Poetryfeed
Publish your poetry
To Let Paper
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 …
Arson of the Innocents
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.
The Anatomy of Thunder
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.
How the City Unlearns Its Bones
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)
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.
The atrophy of art
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
king forest
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
Diamonds
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’d probably write about it
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 .
a taste of freedom.
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.
Cracks of Concrete
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.
ya know whaaaa T
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
You Can’t Make It Up
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.
Demon’s in the night!
Departing sun so joyful n so bright
You warm me with your rays of light
Embracing everything with a living life
Absorbing all your blankets of white
Protecting me from chilling nights
You did your deed your day is done
I’m on my knees begging you please
Keep the devil’s dark nights away from me
It’s torture instilled within my soul
Taunts dormant spirits to take control
memories of most pleasant dreams inside flipped a hundred and eighty degrees
Now they became a knightmare or three
demonic triggers boomeranging within me
bullseye hit upon my chest I for see my hearts ripped open a scar too deep
Shattered is all I will ever see
As I look in the mirror I still see the old me
Lonely I guess I shall always be
If my love scares you towards Misery
Maybe our love was destined to be
We will honestly never see
Since you chose to set me free
Now I’m full of hate and greed
Everyone I know says they agree
You caused heart break times the fifth degree
Round of applause I clap and scream
Congrats you destroyed my sentimental memories
Blissful dreams now buried and hidden
don’t leave me now , sun
see why good riddance
destroying me tonight is there priority mission
Wishing upon a star for a bright better morrow
You did your deed your day is done it’s time again for the rising sun
Tee 4 two
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
The Storm in Beauty
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
The Child in Me
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!
campfire
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
Get Here From There
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
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.
Song beat MMM
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.
It’s Fine
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.
ENON (edit)
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
ENON
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
Cultivation
<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
1. Past Life
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.
Was it a Dream?
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 by William Stafford
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
none
Surf the Seas
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;
Without Love
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.
C’est La Vie
C’est La Vie
Living a life free, c’est la vie.
Being in love glee, c’est la vie.
In the desert, in the sky, in the sun, and the sea,
Earth, wind, fire, and water are living in harmony.
A flower is nourishing a honeybee,
And a cold wind is whipping nude an old tree.
One dreaming nicely under a marquee,
One creeping under a shed with the flea.
One perfumed in bed like a potpourri,
One plunged in a bad smell alike the pee.
Some die of the hatful Fahrenheit degree,
Some live to remember the painful decree.
Some get swallowed lost in the mouth of tsunami,
Some get condemned to live orphan without mommy.
The dead have slept six feet under the debris,
The alive are mourning the dead on the knee.
A corpse is hanging in the air without ID,
Disagrees being tortured to death to agree.
One being executed by the count of one, two, three,
One being spelled the magic word of, L, O, V, E.
I am confused,
How unfair this loving life supposed to be?
A wise said: C’est la vie,
Before life, there is no he or she, you or me!
C’est la vie, c’est juste, la vie.
A poem by: Mehr
TARYN The Actual fRiend You wereN’t
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
Protected By The Light
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!!
Daragh Fleming – Honorary Member of the Poetry Cooperative
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.

Attila József – Celebrating Hungary’s Poets
On this day in 1905, Attila József, Hungary’s greatest poets was born. Since 1964, the nations marks the 11 April as a celebration of Hungarian poetry.
You get poetry on public transport, and Hungarians gather to share poems and celebrate its power. Poetry has been instrumental in Hungary’s quest for cultural identity. Poetry helped process its difficult history, unbreakable spirit, and rich cultural heritage. Famous Hungarian poets include the revolutionary and of course Attila József, famous for his exploration of social issues and existentialism. Here is one of his poems.
At Last 1926
I have scrubbed boilers, I have cut seedlings,
On rotting straw mattresses I've found sleep;
Judges have sentenced me, fools have mocked me,
My glitter poured forth from cellars deep.
