Canon roar, castles go, Grab ahold, gravel road, A rabbit grows, As does his habits, A hobbit grows, Shrinking his jacket. Life a la mode, What matters most, When paddling boats? Loneliness, A partner to boast, Havoc that leaves you alone.
I feel like an empty vessel cast away The only thing that hits my hull is the slap of a choppy wave I have no crew on board they all found the challenge to much The cargo I have is overflowing from deep within my hull The milk has soured & the whey of the milk is all I am able to smell I once was loved in such a way, the strength of it filled me up I know it is hard to see not that I am old & withered up The way she pulled me towards her, like there was always a rope connecting us The feeling this gave to me is far too much to describe I know that is is hard to see now that my ropes have frayed away The sails are saggy, no wind will fill them up My rudder seems to be broken, around in circles is the only way it goes I fill with dizziness, that is all too much & reminds me of the day the love went away I know I will never dare love again, this old hull can not handle it all again So I will keep going in circles seeing the same thing There is no joy, no crew to fix me up. The old milk, in the old vessel has been left on its own The stench will never leave.
"Oh, weep for Vietnam! The sick dreams Of passion-winged Ministers of War Who sent boys in, who never living streams Nor ripe rice paddies crossed to get their star. Their Draft which made men fodder, blundered not— Wonder no more, tho' sixty thousand slain, But fly there, where they fell; and mourn their lot Round their cold hearts, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.'' ~ After Shelley, ELEGY TO KEATS
Caustic fools, ictus womb, Sickly youth symbolic, Less useful as tools; Into nothing I look, Root causes, congress, Dishonest responses; Old meat, new locker, Few cure, heal stronger, Video, feed, Alone, Me, My mind to wander.
A doctor told me ten years But You will have all of mine
For Mayor, for payment, For wages, forced labour, For most run four bases, For patience, no basis. Road changes like young brains, Record-breakers, the role favours; Horses race toward old age, and the coast as it fades; Full weight behind the sail, Like regulation of the state, Your neighbour, Your patron, Afford bravery for faith, While some live, agate, Judge races from inside of a cage.
quite literally they cannot spill out of my mouth into the toilet bowl fast enough green, neophyte, insensate swirling around in the clear, shallow water, they almost look like they are swimming ancient, ferric, turpentine its midnight on sunday afternoon and the morning never felt so far away verily, salt, halcyon pulling the lever, they swirl away, the letters sloshing together into a murky soup gestalt, vermilion, fear they turn into equations with no solutions when i bring my hand away from my mouth, wiping ouroboros, nineteen, baseless i know better than to brush my teeth golden, gale, corridor i know better than to go back to bed right after demilune, murmur, mirror linoleum, throat, nightgown listless, lucid, dreamer
I hear your voice upon the wind. It calls me, to come to you I follow the sound unable to resist like a Siren call to sailors at sea. Your eyes meet mine. The eyes of a lioness who wishes to devour me You pounce upon me and bring me to the ground onto your bed of lilac and lavender I am helpless in your jaws about my neck. Your fangs pierce deep into my flesh. Your jaws crush my last resistance. Your golden flaxlike mane falls upon me like waves of soft sea mist In my mouth and in my eyes, I look through the golden net which binds me Your lips find mine. Your tongue darts into my mouth and upon my face with the kisses of my submission. Your kisses go down my chest with your golden hair softly following behind. Your kisses rise back to my face with your hair all about me forming the net of my capture. Two breasts land upon my body like twin fawns playing in a meadow. They move and glide up and down my body. I reach to grab them, so smooth and soft You are upon me now and our bodies move like the sway of the trees in the wind. I am in you. You have devoured me. There is no more me, only you my Calypso.
Rise oh sun oh immortal flame to wake the soul to play again. To run and dance and jump for joy and warm the hearts of girl and boy. Beam down your rays of healing light confirming natures pure delight and bringing forth more glee than blight no winter yet in this souls sight. May brilliant joy and exaltation be your gift and coronation leading toward the beach of plenty makes one feel like being twenty. Wish upon dream upon starry starry night. Let your spirit take its flight to one you’ll hold extremely tight. Embrace your dream with passion free exposing all intentional glee for daylight breaks and dawn reveals lovers heart… eternally.
holding the box between two fingers so it does not fall the hand is not pandora’s; she has been dead for centuries inside the lid, an amateur’s attempt at a cumulonimbus the sky behind them greener than the clouds before a tornado the clouds themselves whiter than the dust after what will become of the box? will it house bangles and bracelets and small forgotten memories? will the hinges rust and the sky become separated from the ground? will it ever find its way home?
Obsessions What power you hold over me... Every action, every thought Is just a push in your direction Feeding into the obsessions, Lost connections, misdirections, Absolutely positively coerced into these affections By a brain constantly seeking tiny moments of perfection. Though you kind of must admire this curation of adoration, All the mental efforts required to keep up the constant cultivation Of this undisturbed fixation, The impropriety and distraction of a single-minded meditation, All these mind-numbing, pacing, clock-like rotations Theoretically leading this obsessive mind to pure elation, The uninhibited fruits of this persistent dedication. Happy sighs and exhalations... But then... The sobering realization That somehow life existed before this shrine’s erection And perhaps the cracks start to show, Unexpected but apparent imperfections, Initially denied and resolutely rejected, The shattered shards of a crystal ball that disagrees with my projections, The deflation, depletion, extortion Of my vexation, Maybe leading to complete and utter exoneration... The disintegration of my fascination. Maybe someday... But for now I prefer to float in my comforting contemplations, Giving in to the infatuation, These happy delusions of my mind’s incarceration. And if the worst this should cause is These false exhilarations, Then I shall stay here for a while And enjoy the scintillating sensations Of my obsessive ruminations. A Temporary Salvation.
