forthevoiceless

themeanderinglion:

Rachael’s Note: I’m loving run-on poetry at the moment, and I think this is an excellent example.  

A red heron
Flew above
A red sun
I watched
Its wings flap
Winnowing
The red stains
In the sky
But he was
Tethered to
The blood
Crammed to
The veins
Of his feigned
Endeavor to
Haplessly vie
I watched
The red blotch
As it spread
And conquered
His consummate
Defeat and
It lets go
Of its vying
It plummets down
Crashing boughs
Of gaunt trees
And slapping
The earth
Finally
With a thud
Full of vigor
Underneath
Its red plumes
Are red bruises
And the sky
And its infinite
Corollaries
Was ever higher.

themeanderinglion:

Rachael’s Note: Simple, but rings so true. 

And there are no tears
Just pity and fear
No vast ravine
Right in between

Kevin’s Note: Real words. Really enjoyed the description of two distinct individuals in this. This truth hits close to home…

sylvesterlandersonpoet:

Giving in to my desire for change

Detaching myself from the stranger I had become

Detachment from the needle’s intake

That split my being in two

Past attempts to merge and become whole again

Failed, I was afraid to try again

The other part of me, the stranger

Couldn’t stave off the need for chemical euphoria

But this time, the merger between weakness and hope

This is going to stand, I believe

And I have faith that I will become whole again

Kevin’s Note:  OUCH!   Love the work and the simple honesty…fireworks are as fickle as a pickle!

         grasping my hands

you breathlessly explode

in abysmal words

of your urgent love

for this odd entirety

they call me. 

i wait for my heart 

to tremor and ooze glee,

for my soul to defy gravity,

for joy to prick my eyes

with streams of golden tears.

but to my dismay,

all i recieve

are my expected paterns

of useless breathing

and an itch in my throat

due to bad allergies.

i’m sorry, darling,

but i’m afraid

i just don’t love you. 

Kevin’s Note:  So much spoke with so few words.  It’s been written a thousand different ways…still it is profound!

I bent to retrieve the pieces of the
glass i dropped on the floor and thought

I wonder if this is how you see me.

(via someheavywords)

Kevin’s Note:  Here we have a wonderful submission piece…thank you for sending in all your submissions.  Give us time to go through them.  Readers…tell us what you think about this one??

The most brilliantly horrifying aspect of words,
Is that in which you can make anyone believe anything is true,
If only you speak it perfectly.

We all exist in type and in print,
We live our lives through the word of a novel.

The light has shone through the window,
One last time for the ever long day,

Speaking to one another in caviler tones,
Spouting worthless nothings,

But, I must question;
What is the light?

As we sit, truly alone on the lawn,
Affront the humble homes,
We lie in the shimmer of lights,

Taking in it’s rays and soaking our,
Skins in the breathless lines,

As we sit, propped up by boards,
In our woolen sheets,
We stare into the colorless ceilings,
Pondering the light,

Tear the ceilings down from the rafters,
And let in the light of even night,

Let the beams of the stars stay themselves,
Into the tired living rooms,

Pour the wine from the glass!
Let it fall onto the floor!
Let it flow into the floorboards!

Bear not the calmness of night,
But rest in the thought of dreamless slumber.

The children rush to me to ask,
Of what life can leave for them to learn,

I say; What is knowledge,
But a cleansed repetitive rant to be recited,
Into textbooks?

But, perhaps the darkness of the night,
Can find it’s honeyed fingers into the day,

A pinch of limp light may destroy,
The darkness of glooms,
But no amount of darkness can diminish,
Even the dullest of lights,

For, we are but an imagining of darkness overcoming light,
And light may always rise,
We must still fight to shield the winds from snuffing,
The candle flame,

I leave you, not in bad taste,
But in glorious light,

Every philosopher has, at a point or pass,
Questioned the presence of higher being,
And those who have not, denied the idea outright.

