Kevin’s Note: I can feel the passion and want and heat and hunger in this. All good things come to those who wait….
Heat and hunger
beneath my fingertips,
and as I drag them
across my chest
to melt away
my common sense,
I wish they weren’t
Kevin’s Note: This is beautiful. I can picture this, as a man, standing poised with ink in hand ready to begin…words in my head coming to life for real.
allow me allure.
unclothed, i am
poised at my writing desk.
inscribe your script
upon my spine.
think me a novel,
think me divine.
Wolfie’s Note: I enjoyed this write mostly because of the emotional content and how the free verse flowed into the closing statement.
she always wanted to be a scientist
a dream crushed
by the childhood categorization of minds
tossed into a hole
too deep to crawl out of
covered with a glass ceiling
too bullet proof to be shattered
so she clawed at it from her domestic dungeon
until her fingers bled
filling society’s river of unrealistic expectations
Wolfie’s Note: At times the simplest of statements make the most sense and this write is exactly that.
Conscience: “Why even continue with this? It’s getting embarrassing. You waste your time writing silly poetry that no one bothers reading. Yeah sure you have 99 followers now, but you’re washed up already… at such a young age too. Shame.”
You: “You know what, Conscience? I labour over words with meticulous precision, efforts that neither my friends nor strangers seem to acknowledge. Will that make me quit? No - because high numbers are irrelevant. This isn’t about recognition or fame. It doesn’t matter how many likes a picture gets on Facebook, nor how many retweets a clever hashtag gets on Twitter. The truth is simple: my passion has more worth than can be measured by reblogs. I pour myself into my work, ticking heart and typing hands, and if it makes a difference in one person’s life, then that’s great. Goal achieved. That’s the number that matters… one, and it all starts with you.”
Gardens of Stone
Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall
Through snow, wind, rain and all.
remains beneath our feet
Forgotten a generation after their demise
Left in silence the untended stones
as the empty shells rot below
Once love and hate and joy and fear
Life living unbridled and free
The gardens of stone.
of a broken hand
the better half
of two eyes
of a sunken battleship
sitting in the ocean
waves to carry it
farther than its sails
bends like metal
sober like a
want to wake from
The scribble of
Lost in the
of a crying
Peaches’ Note: What makes poetry profound is not the vocabulary used in the story that one hopes to tell in only so few stanzas, but the message it aims to get across to the reader.
However, how one individual reads and interprets a poem might differ from how another does.
I choose to interpret this poem as the depiction the lifespan of the craft of one’s passion for creating (art,writing,singing,dance, etc.) in itself, how it becomes inspired, ill, healed, flourishing, and imprinted into history by those who read them.
Is what one leaves behind what others will truly see or merely what we think we see?
You are the words that escape me
When I say “I had something to tell you,
But I forget what it was.”
You are the slipping details of dreams,
Lost to daylight.
You are words I can’t put into
A sentence, a sonnet, a story, a novel, an epic –
Because no words I could string together could be so perfect.
Carole’s Note: This is lovely and really encapsulates that moment where something important but vague slips away from you.
Ann’s note: I liked the honesty of this. The slight undertones of regret, were perfectly subtle. Well written and beautiful.
Last week, it was the girl with long brown hair and eyes like the sky. With skin clearer than water, she was perfect in too many ways. Her laughter trilled down the hall, sending nausea to my stomach but only for a second. She liked the attention, but she was too caught up in the opinions of others to see the beauty you contain.
This week it’s the girl with brush strokes of blonde falling from her scalp. Her voice carries hints of confidence as she speaks to you like it’s nothing. She consumes your time. With a smile like the sun and eyes like the Atlantic. Her and I are nothing alike, and maybe the two of you are too similar to ever be a perfect match.
Next week it may be a new girl. I suppose it’ll be the tall girl in the Sophomore class who has a body like a model, with horse-like hair and big brown eyes. You seem to stare at her a lot, and anyone can see she’s stunning. She plays soft fades of lullabies on a polished violin and somehow gets more beautiful every time you look at her.
Your habit of getting attached to people always seems to leave you hurting, but you let it happen anyway. It still surprises me to look back to the times when you spent more than just a week giving me your affection. At this point, I can’t remember if it was a dream or not.
One day, one of these girls will start to see in you what I saw in you so long ago, and when that day comes, I imagine your clothes won’t smell like your own anymore, and the hands that used to fit perfectly with mine will fit with someone else’s. I just hope that whoever this girl is will give you more of a chance than I ever did.
I wonder if it’s okay
that I already miss you.
I keep trying to find
your fingerprints on
my steering wheel,
on my clutch.
And I wonder if it’s okay
that I just want to go
and I want you to take me,
and I want to listen
to you breathe
you’ve chosen death
so many times and yet
life still spills
from your lungs.
I wonder if it’s okay
that I never loved you,
but I wish you loved me
as more than a girl
in the passenger seat
drive her away.
alex’s note: this makes my heart sink. it’s well written, and strong. I like it.
The Screaming Silence
Can you hear the choked horror stories
I construe in silent sobs?
My gut is overflowing with
expanding sorrow, crushing insignificance,
and I thought you’d notice
I’d become a little faint.
Head pounding, I stare at you
like your soul is a raw slab of meat
for sale at the butcher’s,
anger and indignance poised on the tip of my tongue,
and I thought it was impossible
to not taste my fire.
When questioned, I answer with acid-dipped
sarcasm, at the ready to swear
and move onward
with a heavier heart than before.
I’ve been hurting, dear.
Can’t you hear my heart crack?
Can’t you hear me scream in your nightmares,
as each and every one of you turns your back,
uncomprehending of everything
that cuts me?
Alex’s note: this gives me chills. very poignant, very sincere.
Sadly, I love you
I feel these things,
I feel flowers blooming
In between the cracks
Of my heart so I can put
Then in a pretty vase made
Of sunshine and smiles to
Give to you so you know that
I feel something for you,
But you’ll never know just how
Much I adore you and all your
Beauty and that’s okay.
I love you
And I cannot
Emotions at all
But I can show you
Small traces of the petals
That blossomed in spring because
You were alive and well and breathing
And maybe you were trying to be happy
Or you were and if you are, that’s all I can
Ask for because darling, I love you and I know
You don’t feel the same at all and I can’t
Make you feel anything I feel because
In the end, all I feel is the pain of
Not only this, but of so many
Other things I never told
You about. You never
Knew the sunshine
In my heart was
Born from the
Dark that is
It will hurt.
I will be okay.
I just really fucking love you,
What else can I possibly say?
Alex’s note: I love how this hits you, right in the gut.
Die By Your Light
A gentle touch shared by you and I,
That shines a light in a life of lies,
Is a course that would make me die,
And yet I’d submit to it every time.
For what are you but a phoenix’s grace,
To to shine rainbow’s light upon my face,
And in glorious light I crumble and burn
Every sin in the violet flame doth turn.
I come to you with the desire to die,
And on your wings you make my soul fly,
For I’ll always arise again better than before,
To be worth of your love evermore.
Alex’s note: smooth rhythm, clean rhymes, and splendid theme. I really enjoyed this poem… it made me smile.
the sun beams only shy from your skin
because to burn your flesh would be a sin
and in a fight, they know I’d win.
the rain drops only run away
because I told them they could not stay
if they planned on darkening your day.
dear beauty sleep.
the thunder only grumbles
on drunken nights filled with stumbles
because it dare not interrupt your peaceful mumbles..
Alex’s note: wonderful.