forthevoiceless

Kevin’s Note:  This stood out to me…the description of the scars as something so beautiful as Saturn’s rings.  Very well done!!  Absolutely loved this one!!

it’s like counting
Saturn’s rings,
hash marks
along your limbs -
remembering a time
when
‘just one more’
made you feel better.

- & you’re sitting there
wondering why
Draco, stuck in limbo
always looks like he’s


falling.

Kevin’s Note:  Love the honesty, the emotion and the idea of this.  I hope we all “write for all of the above”.

I write for love
For praise and validation
And the stream of approval
That flows from the fandome

I lie and say
That I write for emotion
Releasing the fears I hide
Baring my soul before strangers

The truth be told
I write for love
For loss thereof and more
With open heart and tear filed eye

I write for all the above

Kevin’s Note:  Time is a funny thing…counting time is altogether a different story.  Absolutely a wonderful piece.

I have been wrapped up like a present 
under the Christmas tree from the year you left.
I have be waiting for you to return-
to open the one thing you left
                             behind.
365 days have passed
and I am still listening for your footsteps.

Maybe time
was never 
on our side. 

evilseas:

note: an older piece, but one of my personal favorites. —

In picking up the wind along a such abandoned shore,
laughter along the alleys
or the hollow echoes of a crowded, smoky room,
I’ve three thoughts that revolve
in turn, twisting into knots:

1. How humorous the fascination of all humans
with the labeling of things abstract and tangible.
And infinity spent locking restless
hands in chains meant for stationary things.
Time insists on ticking,
locks never quite clicking.

The mortality of immortal things.

2. Change is another word for hope,
both the point of dissipation along the horizon
or illuminated fish at the belly of the sea.

All forever unattainable and unknown to me.

3. Habits emerge and fade, as we are never constant
but always very much the same.

An outpouring of wanton hypotheses.

Here’s to the year anew,
steel breath in the jaws of winter.
Powerless against the peril of the tide,
the pettiness of time.
Holding faith in only the predictability of the unpredictable:
a pistol in the hands of a bad shot.

Aditi’s note: I really, really like this. 

Kevin’s Note:  We are poets, we are writers…we are readers!!  So read this brilliant piece.

We speak through rhymes,

through syllables measured in perfect time. 

With metaphors and play-on words 

we communicate our loves, our passions, our desires, 

and no matter how much we write,

we’ll never get tired.

Because without the written word,

life would just seem absurd.

We could not make sense of the world.

We might go crazy or insane,

we’d feel no love, only pain.

We are poets.

We are writers,

We are cavemen carving on our walls,

telling our stories to you all. 

Kevin’s Note:  Yep…a great poem and a great idea.  When these two items jive…wonderful poetry is the result.

i walked back slow from my late shift at work
on these wide regency streets
the piano music in my ears had hold of me like your arms underneath our bedsheets
and it made me think
of another us
way back 150 years
and i thought of how much i love you now
and how it added a glow to my nights sky
i wonder if a future me & you
held like glue
will look up at the stars
and know why

Kevin’s Note:  This hit home!  Beautifully done….I love this.

He asked me
“Momma, how much
Do you love Daddy?”

I told him
I didn’t know.

He dropped his shoulders.
“Momma,
How don’t you know?”

So I asked him
How many rain drops
Fall from the sky.

I reminded him
Of the oceans.

Roggy’s note: hellfire and tears! Fuckyeahexpression!

Lightning flashed 
and the thunder rolled across the sky.
As the rain poured down
the wind carried a light whisper.

“I am hellfire and tears,”
it said to me, “I am the bringer
of news both good and bad
for I am the messenger of Death-
one who sings lullabies of peace
and howls of the torment
of damnation.”

Roggys note: the potent messages are conveyed simply. Lovely!

You were my favourite kind of air to breathe,
My lungs miss your presence.
I try to breathe in so deep,
But now I’m choking in my sleep.
It’s just not the same.
This isn’t home,
Not here…
Not without you.

©~Chloe-May McGlone

Roggy’s note: resonating!!!

A break in the clouds—
a mere crack in the lead-gray
walls that shudder in a thunderous clap—
reveals a silver thread
tied off by the storm makers
at pensive unrest
in their cradle-rocked beds.

Carole’s Note: great poem. 

Summer nights were built for
kissing you as sloppily as a dog 
(head to toes, toes to head)
after evening dinners in 
Lilly dresses and button-ups
and
the only patience involved is
trying to only make out at red lights
on the way home, windows down,
driving fast, magnetic eyes
stuck to thighs and beaming cheeks.