blessing of love,

A tree will grow for them;

worthy of admiration,

for the beloved above.

To their dark days,

patience and hope,

are the light.

And their dark night,

of the full moonlight,

will be bright.

If heavy stones,

would rain from the sky,

the safety of their life,

in the flood,

would be very high.

The faith in them,

is so much strong that;

Without any fear,

they will not give in,

to any bullying bat.

O! heart,

make sure to fall in love,

for without love,

Life with fall,

from its ongoing,

below and above.

The world will never see,

the color of sun’s pill.

The wheat will not become,

bread without a mill.

Jesus will not see,

the gathering of,

his disciples at all.

Muses will not be able,

to split the Nile for all.

Stability of the sky,

will fall apart,

to a harm.

Without love,

there will be no,

attraction or charm.

If word of love,

is not there in between.

Pure words of the pen,

will not be seen.

Without;

the fragrance of love,

there will be no cheer.

Without love,

how we can reflect love,

and to love adhere?

How can kindness,

become a virtue?

How can this poem,

be so pure and true?

Mehr 6/23/2025

You come to me to talk of desire,

To speak of it in terms of negotiation,

I knew this time would be,

This time you’d try talk me off the edge,

The edge as you see it,

The edge of desire,

But I do not wish to negotiate,

I only wish to speak wordless in the moment,

To speak of it in all its wildness,

The wildness of desire,

So I tell you contained in this moment,

That I only fall in love with desire,

Desire unyielding and wild,

Wild in its pursuit of unattainable connection,

Unattainable connection to the heart,

The heart that’s restricted in its movement,

The heart contained in this moment,

Where I cannot be talked from the edge,

And I in all that wildness,

has destroyed everything all around us,

And I remain on the edge,

The edge always of desire.

Exit

Is there a poem in the death

of a desperate goldfish that had

lost a few scales and perhaps

saw the writing in the water?

Suicide. Dying to get to ...

A jihadist. But gravity.

What goes up.

Chips must’ve made a lovely arc

then got wedged into a folded

umbrella. One of three

in a dry Moroccan vase

that became an unlikely

coffin beside the fish bowl.

It was only after breakfast

that we noticed some body

missing. My paternal grand-

mother noticed a rifle missing

after breakfast one day long

ago. That’s how granddad

got out of here. Quick as

a dive into an umbrella.

So bold little fish, you must

live on, not in Heaven or Hell

or, um, Brellaland but right

here in the momentary flow

of these verses because

I couldn’t simply let you go.

Four Winters

perhaps in common

casts a wrinkle,

fragrant Reason – docile it is not

the soul of the good little dog

that guards the vital prison

from the morning.

Three Springs to love

lived buds

ready to bloom.

The tree will pick the second

in which Time

will shoot the second arrow.

Two hot summers

“sultry”, they say around.

Perhaps the eye

is for this reason so

attracted to the pot:

the ordinary,

for someone like me,

boils too soon – and

burns too late.

One Autumn for me,

perhaps for us

gather the leaves

given to you by the tree

and remember them green.

Wear a coat.

 Then decorate it with a scarf,

and some nice gloves.

You won’t be able to choose

which show

to applaud

before saying goodbye

to the actors,

but as a good spectator

take a memory

and, together with your eyes,

sell it to your Heart.

We are introducing a cash reward for the best poem we find in our poetry feed each month, awarding the winner €25.00. The competition starts today, 25 May 2025, so the first winner will be announced on 25 June and every 25th of each month.

The poem “Forsythia” (1966), by Mary Ellen Solt.

this entire Thing

wAs destRoYed

aN,,,,

…it never had to be

simple things

&

simple feelings

why can’t they just be

what they

were meant ,,,,

to

mean

just let it remain,

as ~ is….

crucify a person

For what ?

I guess

that’s ,,,

what it    cost……

pay no mind

to what was lost

when this entire thing ,,,,

was purely about

two

human’s ,

being …

The night combusts when your lips split the dark
A struck match dragged across the teeth of the horizon.
You whisper burn in the grammar of smoke.
I answer in gasoline.

I.
Your tongue is a lit fuse.
My pulse, the dynamite
Each heartbeat is a detonation of yes, yes, now.
We map the fault lines of the sheets,
tremors building to a crescendo of collapse.

II.
Your fingertips, kindling.
My spine, a pyre of dry timber.
You strike the flint of my hipbone,
spark a wildfire that licks the atlas of my veins.
The neighbors call it tragedy.
We call it liturgy.

III.
Ash settles in the hollow of your throat.
I trace it like a pilgrim tracing relics
this charred hymn, this ruin of a kiss.
The mirror fogs with the ghosts of our breath.
They cling to the glass like last rites.

IV.
Aftermath: a carcass of embers.
You peel an apple with a blade still hot from the blaze.
Juice runs down your wrist, sweet and scorched.
I lick the sacrament from your skin,
taste the paradox creation, cauterization.

Epilogue:
Dawn arrives with a bucket of weak rain.
We rise, phoenix-feathered and unrepentant,
our shadows fused to the wall like a fresco of sin.
The city rebuilds. We rekindle.
Somewhere, a struck match laughs in the wind.

Your body is a storm I map by braille
lightning in the clavicle, tempests in the tendons.
I am the fool who chases weather,
tongue tuned to the frequency of flood.

I.
Your ribs are a cage of crows.
They caw when you laugh, beat their wings
when you arch into the knife-glow of moonlight.
I feed them my fingerprints. They hunger louder.

II.
We undress in the dialect of wreckage.
Your zipper, a fault line; my belt, a serrated psalm.
The floor wears our clothes like collateral.
The bed? A pyre of what if.
We burn in increments.

III.
Your mouth is a struck bell.
I am the clapper, you are the toll
each kiss a vibration that cracks the hour.
The neighbors complain about the noise.
We call it hymn.

IV.
Afterward, you peel an orange.
The juice runs like a confession down your wrist.
I lick the sin from your pulse,
taste the citrus and the copper,
the almost and the never again.

V.
The thunder, when it comes, is not sound but shape
your spine curved like a question mark,
my hands the italics in its margins.
We are the footnote, the asterisk,
the asterisk’s aftermath.

Epilogue:
Dawn arrives with a broom and averted eyes.
We sweep the night into a jar labeled evidence.
The crows escape. The storm grows teeth.
Somewhere, a bell forgets how to stop ringing.