To scratch to paper to feel, A rat pampered can keel, Catch as cant, caped and kneels. To manage a brokerage well, Manger broken, belly swells, Change hopeful, soon quelled. The train is gold but gone, Pain is old game to fawns, Again retold, they carry on.
“Writers ———————- Have gentle souls Have a heart of a sunshine The one written word they paint From their lives with each brush in their hands The good times The bad times The treasured of times Their words are best told From its beginning to no ending They paint each season They create each reason They form each line As they stand even at the bus line As they wait for their train to arrive As they drive their car they must stop At the parking stop and quickly write Otherwise they will lose their track of Song they want to sing” (c)10/31/2020 by Petar Kostadinov
these are the golden years, the golden day, she says like the sunrise or the sunset? i say both. or neither. she says do you miss it? she says your youth, i mean. i know. i miss it. i am still young. it has been torn from my chest and weighs on my hips and i miss it. i say how was your birthday? she says better than before, i say. before what? the moment it became my birthday. were you gifted anything? she says on which birthday? i say all of them. or none. she says do you think we could preserve this moment, cast it in gold or bronze or iron? she says no. who said that? i pick up the mirror and drag it home. ten, nineteen, two thousand and one.
If you Really Saw Me What would you do if I told you all my secrets? The ones pulled from deepest trenches, darkest corners. Scraped them like the drippings of my innermost self Onto your proverbial plate Would you push them all back? Demand a reverse regurgitation Of all that was ugly in me And pretend you never saw Would you sift through my soul? Stir a fork through all that is me, Looking for the parts you can use, Discarding the rest Would you shatter the plate against the wall? Shards of me on display for all to see, Lay me bare in front of the eyes of the world And laugh at the tears streaming red down my face Or would you love me just the same? As my inner enigma bleeds over the porcelain edges As you see all the sides unseen Would you smile at my uncloseted skeletons? Would you hold my empty vessel self and fill me with the light, the love, my soul needs? What would you do if I told you all my secrets?
As I see World's fire No end soon Together We are strong Fight fire Arise now Golden light Great beyond World of hope Happiness Full of love Laughter here Forever
Warning: this is looooooong and if you’re a sensitive individual the first parts may bother you. But hopefully the last part will inspire you. Speak your truths friends. The ones who matter will love you all the harder. #worldmentalhealthday Hidden Stories They smiled, jokingly told her she looked tired, “Must’ve partied hard last night.” Smile quietly returned, “just didn’t sleep too well I guess.” She didn’t tell them how hard it was to get out of bed this morning, How sleep never came last night, How it felt like the darkness would just swallow her whole, How she felt hollow and empty and there weren’t any tears left, just an ache deep within that wouldn’t subside. And maybe if she just squeezed her eyes shut and stayed in that bed in the blacked out void, She wouldn’t have to face another day of faked smiles and “I’m ok” lies. “Just tired today I guess.” “It’s warm today man!” “What’s with the long sleeves all the time?” “Got some crazy tattoos under there?” He smiled, laughed along with them, Self-consciously ran his hands over his wrists. Over the bandages binding his secrets. They didn’t know how close he got last night, how he almost let go, How so much blood, HIS blood swirled down the drain, mixing with his tears. He was sure no one would miss him, but he wondered if he would miss this world, And the good days out in the sun, Few and far between as they were. What would they say if he were gone tomorrow? “You should’ve come out with us last night. You would’ve had so much fun...” She nodded and made those “next time” promises, though she knew they were lies. She’d stay home again, Wrapped in the icy grips of loneliness, Which felt somehow better than her burning cheeks when the right words just wouldn’t come, or the wrong ones spilled out, and she felt their eyes on her, Panic rising, thoughts frozen Wishing she’d just stayed home, Away from the judgement, And all the wrong moves she always made “Haven’t seen you around in a while! Doing ok?” His mouth smiled, head nodded, lips formed words he’d said so often, automatic. Because, really, he thought, How could I describe that moment last night, body curled up with forehead cold against the kitchen floor, Ears covered to block out the voices, Silent screams wracking his body as the panic overwhelmed him, No breath to speak, And who could he call anyway, How would he explain these moments of pure fear that slipped in unnoticed and become everything, took everything, until he was a shivering shell of himself. Sometimes he wondered, if they could see through him, would they think him weak? Would they walk away...? These people are all make-believe, but the experiences are not, taken from articles and discussions and sometimes even revelations from real-life friends. These are not my stories, but they are someone’s truths, Not their weakness, Not their short-lived sadness that they can just “get over” if you try hard enough to make them happy. (My gosh do I need to remind myself of that part sometimes...) But that doesn’t mean you stop trying. Love them y’all. Love them so damn much that you’ll sometimes break through the cracks in their self-inflicted armor. Listen to them, Give them the chance to be open and honest, And if what they say makes you flinch, imagine what it must feel like for them. Do something kind that makes them smile and get ready to do it again tomorrow. Smile and laugh with them. Cry with them. Be genuine with your thoughts and feelings. Give them space, but check on them. Pull them out of the dark for just a moment, say, “I’m here for you when you need me. And I always will be.” Mental health issues are often invisible, but still feel debilitating to the one inside that head. Stay educated. Be understanding. Love the hell out of each other. ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤍🤎💗
Some composers write bland forever, Passionate sellers, mechanical components, Bad poem after bad poem; Best service as archers than soldiers, Philanthropists of the moment, Amateur poet of farmers knowledge, Larger wage, cannabis smoker; Boxer of drama, reading poems and novels, Softer and lower, he sees darkness;