I've kissed a girl who sang even as
she was baking someone else's bread,
I was given clothes and I gave books
to peasants and to workers instead.
I was in love with a well-to-do girl
but her own class wrested her from me;
I ate but once every other day
and I got an ulcer finally.
I've felt that the world, too, was a turning
inflamed stomach and that slimy thing,
our dyspeptic love was our mind, while war
was nothing but bloody vomiting.
Since sourish silence has filled our mouth,
I kicked my heart that it might shout with rage.
How could my active mind content itself
with lulling songs composed for a wage.
They offered money for my great vengeance;
Priests have said: trust in the Lord, my son.
And I knew, he who returned empty-handed,
with axes and hoes and stones would come.
I have flashing eyes and the will to win,
and I must have the willingness, the means
to do justice and so to take sides
with these severest of memories.
But what concern are memories to me?
Rather, I lay my worthless pencil down
and start grinding the scythe's edge instead,
for time is ripening in our land
with a silent, threatening sound.
Translated by John Székely
TryingAndRelyingYetNothingmakesence
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
TARYN OREOS
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
Beauty lives beyond desire
Poetry Cooperative Silver Membership
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
Poetry Cooperative 30-Day Poetry Challenge
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.

Submission Call – Poetry Cooperative Summer 2024 Magazine
We are open for submissions for the upcoming Poetry Cooperative Summer 2024 Magazine. Please email your entries before 30 April to submissions@poetrycooperative.org.
Entries must be no longer than one page long and summer-themed.

A Breath.
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.
After the Wind
After the Wind
Having quietly come into a bit of money,
which might sound a bit sticky but was
not enough to cause over-excitement,
he didn’t buy a splendid new vehicle.
Nor did he snore to Dubai or cruise Hawaii.
He did buy a winter coat of a quality not
previously considered. Not even on sale.
He wondered if he should seize such a rare
opportunity to change his life then laughed
out loud as he walked along a silty canal
then stopped for fruit toast and coffee
at the cafe where they would burn toast
just how he liked it. He had lived simply
by necessity while managing to feel
fortunate before his wee windfall.
Didn’t have any debilitating maladies;
did have a writing desk, food in fridge,
enough clothes and books in rows.
Travel by TV meant no delayed flights,
no lugging of worn luggage
[which even sounds Heavy].
In still sound mind, it was settled.
Egg for breakfast, morning stroll,
lunch of spuds, greens, mix of beans,
perhaps a chop, the habitual siesta
before kite flying or haiku hunting.
So, not much – but enough – was new.
He’d continue to be just what he was,
a quiet neighbour in the land of Aus-
tralia.
Always Ever You
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 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
WALL2tee wall
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
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
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
T-REX
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
Screaming won’t do it
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.
Song For A Second Spring
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.
Verso Versi / I Pour Verses (by Italian Hermit)
Italian Version
Verso versi come umori.
Umori del mio umore.
Rumori del mio cuore.
Frastornante, ingombrante
Orchestra interiore
e non ne sono il Direttore.
English Version
I pour verses as humours.
Humours of my moods.
Noises of my heart.
Dizzying, cumbersome
Inner Orchestra
And I am not the Director.
The Broken Soundtrack Behind the Wind
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
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.
the poet’s woe
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
A Familiar Turn
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
The Continuous Burning Home
“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….
on the o’hare morning
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.
Illness
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.
X
My left side
Is looking for your right
My right side
Is looking for you left
The man in me
For the woman in you
The woman in me
For the man in you
And so on
Before our sweet kiss
A MEN
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
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, for lack of a better word
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
TESTING THE WATER (remembering Scott Hutchison)
A flow we seek to capture,
bridge or channel, yet cannot confine.
Lithe as mercury, slipping fingers,
it is held in brush-stroked cloud
and then let fall, rattling on rooftops.
Pools, unstirred, collect
the tension of drip, drip droplets:
mirror-flat, refract our point of view,
reveal all kinds of surface.
Of running water, folklore says
that no enchantment can survive it.