The bridge coughs rust. The river answers in algae and gasoline
a love affair of decay. We meet here, where concrete
blooms its first crack, where pigeons nest in the ribs
of a billboard screaming SALE.

I.
Your laugh is a jackhammer’s stutter.
I collect its echoes in a coffee cup and
drink them cold. The diner’s neon flickers:
EAT becomes ATE becomes Ache.
We are fluent in ruin.

II.
Your apartment: a museum of half-lives.
A TV hums the 2 a.m. psalm of static.
The fridge groans its light a jaundiced eye.
You peel an orange on the windowsill;
The peel curls like a suicide note.

III.
We fuck in the language of eviction notices.
Tenant, you gasp. Landlord, I growl.
The mattress sags its verdict.
Afterward, you chain-smoke dawns,
each exhale a gray flag of surrender.

IV.
The city unlearns itself nightly.
A parking lot swallows a library.
A streetlamp forgets its own light.
You whisper, Stay, as a wrecking ball
swings its first hymn.

Epilogue:
They’ll build a sushi place where we once bled.
The chef will rinse the rice, blissfully unaware
of how your teeth left constellations on my neck
or how the river, still thick with our shadows,
refuses to forget.

Q.E.D. (Quod Erat Desideratum)

The theorem of us:
your spine, a radical sign,
my mouth solving for x
find me where the variables burn.

Your laugh is a struck match (a sulfur psalm)
in the chapel of almost. I kneel.
Your hips, parentheses I pried open
inside: a liturgy of yes written in wet ink.

The room? A chalkboard.
We prove each other in gradients:
your nails carving axioms on my thigh,
my teeth, a proof by contradiction
Let the equation shatter.

Touch is an incendiary dialect.
Your wrist a cursive scream.
My tongue conjugates your pulse:
1st person, present tense, plural.
(We are the verb. We are the fire.)

You say careful like a blade wants to be swung.
I say devour me in the grammar of scars.
The bed: a pyre of what if.
We burn in hexagons
honeycomb of moans, geometry of more.

Aftermath? A blasphemy.
The sheets, a palimpsest of sweat and almost.
We’ll call it nothing (lie).
But the moon licks its lips
our shadows, still fused, still famished.

This is how theorems become myths:
not with a conclusion but a collision.
Two bodies, one conflagration.
Q.E.D.: quod erat desideratum
what was desired, what was demonstrated.

In vernal gardens

I walk with Sappho

given seclusive secrets

in given purpose

our sandalled feet

lulling into faint lava

I speak with Kahlo

ask her about the wounded deer

ploughing into piercing

dark sighs leaking

from her corset spine

thorns will bleed

holding Vincents left ear

blowing dried cadmium

into blooming sunflowers

in ink blotted dark

silence is scalped

three fold artisan

ten fold silence

only 

the white

linen

canvas

knows

March 2025

copyrights CB

all rights reserved

Dreamer you have beckoned me

charcoal midwife amidst mist

refraining relic rain

where frequent stone dwellers

erudite ermine

otter opus

from hill mounts

let us awaken

finding foxglove

fox tails weave in rustic armour

o virtuous tree through

your trunk of hollow

once more each russet leaf

speaks sylvan

March 2025  copyrights CB

all rights reserved

I never understood your beauty,

you were a glistening diamond,

fresh from the embers of the darkest coal.

I’ve always loved diamonds…

My pain was snatched in a mere second,

blinded by the twinkle of your crevices.

How could I resist?

Now all we have is resistance.

Trust me, you said.

I know not how to hurt you, you said.

Your mind is true, yet your heart is lost,

wandering, searching for something once forgotten.

Your promise was kept

I was left unscathed.

Now I lay, empty, in a bed of embers and coal,

Im happy you found your own diamond.

I now realize I no longer enjoy sparkly things,

I used to love diamonds…

I’m not a poet,

and you can’t love me.

But if you woke up and decided to.

I’d probably write about it.

Id write about the times we laughed, cried, fought, and made up

Id write about your eyes,

How when they sparkle there’s nothing more in the world I want,

Then to make this moment last a lifetime.

You always asked why I couldn’t keep eye contact

Truth is I was scared.

Scared If I stayed, I would never find myself again.

Because when our gazes met,

I didn’t just see the beautiful brown eyes you always said you hated,

When our gazes met

I stepped into your world.

But I’m not a poet

And you can’t love me

But if I woke up and decided to be one

I’d probably write about why

About how I accepted fate

How I told lies so real to myself

I was almost convinced they weren’t fake

If I was a poet

I’d say our hearts were too pure for the world to take

And that depleted my reason for living

But for you I’m willing

To stay And wait

But I’m not a poet

And you can’t love me

So I hope you read this one day

And tell me what you like about it

Like you told me how you like the water

The beach was your favorite

And I never even liked the water

But you said let’s get in

And I didn’t like to see you bothered

I wish I didn’t even bother

I’m not a poet

And you can’t love me

But if you woke up tomorrow and decided to

I hope you write about it .

freedom,

f-r-e-e-d-o-m.

seven letters and two syllables

which forever continue to linger

in my heart,

vigorously pulsating through my

viscous blood stream,

slaughtering the depths of my

battered, bruised and broken soul

in circular motions

whilst my paper-thin lips are unable to savour

nor reminisce

the sweet-smelling taste of

freedom.

why is it that i am unable to recall the

sweet, seductive smell of freedom

which now only slithers stealthily to other places, but

not my own?

if only i could have a taste of the

colourful particles of freedom

floating flawlessly towards other frontiers

if only i could savour and forever preserve

the cherished memories of freedom into

a treasure chest…

but ‘if only’

is broken down,    twisted,       transmorphed,       tightened,

into the word ‘no’.

no speaking, no crying, no dancing, no screaming

no shouting, no jumping, no writing, no clapping,

no applauding, no protesting, no reading, no kissing,

no loving, no listening, no drawing, no painting, no thinking, no questioning.

the rules begin to silently suffocate me into submission and subservience

subjected to the sly oppressive regimes.

but silence

silence is the only palpable language heard here,

silence is the only thing that i remember.

now you know why is that i am unable to recall the

sweet, seductive smell of freedom

which now only slithers stealthily to other places,

but not my own. 

my body, my soul, my spirit,

All immersed into a wave of oppressive laws,

drowning out the humanity of me, of us, of you.

how am i able to speak, to cry, to dance, to scream,

to shout, to jump, to write, to clap,

to applaud, to protest, to read, to kiss,

to love, to listen, to draw, to paint, to think, to question

when humanity has been drowned out of me?