As diem slowly fades to noctem,
The beauty of the sky graces in red’s and gold’s,

And as such, laughs in the face,
Of the foolishness that is human nature,

But yet, we will still go on,
Ignoring the bellows of the mocking bird,

Lying on red velvet pillow tops,
Lounging in stained rooms,
Musing of what we wish,
But accomplishing nothing,

The grey folding into the road,
And letters lazily rocking from Ink,
To finished page,

The warmth now flows through my lips,
But they will soon be cold and brittle,

And I, exposed as the moon,
Lie awake in my Tomb of Dreams,

Perhaps it was the liquor,
Perhaps the drugs,
Perhaps the conscious nightmares,
Crawling through the floorboards,
And up the slanted walls,
Only to block out the light,

Though the dreams were well written,
They spoil in the slightest glimmer of hope,

In truth, the meaning of night,
Is shrouded in the awkward beams of exhaustion.

As I mound about,
The grass beneath my body,
And the dirt beneath that,

I see the dogs at full sprint,
And the children playing with their sliver of innocents,
And rays of talent,

Grooving through the side walked streets,
Patting in their paths,
Future; irrelevant,
Past; nonexistent,

I applaud them openly,
As tears well up in my Oculus’

But the thought of childhood dreams,
Passes as the light of day reminds me of what I had mused for many a night,

The shine on the trees,
And the letters tucked under the mail carriers arms,

These are the things I may soon miss,

I have been drained of that,
In which I found the most joy,

My bones have grown to hate me,
My voice has turned against me,
Even the animals have come to turn at my calling,
And deny even the food I lay in their dish,

The rawness of my welted eyes,
Shows through my most deceiving smiles,

The children can tell of my act,
Though, the people who pass can see of my charade,
As those of a Shakespearean theater,

The path has been set,
The strings have been tuned and plucked,

The soul that is of my being,
Has looked upon the light of day, and of the moonlit sky,

 I am tired and ill,
I have seen the dawn rising,
Though slowly, over the peaks,
And the light and warmth shine over the lives,
Of those who dream and wonder,

Perhaps we will become all that is within our dreams,

We shall become entranced in the words,
And the language spoken through our slumber,
To the collected song,
We know as life itself,

The house the serves steak, must also serve porridge,
And thus is the lake of life,

Let the Earth be felt under our feet!
Mark your own stream of moments!
Follow the path for eternity!
And let not even the lines of the page guide you

Kevin’s Note:  Simple, beautiful.  Wonderful!

I want you to whisper to me
a soft lullaby
a song to ignite me
like fireworks to the sky

I want to dream of the light
as supernovas of your heart
bursting from a love
as a priceless work of art

So whisper a song
your heart sings true
a soft lullaby
of just me and you

Kevin’s Note: I feel like I know these colors…this picture painted so vividly. Wonderful!

ponderingcomplications:

You were a winter storm,
Fresh from the orange Autumn days.
On blue hued wings,
You danced that starfire sword of ice
And stole the scarlets of my soul,
Leaving it a timberwold grey.
I saw stars in the lightening of your eyes,
And I watched as they fell down your face.
Never have I been so cold, love.

Kevin’s Note: Love all of this…glad to be back in the swing again.

jfleahy:

Dark shines of smoked glass

glaring with a twist of malevolence

appeal of the vicious fashion

edging the corners of paradox

of cobalts and crimsons prisms

the burn of photogenic philosophy

strumming the strings of the satyr’s axe

 and the flawed intentions wailed in verse

And ends in darkness once more

dimasmoonbeams:

Antoinette’s Note: This really just spoke true to my heart today. Especially ‘wait ~ weightier burden that brings with it pain’.  Love it.

                                                                                   s
                                                                                    s 
                                                                                     e             
                                                                                     n   
                                                                                    s
                                                                                   s
                                                                                  e   
                                                                                 l  
                                                                               t
                                                                             h 
                                                                           g
                                                                         i
                                                                      e
               weight possesses a measure of   w
               freedom that comes from a sole focus

               wait ~ weightier burden that brings with it pain
               time - currency no one can exchange

               once ~ questioning elemental necessities
               substance to subsist on swaying breeze

               else what in a heart keeps blood from being blue?


                ~i  t h o u ght  yo u  kn e w~

                             it’s you

                            it’s you~

kurtrheewriting:

Rachael’s Note: Beautiful Language, description and imagery. Simply wonderful. 

When she is laying in the sand
top untied and loose hair falling
around her neck
I watch the growing dark in her skin
the freckled stars in her back.

From my view in the afternoon
I watch summer long shadows,
he-shaped and she-shaped
shards of night, as they stretch across the cement.

But in the late hours, and the soft glow
of city lights, 
I wonder where the night goes.