To know the end you go to, be the stream,
not a stick that’s spun at source.
Ride the impulsive rapids to middle-age
meandering, no cataracts in sight.
At the delta of days, silt-laden
reach the surf; then fathomless beyond
swim until you see no land.
Valentine’s day
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 )
Entry # 35: Worth Every Prayer
**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)
Tee with Oreos
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.
none
TARYN
I was stupid I can tell
my own spell
I fell in love with love
My heart
Is still there
Slack Tide
Goldfish
One of the most popular species of fish as it is easy to keep and long-lived. The color of the goldfish is very prominent with a dark background of decorations. It grows to a large size and provides good vibes to an aquarium.
Love-You
All I once cared,
Was about myself.
I was just scared,
To let down me-self.
Then, I met you
Not wanting to care.
But everyday like new
You always did share.
People did come and go
But you always stayed.
And then it grow
Just like it was paid.
Always being there,
Loving with passion,
We did share
Without compassion.
But without myself knowing
I fell for you.
Can’t just know the feeling
But love I want to sew.
Just want to stay,
Forever and more.
Don’t know how to say
But you, I do adore.
Raven
The sky felt dense,
The mood it gave off,
Like moths in hue,
And butterflies in pale,
The showering of haze,
Over us at ease,
It’s not seen,
And there I won’t be seen,
The morning routine,
Of the everlasting gloom,
The day stuck in reprises,
And another one it seems,
It flies by scoring petrified faces,
Clipping by the nests,
It stays there,
For it, I won’t.
Poem “Raven” By Sarah Shahzad, January 2023
Raven
The sky felt dense,
The mood it gave off,
Like moths in hue,
And butter flies in pale,
The showering of haze,
Over us at ease,
It’s not seen,
And there I won’t be seen,
The morning routine,
Of the everlasting gloom,
The day stuck in reprises,
And another one it seems,
It flies by scoring petrified faces,
Clipping by the nests,
It stays there,
For it, I won’t.
Poem “Raven” By Sarah Shahzad, January 2023
Wild Birds in Captivity
Those birds that roamed free,
Endless flights filled with glee,
They glide over the trees,
Flying side to side with the breeze,
Above the deserts, they can reach,
Following the wind that they preach,
Finding the oasis that they screech,
Under the clouds that breach,
A glimpse of their prey,
They plunge headfirst at bay,
Stumble and tumble right on the net,
Shackle and tackle trying to release itself yet,
Realizing the faults of one’s actions,
The bird gives out its different reactions,
Confused as the bird seems,
Its faith got interrupted by human needs.
Poem on Wild Birds in Captivity by Sarah Shahzad, November 2022
Saturday Night Bus, Ireland
Slashes of light dot along the wet black road,
bus windows’ reflections like quick photos.
Boys on the back seat (tang of sharp aftershaves)
talk Tik Tok titles, reckon their teams.
The girls together
give off a mixed heady scent –
lily of the valley, rose, orchid,
trace of spice, enticing oils.
Silent, blended, their perfume wafts across.
All these hopes hit town at once –
the Saturday-night bus route
past the herringbone pattern
of parked cars on the wide main street;
five pubs to choose from,
the weekly stops.
Ishq
कुछ सनम के साथ बैठे है
कुछ गम में जागे पूरी रात बैठे है
कुछ हाथों में ले कर हाथ बैठे है
कुछ हाथ काट बैठे है
इश्क़ भी क्या चीज़ है ना जनाब
खुशियां दिक्कतें दोनों हज़ार देती है
पूरा हुआ तो संवार देती है
अधूरा रहा तो मार देती है
When A Plaster Won’t Suffice
When A Plaster Won’t Suffice
(After The Poetry Pharmacy)
When a plaster won’t suffice,
A bandage, a crutch
Or packet of ice,
When a tonic can’t cure
A mind on the mend,
I search for Sieghart’s solution –
A poetic prescription
For the human condition.