when each law is a chain, governing my conscience for seconds, minutes, hours, years, centuries, life?

when i have become less defined as a human, and more defined by the chains of life constraining me?

i am always being watched by an enforcer of the law,

so, when no one is around,

or when i think no one is around…

i run, faster than ever towards the frontiers

where i can have a taste of the particles of freedom floating idyllically in the crispy air

where i can now love, feel, breathe

rather than remaining as cold as the chains i was chained to

where i can steal the humanity, they violently stole from me.

i forever feel a drug, an irresistible drug

coursing through

the spiderwebs of my body

called

freedom.

i love the still watered algae ponds

drank by skinny deer that stomp their hooves

eating blackberry thorns that made my lyme skin bleed

honeysuckles daring to grow by sewer drains,

wilted yet still pollinated by bees.

near the tetanus fence i dug my fingers into

while bullfrogs sang next to yellow machines.

it took 200 years to grow 40 acres of trees,

and only 6 months to build a car dealership

for a man with a dream.

however abundant his money,

weeds will always be more green.

because a sprout still blooms

in cracks of the concrete.

Demons

Go fk yer selves

I never needed help

From anyone

Demons

Go away from me

Wish you well

Just don’t tell

But you did

And so well

So there you are my friend

Stuck with me till the end

Nahhhh

Listen here

You did your deed

Some with ~

~and some

Without me~

I’m not a trophy

Just a victim of your own misery

Hate to be like that

Point it out blunt

So you can see

You deal with you

I’m dealing with me

Friend

Friend

Friend

Times 3

Use your own actions till the end

….

Is what it is

I know Eleanor of Aquitaine

had troubles—domestic

and global entanglements:

two husbands – the first

deplorable, the second she adored

but who loved war more.

I think of Eleanor now

gauzy curtains making

what’s beyond implausible

as across the alley

balcony ghosts expose

purple in a paperbark maple eidolon.

Stay in the spooky

I tell myself already

overcast and overdrawn

in the city’s torn

potholes and politics.

medieval jousts as quaint

even charming compared to

a drone’s pinpoint target

Who can absorb it all—

I pull the curtains in my quiet

kitchen and listen to the

woeful bubbling

of a soft boiled egg.

Tell your lies

Tell your friends

Tell it all

To everyone till the end

Make your truth

Your own remedy

However you and I know

The reality

Opening up your door

In early AM

even though we were just only friends

You knew what you were doing

Till the end

What a great way to loose a friend

Floating petals awhispers

How Soft minty hymns as feathers

The greens, the valley beyond

Beaming with rainbow arrays, so fond

Oh, enchanting chimes art thou River

Glowing sea colours enflaming moon beats,

Waves brushes my feet, a rythmic greet

Cold and serene

Long I yearned for such scene,

Sparkling secrets released

Away from sounds, down here we meet

Cast away in a rift

Thunderous roars up ahead

A crack in my bones runs swift

No, I’m not dead

Just breathe, in a blink, I shift

A child, just she

Wishes be set free

From thornly grasps

Will I ride for dawn

Shall I flee?

The storm she rides

High up, goes the tides

It ain’t smooth

But so she soothes

As she sways by side

In darkness she mourned

The demons she owned

With sheer thin strikes

New veils come to sight

There she stood, Alone!

I can’t stop staring at you.

Your unearthly glow, that sparkle in your eyes-

The way your wispy hair dances to the sway of the wind.

Everything about you is just so beautiful.

There’s a sort of intimacy between me and you,

One that I can’t seem to describe with words alone.

Seconds, minutes, even hours go by–but I don’t take my eyes off of you.

Are you trying to tell me something?

Or, do you want me to share secrets of my own?

Your presence feels like a warm embrace.

You assure me that this is a safe place.

You say, “Let them go, all your worries. I’ll take care of them.”

Hot tears fall from my eyes.

I am finally free from all those agonizing lies.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

And when I open them, I smile.

Campfire

No matter how long on earth you are

It dosent matter

Don’t get you far

You see the things you want to see

And hear the words that fit the screen

Making you just want to scream

when you awaken

For a while

Then back to your common and denials

Searching for those micro smiles

Some are hunting

Some are watching

Some are working

And

Some are dying

All trying

To figure out what’s worth their while

So i purposely smile

Figure it out

Walk through ;or March ,it’s life~

We all go through the same

Husband ~mother ~father ~wife ~not at all ,~or any of which ~

Pick up a book and become a witch

It don’t matter anyhow

Your striving for something , but still take a bow~

Be told, and don’t know how

But later soon

You get back on track

Go out and put a tattoo on your back

It Don’t matter where

Cause no one looks~

Just like all those paper books,

It’s all on screen for all to see

Are you watching

or listening ~

Care not for which you seek

It’s like a mountain without a peak

And although you read

You cannot speak ~

,,,For this is what for all of this is worth ,,,

You came here

And we were all given birth,

So find your commonalities

Dig some dirt on your immoralities ~

Move on ;as they say,

In today’s day n age,

Find some meaning in a phrase

We’re all going though some sort of phase ,

Kill the drama

And be your own

Put down your phone ,

Even if your in your own home

Go to sleep or

Shrug it off~

Hopefully tomorrow is your day off

So start it by ending with we all make mistakes

But lighten up and look around for goodness sakes

And watch out for life’s slippery snakes!

Let me unwrap you—slowly,
one piece of delicate fabric at a time,
so the real you can emerge,
naked and trembling before me.

Let me bear the day away,
so there can be only you, only I,
in this world we will create,

let me brush away the hurts—
let me bare you,
so that we can emerge together
from the cocoon of day,
naked and trembling before one another
into our newborn night.

Every morning I hate you

I wake up from my dream

and you’re not there next to me

Hows Life so cruel

with a poor woman like me

poor cause you’re not next to me

Next

Next dream

Next Reality,

we belong to the wind

Another Life

another timing

a full time loving society

We have ripened

like fall leaves

now we fall apart

we say goodbye to that three

It was our home during rain

but It cannot afford the tears

from our pain

Too much water kills a plant

too much love breakes a heart

Your love ripped the heart

of the broken hearted woman

whose love was never shared

thought no one would ever really care

She believed she did not deserve

the love she sought so much

and so much gave

Every morning I hate you

I wake up from my dream

and you’re not there next to me

Hows Life so cruel

with a poor woman like me

poor cause you’re not next to me

Next

Next dream

Next reality,

we belong to the wind

Another Life

another timing

a full time loving society

Who would I want next to me?

Answer the question myself sincere

Mmh

Every morning I hate you

but every night

how come that I miss miss

miss you

miss me

I don’t even know you

Come in I’ll open the Door

just for you

to hug my void

Next

Next dream

Next reality,

we belong to the wind

Another Life

another timing

a full time loving society

Every morning I hate you

but every night

I draw you

my head hurts

you’re faceless

I love you

but I feel we should meet

Me myself and I

The Infinite can eat them

if they try to cheat,

won’t miss this beat.

Little did I know,,,

About the plan….

Little did I know,

About karma land….

Right we were,

Right we’re wrong!

Play it over, in your favorite song

The grass still grows

The sunlight still shows…

As long as the people see it so~

So listen up sis

It is what it is !

You made your move

As weak as it exists…..

So,

Now,,,,

Scratch your own hair… from the back of the head,,,,

Killed all hope,

With what you said~

Thanks so much

For so little

You see,,,,,

You’re still you,,,

And I’m am definitely still me.

Friends that were,Friends that weren’t,

Friends that ended up in hurt.

Humans that we were ~And couldn’t keep it there,

We Crossed the lines and made it blurred ,

When what was in our hearts and minds was stirred ~

Theres nothing to forgive,Because we did it all,,,,,

And together, we did fall~

But, to fabricate a lie ,to feel better? About reality ??

That’s the truth behind where we are~ currently.

Seek forgiveness elsewhere, perhaps in your own perceptions ~The facts in pages of the story, won’t allow the inserts of your deceptions.

It bothers you, It bothers me

It bothers both of us ,,,,,differently…..

The truth lies better! and, provides more comfort Than your false reality ~

Rest easy , and just know……

I have rebuilt what our destruction caused ,And I’m just soooo so Glad to have met a person to teach me loves foolish cost

Friends that weren’t

Friends that ended up in hurt

Humans that we were ~

And couldn’t keep it there,

We Crossed the lines and made it blurred ,

When our hearts and minds were stirred ~

Theres nothing to forgive,

Because we did it all

together we did fall~

But to fabricate a lie to feel better About reality ,

Is the truth behind where we are.

The facts in pages of the story, won’t allow the inserts of your deceptions.

It bothers me

It bothers both of us differently

The truth lies better and provides more comfort,

Than your false reality ~

Rest easy , and just know

I have rebuilt what our destruction caused ,

And so Glad to have met a person to teach me ….

loves foolish cos T

<span;>Fields lay upon those hills
<span;>Yet they have been cultivated
<span;>From green to brown
<span;>Like a disarmed tree
<span;>Growth awaits
<span;>Change happens periodically
<span;>Seasonally, similarly like the weather
<span;>Like emotion
<span;>Like a feather

<span;>O if I had a tractor I could really tether,
<span;>For it would be like gathering feathers
<span;>Forever, feathering as we go on tethering

<span;>These crops are right, but not quite ripe
<span;>Though are feathers ever really ripe?
<span;>The pure innocent suggests otherwise,
<span;>Why are the feathers so generous?

<span;>Why does mother nature produce our food?
<span;>Do we not feed our mother?
<span;>Perhaps our mother is a feather
<span;>Her offspring alike in qualities and character

Body out there, mind elsewhere

Friends ask, but I won’t hear

“Where are you?”

In my head, I’m endlessly ending,

Our life

perfect only in obsession,

Ignoring its strife,

replaying a fiction.

Future-past lives,

Remaining in present,

Self-designed prisons,

My only embankment.

Remembering what never was,

Always forgetting,

Dreaming of another’s

Storybook ending.

Accidents happen, some leave their marks,

wounds unseen, Thoughts lingering in the dark.

This one took a toll, a heavy weight to bear,

Fragments of my memory scattered, lost in the air.

I remember when i got out the hospital,

Every night when i closed my eyes, all i could wonder,

was it a dream? Did it really happen?

it didnt feel real thats what i told myself

Did this accident change me?

it feels like it has,

a weight dropped on my foot,

a blur of the past.

I search for laughter, the light that use to shine so bright,

yet every smile feels so distant, like it’s no longer mine.

In the silence I ponder, who i am?

The person i seemed like she fading.

The light by the barn that shines all night
pales at dawn when a little breeze comes.

A little breeze comes breathing the fields
from their sleep and waking the slow windmill.

The slow windmill sings the long day
about anguish and loss to the chickens at work.

The little breeze follows the slow windmill
and the chickens at work till the sun goes down—

Then the light by the barn again.

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

Surf the Seas, surf me

with me

take the time, take It all

take It for free –

take It for me!

Please a ticket for the Seven Seas –

I knew I couldn’t live on this

static grass full of memo-ries…

One-two-three, make a wish!

I’m leaving this land,

the Land of the thees;

four-five-six, I can see it!

I’m leaving this land,

for the One who will me fix.

Make a deal to heal, or

heal to deal:

watch the stars and sing a song

the unreal will itself reveal;

a poem by Kitty Tsui

I cannot do without love
the way I make myself
do without food or sleep or sex 
I cannot do without love

sometimes I rummage through
my papers 
scraps of dreams
thoughts from long ago
want to throw everything out
but can’t

did my laundry
read Doris Lessing 
on the stairs in the sun
the one about
a man and two women

last night in your arms
a whisper in my ear
see how your heart beats
hard like a hammer

what are you thinking about
you are so far away

pow fahn for breakfast
steaming in rice bowls
snow heavy on the trees
like icing on a cake

your lover calls every night
demanding to know 
if I am still here
and why the hell am I
still here
I cannot do without love

For more by Kitty Tsui, click here.

Still could have been friends to this day

we made a mistake

because we connected in a way

the reason it happened

was because it was real

i tried to talk it out

and let our feelings deal

much like our minds we ran too fast

but I always thought our friendship would last

yep I know in an altered state

things were done and said and now it’s too late

i took responsibility, showed no texts and put nothing down

after all of this

here is a poem

just to let ya know why I’m gone

i tried more than you

saw the bigger picture and years

the moment you chose

is yet still to deal

im dealing still , have no fears, it’s all been BUT said ,and still some tears

but some things are better left unsaid

and leave past  lives ,

as if they’re dead.

right?

nahhhhh,,,,

just as you always said ….

my friend in life

never said wife

when you read the lines will cut like a knife

because it was real

and now we silently deal

my friend you almost were

You genuinely couldnt fake, half the things ive done,
Ive grabbed the middle rail, ive let the blood cells run.