A pharmacy like no other,
An apothecary for the soul,
A medicine I reach for
On the shelf,
A talisman
For young and old.
Jordan McCarthy
When A Plaster Won’t Suffice (After The Poetry Pharmacy)
Anecdote for September to remember
Be courteous and be bold take your vitamins and don’t catch a cold
conceive in who you are, and believe in what you are
don’t give up you dreams live up to them, and don’t think less of progress
think success and know the process.
Happy Christmas
The Edge of Reason
At some stage in our fragile life,
We’re all drawn or summoned
To water’s non-judgemental edge,
To reignite precious inspiration,
To extinguish passing desperation.
Shoreline, never a straight sure line,
Yet a neutral, benign borderline
Between spinning earth’s solid footing
And water’s strange gravitational pull,
Alluring form’s shape-shifting wonders.
Inexplicable is early morning’s pull,
Late evening’s lull, the ebb and flow
Of eternal energy’s recurring ripples,
Seemingly seamless through space
And time’s subtle variations of “Fine!”
Bright rippling apexes of extreme highs,
Dark complexes rippling in nadir lows,
Only fear knows how it steadily grows,
Readily growing into knowing despair,
As a numbness of uselessness sows,
Throws out the last meagre shakings
Of self-esteem’s reason, logic and hope,
Finding rest, rooted in the stony silt
Around my cold bare, advancing feet.
Mighty heavens open and only knows
How pricks of sharp pain, slips of weed
Attack my almost numb yet sensitive toes,
To trumpet some small forgotten victories,
To flutter bunting, bare-threaded banners,
Still flimsily clinging to and proclaiming
My mind and spirit’s Hope! Want! Will!
When then the BangBig Genesis, sperm2egg, was I
When
then the BangBig Genesis, sperm2egg, was I
of note zygote, woman.awhile till the Y o Y did I,
androgenic sink toward as you can see something to p
standingly. That Judge, Chaos, no matter my felt loss
threw the Dice deviced to make a man of me. Yet She
in me wanted a-back reborn Paradise where OnceAgain
MyWoman reigned.
Mother from whose grotto I gotta emerge in 3 trimesters,
preferred the pee wee wee as the prisoners do in male’s
jail, but O MOMMY thank you for the blest incest of FirstYear
which happily did me queer, and too your girling polish
red bledcolor co-ed on these fingertips, the Bliss
KNOWING WELL ALL ALONG that scarlet toes and tips
to the KinderKind WomanKind best belong; THEN
with milk and mom-mammology Boobs grew on me
PRIDE protruded abreast. . . The Rest, I guess I overgloss
to look the soft She and sweet to pass as Lass,
Ma’am notably mammary to all who me-do-greet.
Now
in State Hallowed the curse does begin to end
for I have left penitently the Penitentiary of men!!!
Christmas Ride
Christmas Ride
The house was dark and cold
Only a thin ray from a streetlight
Shone through the window
The Christmas tree was a shadow
I was six years old and skeptical
Would Santa really come
I silently left my bed
The floor creaked with each step
I was afraid of being caught
But my curiosity had won out
As I stealthily moved forward
My leg hit a metal object
It fell to the floor with a bang
My breath froze in the air
Someone big was coming
As I knelt down to hide
A hand touched my shoulder
It was my grandmother
Whispering, shhhhh
She helped me get up onto
The most exciting gift ever
It was my first bicycle
After sitting on it briefly
She motioned me to bed
My grandmother always
Had my back
Protecting our secrets
She was the best gift of all
Christmas Ride
Christmas Ride
The house was dark and cold
Only a thin ray from a streetlight
Shone through the window
The Christmas tree was a shadow
I was six years old and skeptical
Would Santa really come
I silently left my bed
The floor creaked with each step
I was afraid of being caught
But my curiosity had won out
As I stealthily moved forward
My leg hit a metal object
It fell to the floor with a bang
My breath froze in the air
Someone big was coming
As I knelt down to hide
A hand touched my shoulder
It was my grandmother
Whispering, shhhhh
She helped me get up onto
The most exciting gift ever
It was my first bicycle
After sitting on it briefly
She motioned me to bed
My grandmother always
Had my back
Protecting our secrets
She was the best gift of all
Hope’s Silent Symphony
In the despairing grasp of fear,
I now know I should fear less,
Waste less my precious focus,
Fearing a fleeting fretfulness,
Just like the toxic-looking froth,
Foaming to spoil lakeshore soil,
Appearing to pollute pureness,
Its existence alludes to ugliness,
Only for wiser winds and reeds
To calmly compose, sway, caress
Legato indications of hopefulness,
Stirring
flights of frothy
freshness.