Ive taken all the tablets, dangled full on thrice,
Ive swallowed all the water, not only once, but twice.

Ive tasted electricity, ive baked inside 2 tents,
it would take me quite a while to tell you all the times my life was spent…

How i am still ticking, is way beyond me,
but ive finally hit a stage in my life where I actually want to be.

Put it down to meds, put it down to fate,
but theres a path now been paved in front of me, I really just cant wait!

A message, if I may, to those who have had enough:

Ive been in your shoes sooooo so many times, so believe me when I say I feel you bro/ladybro… Reach out, cry!!! Go limp and give yourself to the universe, the powers that be dont want to see you suffer… Let it out, try, speak more as so many people suffer in silence unnecessarily. You are not alone, and You are more than enough. Now, either fix what can be, or start over, be honest, theres help there for you!!

We are thrilled to welcome Poet and Mental Health Advocate Daragh Fleming to the Poetry Cooperative. Daragh writes stunning poetry and his book, Lonely Boy is changing lives as we speak. I had the privilege to sit down with him and ask him about his writing and the advise he provides to emerging poets and writers.

You can check out Daragh’s Honorary Members’ Page to find out what advice he has for emerging poets. We’ve got an interview and a selection of stunning poems. You can access the page by clicking on the photo below.

Is what it is

No one can say

However

Your actions

Have consequences to this day

It is what it is

Should’ve just left it that way

You would have been better off

I’m a survivor,

So why the attention that day?

That you brought,,,,,

When you know my heart

One of few

But

Now it’s done

And

Though

Threw

Could have been friends still

What’s done is done

Yet it exists

Till

Hey listen,,,,

I’m not so certain you understand ,,,,

I FELL IN LOVE

like almost no one can

So there you are

And here

I am,,,,

So do what tho wilt-

Hurt some more-

I just work is some fkn store

Simple it seems

So it will be

I know you just toyed with me

And

To be dead ass

Yea

It hurt

So painfully

I deal with you

And

I’m dealing with me

I never expected this

Or experienced love…

So when I did, I couldn’t understand

It came all at once

I realize was fooled

You,,, very

Much wiser …

So let that candle burn

I do the same every night

Same reflections

Although I know you don’t give a damn

I was just a foolish man

The WONDER;

Of it all,,, (( hmmmm)))

Is I hit a brick ;WALL

So here’s back to you

Feel great

And wish you well

We shared a moment ,,at least ,,,that was

Where few dwell

Wonder wall

/I was not/

But

wtf

You dropped a lot

I kept it all

And did

Not

When mind’s connect

It’s rare,,,,

So

Fair

ThEE

Well

Beauty lives beyond desire

The Poetry Cooperative provides poets with tips and publishing opportunities. You can publish poems on our poetry feed and promote your poetry across the platform and the Poetry Cooperative social media channels. We also encourage our members to support one another with comments and feedback.

If you’re serious about writing and promoting your poetry and making money, the Poetry Cooperative Silver Membership is worth considering. The membership level offers many opportunities to its members, focusing on supporting them in their efforts to publish, share, and promote their poetry.

Apart from providing publishing opportunities on the Poetry Cooperative website and in the Poetry Cooperative Magazine, Silver Member contests award winners prize money.

Driving traffic to your poetry website and building a strong social media following is also important for poets. For that reason, we run comment, like and share exchanges.

We encourage members to collaborate and help increase traffic to their websites and social media profiles while the promotional team at the Poetry Cooperative promotes the work of featured poets across all social media platforms. Your poetry will reach a whole new audience whose members will further share your work.

Submit Poetry Online, Publish, Promote

To submit poetry online, you can join the Poetry Cooperative and start publishing your poetry. If you become a Silver Member, you can submit your work for publication in the Poetry Cooperative Magazine. 

The quarterly Poetry Cooperative Magazine features the best new poetry.  We also pay contest winners, plus winning poems appear in the quarterly magazine too.

So, you see, Poetry Cooperative Silver Members enjoy lots of money-making and promotional opportunities.

The focus of what we do is on poets helping poets spread beautiful poetry across the globe.

Become a Poetry Cooperative Silver Member Now!

Here’s a recap of all the wonderful Poetry Cooperative Silver Membership features:

• Paid Contests
• Build Website Traffic
• Promote Your Poetry Collection
• Publish Your Poem and Get Paid
• Find Out About the Latest Submission Calls

To celebrate spring and redouble our writing efforts, we are running a 30-Poetry Challenge. To succeed, you need to publish ten poems here within 30 days. We will share the poems across social media, and if you fulfil the task, you get one-month of Poetry Cooperative Silver membership free of charge with all its perks. The Poetry Cooperative 30-Day Poetry Challenge is designed to help you build consistency while providing you with feedback and comments.

Click on the image below to sign up and register.

A breath.

So much can happen

In that one breath.

That breath is a moment.

A moment of calm,

A moment of clarity.

In that moment,

Breathe in life

Exhale worry.

Or an eternity.

Everything happens

In that eternity.

That breath is an eternity.

An eternity of fear,

An eternity of confusion.

In that eternity,

Absence of oxygen,

Thoughts are clouded.

That instant of two extremes

Becomes my freedom,

Becomes my prison. 

In that second,

Will I find calm and clarity?

Will I find fear and confusion?

In a breath, indecision decides.

I measured time in heartbeats by seeking my life

while stumbling through the lives of others;

The ones I preyed would test, would dare

that my memories of you were imagined, and through.

For more than fifty long years my desperate theft

was their lives whose ties I craved would be true,

but they never knew–how could they, those few?

It was always ever you.

They became almost real, across decades, those someones

who I begged into my nights to rip my psalms of you away,

to pitch those prayers into cold grey winds of change

That would soar to the skies then fall,

and roar in pain, slashed by shards of rain,

Realized not as cries, but sighs; they survive, are alive–

my memories of you, not imagined, are true.

It was always ever you.

where is the world today
where was it for the first day
war was the glory of that day
war is glory today.
greed was the desire of
capitalism of that day
greed is the Disease of
capitalism of today.
money governs minds today,
money governs mind that day

Hey listen,,,,

I’m not so certain you understand ,,,,

I FELL IN LOVE

like almost no one can

So there you are

And here

I am,,,,

So do what tho wilt-

Hurt some more-

I just work is some fkn store

Simple it seems

So it will be

I know you just toyed with me

And

To be dead ass

Yea

It hurt

So painfully

I deal with you

And

I’m dealing with me

I never expected this

Or experienced love…

So when I did, I couldn’t understand

It came all at once

I realize was fooled

You,,, very

Much wiser …

So let that candle burn

I do the same every night

Same reflections

Although I know you don’t give a damn

I was just a foolish man

The WONDER;

Of it all,,, (( hmmmm)))

Is I hit a brick ;WALL

So here’s back to you

Feel great

And wish you well

We shared a moment ,,at least ,,,that was

Where few dwell

Wonder wall

/I was not/

But

wtf

You dropped a lot

I kept it all

And did

Not

When mind’s connect

It’s rare,,,,

So

Fair

ThEE

Well

The candle on my desk is all hope, a small flame, struggling,

Singing its faint song to the dark ceiling and walls,

It will burn on till the end, faintly, believing,

As the evening builds to infinities of night, 

And creatures emerge to scour the darkening alleys,

And drunk women lean against brick walls and remember

And cold winds slide among the tombs of the dead.

The dark night will summon the strange faiths of the world,

As day’s weapons slide from our hands a great sigh rises,

Intentions die and give rise to a landscape of souls

That linger by trees, watching with soft white eyes,

Passive, curious, cloying nixie hands of light

Aflame in manifold burstings betwixt the impatternings

Of stars, and looming branches dark as shadow’s soul,

The grass a cool ocean sighing for an ecstatic reality.

But there is no reality in night’s soft paradox, and the candle,

Burns with sweet confidence, in defiance of it all,

Knowing that life at its core is that imperturbable hopefulness

And a few slender strands of light thrown prayerfully

To the wall.

The Santa Fuzz

It was peculiar; Santa was

There at the mirror, trimming fuzz;

“I have to look just right, you know,”

He said, “no stray hairs in this show!”

I asked, “Isn’t the wild beard style

The way folks like you, with your smile?”

He paused; “You know, you have a point –

‘Wild hairs’ is the theme of this joint!”

He proceeded to show me all

The goings in each room and hall,

A flurry of activity

And smiling productivity

“Look at all of the crazy toys!

Elves innovating; hear that noise?”

Santa then put his clippers down;

“My son, you have saved Santatown!”

The moral of this story goes:

Let your hair flow how e’er it grows;

And when you see the Bearded Man,

Tell him you’re a wild whisker fan

Today the elves have long beards, too –

Except the lady elves, mind you;

Their joy in toymaking is real,

Thanks to Santa’s wild whisker zeal

If the grass should grow as long

Then why were we so wrong

To think and do the things we did

We cheated and lied and kept it hid

Although I see now that it’s through

You kept your lies hidden from me too

I was so in love

That kept me blind

You saw so clearly and had a purpose in mind

I told you more than once let’s just enjoy

That wasn’t good

So you chose to destroy

Now you have it

I hope it pays off

To me it was much more than just getting off

Farewell my friend

My secret love

You have what you have

And I’ve definitely,,,,,,,, said enough

Narcissism, have you witness some one that have used every moment in your life to put you against the wall? Yes I have jumped into fire many times over and over again. Why though? It’s easy said because I have gain lack of trust from pass scares that refuse to close after trying to deep stitch it back into my soul. You came alone, I was warned of trouble but the lust for your sexual attraction I gave in. Than again and again. Now that I have matured into a better person, Yes I apologize for the lack of care, see I saw you differently until the night you opened a scare, as I lay into the dark you set outside my home and a stranger car, I should have left you alone than but I couldn’t, I know I was right, but because I couldn’t show you your lies I thought I’ll be wrong to leave right? so I stayed and yes I did me, because I felt the trouble I was warn came true and I stayed with you cause I started to love you and thought if she really love me , she would come clear of what she do. But she didn’t and as I continued to walk around like a dog on a leash, still with her but in the streets building a file she can finally use against me now that I question her doings it’s finally all back on me. Why! because I built the file she can unleash to scream and ignore what she have also did. I open the book that I could have not made and stayed out of fire and safe than now of all I have witness if I didn’t create what would she than had to substitute? An she state! Fuck you! no good nigga! Look what you put me through lying ass, cheating ass, wrong me ass nigga,( has i scream in my had back at her bitch you first pulled the trigger, I just shot back, fucked up thing was I didnt hide it and when you was wondering why that, well I guess you forgot that) started to believe you was honestly harmless, nah your wrong Ms! You started it I was just not mature to address it at the time I just ran with it. But as a matured, I learn from it. Grown ass man thinking damn nigga you didn’t have to really go through it! bad decision making had you doing it, hating what you created nigga you foolish. You could have stayed honest to your character now you walking around clueless. Yet you know it. Narcissism, they would do it, after all they do, you handed them the bullets to use it. And now every time you shoot back your voice of concern is useless because after all you say and ask. It all goes back to why you do it.

Just as dogwood blossoms fell
so passed the lilacs and my Spring
Shunning seasons, slipping into Winter sleep
icing and numbing my brain beyond care
beyond thought, past pain
To a limbo of sweet peace
with nothing everywhere
Just hints of my dead Spring
of fallen lilacs
and dogwood
Whose fragrance hung
above my head
so sweetly and so cruel.
Yet limbo is not a savage place
if you endure dead Springs
elusive scents
and perfumed lonliness.
The lilacs I told you were gone,
and the Spring I thought was dead–
had never truly withered away.
See what I hold, here in my hand?–
a gift for you,
only for you,
a bequest from limbo;
A gift from a frozen wasteland
retrieved from a wounded Spring–
Please accept this sacrifice
of a heart now returned
From a journey beyond care,
beyond thought, past pain
From a limbo of release;
my Spring was never there.
I offer you my true belief
in lilacs
and dogwood
and Spring.

I wonder if the waking symphonies will mourn the voice no longer heard, a melody now lost in the stinging odor of untimely age.  If no one was there to hear the hymns of beloved, was a song lost before it ever existed?  I can hear the ragged streaks of broken pitch smeared along the measure stretched from one infinite to the other.  The soul of a morning song has been struck by the blunt force of dull frost, a force only understood by its creator.  The wind rests uneasy as it adjusts to the obstacle of a withering ballad.  An anthem never to be heard other than by the roots retired deep within the broken foundation of which the uninked pens and pillow stuffers are perched.  Can it feel the shards of stiff loneliness slice through its undone rhythm?  Or has he already been molded into winter by the heart that beats to the melody of his disoriented warmth.