The Day of the Monkey.
The day of the monkey,
That’s me,
The monkey that pretends to be free.
So happy to have his day,
To hear the cheers the laughs,
And you looking his way.
Laughing at the faces I make,
My clever tricks the cake I bake,
Clapping resounds in my ears,
And blows away my silent tears.
It’s the monley’s day,
No matter how many tricks I play,
A monkey I will stay.
I will always be locked up in my little cage,
I may shake the bars in sorrow or rage,
But I need the peanuts they throw in my face,
I need their laughing to avoid disgrace.
A little monkey with monkey hopes and monkey dreams,
Monkey desires and monkey schemes,
Monkey wishes his fears away,
Monkey longs for a better day.
Sometimes I take myself so seriously,
As if I’m very important really,
I dress up as if I’m real and proud,
And strut around my head in a cloud.
I pretend that I’m important for you and the world,
I drink up the laugher the applause of the girls,
Just before I realise my dilemma,
My cloths are too small my act is a failure.
All dirty and torn, I’m not near normality,
My mind is a mush I doubt of my sanity,
And I’m a million miles from you even seeing me.
So most of the time I sit here in half slumber,
Waiting for the sun to pass over,
I don’t even see the day rolling by,
The stars that shine in the night sky,
I gaze at a point on the floor,
And empty my mind of anything more,
That would remind me of my state,
My position, my hope, the closed locked gate.
The feelings I felt,
The thoughts that I tried, to formulate.
I know you have left me alone in my cage,
I know I’m alone with my hopes and my rage.
Sometimes they pick my cage up and move it around,
Sit it the wall, put it on the ground,
Sometimes they take me out in the sun,
Or swing it around to have some fun.
But most of the time they forget that I’m here,
Here in the dark of a thousand years.
Alone waiting for you to come home,
Searching the horizon for your grave stone.
In fact there’s nothing left at all,
In my monkey brain they put on the wall.
Does a monkey have a soul?
Am I for real or really just a hole.
Will I wake up and disappear?
Will I wake up and become thin air?
That will really be the day,
The day the monkey has got away.
My last trick, they didn’t see nor even care,
The day the monkey dissolved in thin air.
No more shaking my cage in despair,
No more pretending that I am here,
No more strutting about, making a noise,
No more playing with my plastic toys.
I will disappear and no one will see,
Nor even remember a faint memory of me,
They’ll put the empty cage on the wall,
And my ghost will eat the peanuts they let fall,
As they continue to wonder, laugh and clap,
At the empty cage, dead monkey on your lap.
Thoughts
Thought are only feelings too,
Thoughts that I think so often of you.
Feelings are my sensations within,
The mud and the rubbish,
The diamond ring,
Sensations are the messages you send to me,
A sword, a cross, an olive tree.
So many images flash through my mind,
So many feelings to which I am blind.
So many thoughts that I never dare think,
Like old dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.
Hidden away beneath the shit,
The mud the blood and the rest of it.
Thoughts and feelings lost in the wind,
What really mattered is hidden within.
Within the noise, the laughing crowds,
Between the lines of song sang loud,
A whispered caress, a gentle breeze,
A butterfly’s wing, down on my knees.
Beneath the thoughts, behind the scene,
Under the feelings and what has never been.
Though the holes in time and space,
What is always forgotten, your long lost face.