The Fox At Sugar Creek

As silent as snow,

there he was, a thin

tail dangling

through his teeth. On a

sudden cue he

turned away

and darted into the woods

beyond a neighbor’s yard.

A mate perhaps,

asleep in a snow-covered

den, heaving

heavy sighs

with a swollen belly, dreaming

of field mice

and sparrow eggs.

I picked up my pen today
Nothing came out of it.
But a bloody mess
Of all those I’d forgotten.

The blood-stained paper
Filled with the anger and despair
Of an innocent child
Wronged by the world.

The words written down,
Sharper than the edge of a sword
Took the shape of the despised
The harrowed and the hated

The mind, once full of ideas
Now filled with rage
Distressed and tired
Drowning in its own sorrow

It hurt my fingers,
But I kept on writing
For all that was trapped within me
Finally took a shape.

To liberate my flickering mind
From its own demons
I kept on writing.
I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t.

What is this curse
That has been placed upon me.
Once, a source of joy
Now the same pen haunts me.

Maybe this is my punishment.
Maybe this is how I atone.
For the sin of living
Living in this accursed world

~Himan Deka

As I walked
Through the hustling city streets
I came across
A familiar turn
Long forgotten.
And without a second thought
I took it
And
All the memories
All the lost thoughts
Came rushing back.
A road
Once filled with childish innocence
Mud puddles and lost cricket balls
Now an empty street
Filled with despair
Shattered dreams and broken bottles

~Himan Deka

“When you’re born in a burning house. You think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.”

Richard Kadrey 

I remember the first time I realized I had depression. I came home from school that day and took my shoes off and set my backpack down. I immediately put on my pajamas and laid in bed. I remember staring up and noticing the pointy texture of my tiny bedroom ceiling. I remember staring at that ceiling until the sun went down and I could no longer see the pointy texture. 

I’d always arrive home before my family members. 

I would hate the days I’d come home and be alone with another man that my mom had for the month. I remember I would walk silently to my room and always lock my door. 

As my mother would arrive home, it was often heard by yelling or an argument that would turn brutal. I’d eventually hear a bedroom door slam shut. Usually, it was about unfinished dishes that I had forgotten because my depression was so severe I would never leave my bed. It would result in her telling me she wants me to move out or that I am ungrateful and not a good child. 

It’s okay, just pick up the pieces one more time. 

You can move away from this reality soon. 

Just one more time to pick up the pieces. 

Inside those burning walls with my mother, you’d hear crying, anger, with so much hatred. 

Everything is my fault. 

Just forgive and forget, Okay? 

One more time. 

Forgive. 

But How. 

Forgive. 

But How. 

Forgive… 

But how many times do I forgive this? 

I developed anxiety very quickly as a child. My mother always told me I was incredibly shy and quiet. I remember waking up terrified of going to school because I’d have to face the people who shamed my hair, eyebrows, hairy arms, or my clothes because my family was poor. 

It’s okay just one more day, sweetie. 

You got this. 

Being the brunette of all my siblings was rough. I was never called beautiful. I had messy curly hair that was never tamed. Like ever. My sisters on the other hand had beautiful blonde straight hair. “You’re so beautiful with your blonde hair”.

I wanted to be beautiful so badly. 

“Go get your eyebrows waxed.” 

“You’re a size 5? At your age I was a size 0”.

And my favorite was always “Why are you wearing that slutty dress? Stop asking for attention and be a young lady. Men do not like that” as her husband stared at my legs. 

The smoke from the flames started getting into my lungs at this point.

It’s okay, one more day. 

You got this. 

Forgive. 

I remember the exact moment I wanted to commit suicide. I came home from school and was home alone. I was beyond numb from the suffocating world around me. The day before I watched my mother attempt to kill herself. I did not feel anything. I was not scared to lose my mother. I wished anyone on Earth was my mother at this point. I would pray to God every night for another mother. I prayed for a mother who didn’t see me as her competition when I hit puberty. 

Having a mother like mine was like not having one in this lifetime. 

No one to tell me it’s okay and help me battle my fears.

Only it is me in the battlefield of my own mental drownings. 

But the home being installed with propane and the fire burning so bright.

It blurred my vision while I tried to get out in one piece. 

But don’t your clothes still carry the smell of the burning fire?

My suicidal thoughts turned into a need instead of a want. I pulled out pills and poured a bunch of them into my small hands. I close my eyes tightly and long for the feeling of my heart to stop pumping blood into my veins. To finally take my last shaky breath as my body stops working. To finally not think about how I am not beautiful enough, to not hear my mother say she hates me, or to not have my mother tell me I am nothing without her, or seeing “trusted” family members look me up and down as soon as I became a teenager, or hearing my dad say he wishes I turned out differently and that he wanted a son instead of me. I wanted to fall into nothingness and be forgotten. 

I put the pills back into the bottle one by one hoping I’d change my mind. 

Why won’t anyone help me? Can you not see I’m suffering? 

The fire is starting to burn me. 

And here I am with all of the scars you gave me. 

They will never heal because I am still in those burning walls trying to find my way out. 

It’s okay, sweetie.  

One more day, alright?

One more….

Riding next to you 

on the Chicago Skyway Toll Bridge

I see a blinking Dodge

with the whole front fender missing—the whole thing.

It makes me think about those kids

born with jelly-chins,

and then about this fawn I found on

the side of the road when I was nineteen.

She looked all wire and bone

and was mewing—

half her downy jaw lay in a parking lot

or a side street or a belly somewhere.

All the muscle of her tongue stuck dry and

naked in the wind,

mewing. 

as soon as you opened your mouth
you left everybody cold
we were not allowed to question you
we just did as we were told

the chill that came from every word
went all the way up my spine
I knew about your punishment
I learned not cross the line

sometimes you showed a hint of warmth
those times were few and far between
those times when you were like that, though
were like nothing we’ve ever seen

in those sought after times, it was bliss
it’s like you showered us with sunlight
then you would suddenly change again
it’s like the difference between day and night

we just really couldn’t understand it
it’s not as if the rose was covering the thorn
but, on rare occassions you made us feel oh so special
mostly, we wondered why we were born

I’ve since learned it wasn’t you at all
it’s that something inside you broke
I’d have known about it, somewhat
if we had ever spoke

but, things like that weren’t talked about
it’s like that topic was taboo
but, I wish we had dealt with it though
because, it affected more than you

sometimes, I have these ideations

and sometimes, they come true

and in those moments I despise myself 

I wonder how soulless I must be to have not only searched for, but beseeched pain that wasn’t even mine 

to have gifted the universe with tiny, seething sparks that kindled the death of those who were more loved than I ever will be 

And so, I curse myself and swear that I would never let my imagination run astray

that I would never wish ill on myself or others ever again, or spare even a whisper of misfortune, lest it resonates. 

I tell myself : you’re a child of science, but you never know who’s listening. 

clearly, all rationality has been abandoned. 

soon these wilful promises are subdued, 

consumed by this pathetic, ghoulish part of me which craves the suffering, and attention and validity that accompanies tragedies 

the same part of me that yearns for explicable misery 

Oh it’s absurd, I know, 

but that hushed, laden voice stifling frantic apology’s and stumbling over words that deliver yesterdays bad news feels like fresh, unbridled relief that holds you gently and cradles your mind and gives you a reason to feel the way you have been feeling for the past month 

maybe even the past year 

it absolves the confusion and haze of not knowing what’s wrong with you 

and frees the guilt of having everything that guarantees happiness, yet feeling nothing but muted insanity 

your conscience playfully tiptoes the edge of coherence while you withstand the banality of dragging yourself out of bed and brushing your teeth and feigning a weary normalcy for those who cherish a version of you that ceases to be

 your mind perpetually on the brink of explosively shattering into unsalvageable pieces forever lost to nihility

but,  it’s okay – at least you have something to blame now. now, you’re armed with a cause. 

It’s so human to find comfort in despair and usefulness in grief, and to endow and imbue your heartache with purpose – the repercussions of this leave you untouched until you find yourself unable to reconcile peace with fulfilment, as you realise that stability now engenders unease 

your healing harbours shame and excavates your every chamber, only to leave this funny, hollow feeling of burning incompletion 

and so, you ragingly lust after wonted pain in ways whose unfamiliarity frightens you 

you don’t even want to feel whole, you just want to feel. 

you’re not entirely sure who you are or who you’ve become, but you trust all will be restored – it has to be, right? 

But that’s for someday, sometime, 

not now. 

For now, the present beckons and demands swift gratification, 

and the present always, always wins.

and so, those same ideations that you once renounced are born and expelled yet again 

only to keep this whimsical, cosmic wheel of misfortune turning, 

and turning, and turning 

don’t you ever let it stop. 

On the night I was born, the rain was pourin’, God was cryin’ Lightnin’ struck, power outage, sparks was flyin’ The real one’s here, the young boy that walk with lions Around the outlines of chalk where the corpses lyin’.

Stretchin’ the truth, know I never stress in the booth They feel the pressure, me I feel like I just left the masseuse Effortless, how I’m skatin’ on these poems is proof.

its a cold world so i  heat a flask in a beaker, im the last of the Mohicans no weaklings last in my sneakers.

if my poems get published youll see the wrath of the reaper ,  and ill proly go to hell if poetry cooperative asks for feature   🙂

The start, a memory one so far that  I hold it close

Hoping if I hold it close enough that he’ll come back 

thaT he will be who he was

Where I felt the most important in his life

In The way he use to look at me

The look I can no longer  find no matter how hard I stare.

How did it go from calling for hours

To be if I get lucky enough to receive a call once a month

Like I was a old toy that was to used 

 Or A soul that was to damaged 

How can you you love someone 

Who u get so bored of, like you choose not to remember the start.

Happiness is hypocritical in a sense,

as the most unhappy thing I can think of is not being happy.

People tell you what to be,

been there

regretted that.

And yet,

am I happy?

When panic grips me,

is it truly unhappiness or just stubborn belief that I can’t make myself believe,

that I am ok,

that my rambling words make sense,

that my stupid stutters that pass for words

are a valid validation

of my being.

Happiness  is to abstract to grasp- grasping at straws just leaves you without a drink.

The absolute insistence on a man made word kills more dreams than suicide ever did

so

maybe

happiness should be scrapped,

for lack of a better word to describe a word that could be better.

and maybe we can just feel our feelings

with out feeling like the world is telling us that these make us an unhappy person

Birds that sing, me to sleep,

Waking up to see roses all around,

Chocolate hearts laying side by side,

Over those counter bestowed by presents,

Each wrapped in red,

Hearts covered for those we love,

These names written in our hearts,

Each spelled loud and clear,

By vocals they get heard,

Letters written for those who we care,

Quotes given to those who struggle,

Bite sized chocolate hearts eaten,

Shared and given to each,

Words we spoke,

To all those we love and care.

poem by Sarah Shahzad ( Raven )

**Tonight I am beginning Entry thirty-five,

Another day is conquered, & I’m thankful I’m alive.

Also it is now year twenty-twenty-three (2023),

I’m curious as to what this new year has for me.

**As I’m hoping & I’m praying for my pain to be quite low,

But because it changes daily, its severity I just don’t know.

So I will just continue to battle & fight like hell,

Perhaps this year we’ll find a cure, yet only time will tell.

**Also one thing about me is I don’t give up easy at all,

Even through the unbearable times, when I stumble or fall.

Plus I’m still refusing, to show this curse defeat,

When my health & life are concerned, I will not be beat.

**But through this new year twenty-twenty-three,

I vow to remain as happy as I can possibly be.

So if this brand new year of ours, happens to find a cure,

It will be worth every prayer, that I have prayed for sure!

©Jan. 2023 Melissa Darsey (Passionate_Poetess)

i suppose we both felt that it wAS real…

yours had reasons though, and mine i could feeL .

bOth at different stages iN time,

when you Get there, you will understAnd mine;

juSt To cherisH momEnts in life that are rare,

and i recoGnise youRs , …i wASS already there.

however ,Stupid tHat i ALLowed that feeling in, and to GROW,

proves that my years have nothing to show.

i experienced something few ever have,so deep and true

blinded by that, I realize now was very different for you.

I Went from zero to infinity ,to friends and beyond ,

you saw a trophy and an escape ,not a bond.

my love was intense and so genuine towards you,

i just realize what a fool ,now that it’s through .

So I guess I can sum up all of this now….

you played me so well you should take a bow.

and it hurt too.