Shining brightly for all to see,
It was never you, it was always me.
Always me down in this pit,
Thinking and fighting to make sense of it.
Always me blocking the way,
Blocking the door to keep out the day.
Always me who had the last word,
Propping up the blind and absurd.
Always me with something to say,
Thinking and feeling my life away.
Money
Money money, ringing in your tills,
Calling us to worship,
The hundred dollar bills.
Bend our knees in wonder,
Bow our heads in awe,
At the power of the liar,
Who now controls us all.
From the darkest deep caverns,
To the stars in the sky,
From the infinite universe,
To the strangers passing by.
From your inner most conviction,
To your laughing in the night,
From everything you ‘re seeing,
To everything out of sight.
The new God has risen,
To claim the holy throne,
The one that we have emptied,
Our hearts all cold as stone.
The throne that we have emptied,
We killed the rightful king,
Sold his crown an sceptre,
Pawned his sacred ring.
Raised his bleeding body,
Up on that bloody hill,
The silent lamb still bleeding,
As the money fills your tills.
Listen
Listen to the buzzing, in your ears,
Listen to the humming, of your fears,
Listen to the baby crying inside,
Listen to pleading in your lover’s eyes.
Listen to the music you have never played,
Listen to the sinner who’s never been saved.
Listen to the empty silence of your mind,
Listen to the whispers of man kind.
Listen to the never heard nor seen,
Listen to the listener who has never been.
Listen to the monkey, you know you really are,
Listen to the wise man, who’s never been that far.
Listen to the dying, crying man,
Listen tot the bottle buried in the sand.
Listen tot meaning you never really meant,
Listen to the letter you never really sent.
Listen to the lovers who loved another one,
Listen to the brothers torturing their mum.
Listen to the noisy who never say a thing,
Listen to the silent crying deep within.
Listen to the never ever really said,
Listen to the dead man laying in his bed.
Listen to the flying, dying man,
Listen to the solid only made of sand,
Listen to the night time, they told you that was day,
Listen to the meaning they stole an took away.
Listen to the singer who never made a sound,
Listen to the thunder in the lightning cloud.
Listen to the voices you never hear within,
Listen to the last train’s whistle, whistling.
The Hammer
Who can hear, the mornings call?
The dead dove’s body, as it does fall.
Who can see through the dead man’s eyes?
As the burning sun, falls from the skies.
What once was new, has now become old,
What once was alive, has now become cold,
What you believed, was worth a lot,
Is burnt to ashes, in the melting pot.
Let’s start again, I hear them say,
Let’s start again, another day,
Let’s make again, what we made before,
Spill more blood, on the kitchen floor,
Lift the cross, up on the hill,
Load the guns, to fight and kill.
Fight and slaughter, till there’s no one left,
Till your mind is empty, your heart is deaf,
You thought that, I was a soldier too,
You thought that I said, I love you,
But I tell you now, and I tell it true,
The angles of heaven, and the angels of hell,
Are riding now, to the ring of deaths bell.
What you thought, was silver and gold,
Are ashes and dust, on the open road,
What you knew was good, what you knew was true,
The hot sun has dried, like the morning dew,
The very memory, of hope and despair,
Is lost in the hole, of your soul laid bare.
The empty hole, behind the clouds,
The music and the laughing crowds,
Are dead and gone, have faded away,
As a new sun rises, on a bright new day,
I tell you now, and I tell you true,
As the hammer of me hits the anvil of you.
Your Birthday
Those were the only days of the night,
When he was born, came into sight,
The only moments that the sun did shine,
Those days when you said that you were mine.
When hope and joy lit up our eyes,
The new born babe lit up our skies.
When the world did open it’s womb to embrace,
The love of God for the human race.
When the earth and nature sang with joy,
The birth of the baby, be it girl or boy.
Hope came on to the dark path,
Something new shining on in the dark.
The birthday.
And now it’s mixed with fear and tears,
The suffering lamentations of a thousand years.
Mixed with death of love and hope,
Mixed with pain, a sinking boat.
What the hell, I shout and scream,
What the hell, is this hell’s dream?
When doors open to the light of the day,
Another one closes and takes you away!
You were born deep in a cave, silent and still,
You died in pain, nailed up on the hill.
Born in the joy of a thousand songs,
Dead on the cross of a million wrongs.
What is this story you sing in my ears?
What is the meaning of my tears?
What is right and what is wrong?
Where does reason and truth belong?
My heart drilled through with a thousand spears,
My mind is lost, drowned in my tears.
Is it me or is it you,
Who left behind this dirty old shoe?
Why is birth and death be joined?
Joy and sorrow, in sequence do follow.
Meaning and absurdity are my bread and butter,
My mind a frozen tear in the gutter.
And is there’s no right to be,
No right to be wrong,
No right to find a rhythm for my unsingable song.
When heaven and earth do finally meet,
When we eventually rise to stand on our feet,
The sky turns black and the sun does fall,
When we behold the real meaning of it all.
When we can lift our eyes to look at the hill,
Your heavenly throne, and your cup unfilled.
Your body hung limp high in the sky,
As people go on laughing and passing by.
The night falls on the old burnt tree,
Is it you or is it me,
Who died on this cross,
God on his knee.
Mentor
He used to say once you’ve felt the darkness creep you can spot it in anyone. You can recognise the suffering of another’s mind. A wordless look that’s all it took, a look of knowing when you’ve suffered too. It’s a type of scar that gets left behind. A gift if you will for the burden of the dark nights. It allows you see, those that suffer in all their light. It’s in the eyes he’d say, you can see the shadows. He’d spot it from a mile away. He’d say it out- loud for all to hear. He was fearless in his recognition. Fearless in his saying, he’d suffered too. He’d advise to talk it outside of yourself, paint it outside of yourself, when the wordless day’s cast shadows, write it outside of yourself. His speaking was as if anointing freedom within. Now you know to be fearless. Fearless with the ink on the dark days as he would be fearless in speaking. To anyone with shadows, don’t forget, there’s light in you too
Surrender
I find myself at this farm gate again,
Peering at the deer.
I want what they have,
Serenity.
The field is peaceful,
Dainty legs delicately poised.
Many eyes stop and stare at me.
I gaze back.
They are curious and kind,
For a moment it is only us,
Eyes locked,
Our silence beautiful.
Smile – Luke Clerkin
He took a picture of her
The door way acted as a frame
The lights above flickered
So much that he could use it as a flash
She smiled the kinda smile that would even make the Mona Lisa cry
The couple at the back of the room in awe
At the sight of her
He remembers why he fell in love
Each time she does it
And each time he feels like it’s ever lasting
But deep down he knows each smile could be her last
The last one that he sees
Now Only
Now only whirling dervish thoughts
Now only I dare to dream again
Now only, hope I held so tight released
Now only I breathe
Now only fears starts to fade
Now only I realise, this is not a dress rehearsal
You taught me how fragile life is
I miss your guiding voice, your knowing smirk
Now only I decide where my path goes next
Now only I sink or swim
Now only I own my mistakes, adventures and successes
As you would, I frown, cry and laugh in equal measure
My training wheels are no more
My journey continues without you
Vigil
Alone, in my childhood bed, I’d dream of fire.
Of suffocation. Being snuffed out.
My mother used to tell me stories of little girls
trapped in buildings. Of lives lost.
The same woman who would not allow bedroom
doors to be closed at night, in line with safety
lessons at school. She banned candles.
Feared incense was evil. Did not
comprehend my point about it being
in the bible. About it being a gift.
I still have nightmares. But, these days,
I’m not scared to light a candle
to hold back the dark.
Three haiku – Philip Davison
The snagging of clouds
is effortless, if one wears
a mountain as crown
*
This garden wall
keeps the painted door to the
intimate universe
*
A stitch in the earth
sunlight on a fallen tree
roots reach to the sky