what will we remember?
by tnun

Comment:
what will we remember? a poem.

As the years go past,
and you reminisce,
of the first day of school,
or first person you kissed,
and your memory fades,
of your wee younger times,
with small messy faces
and small schoolyard rhymes,
will you picture me there,
though you can't sketch my face
on your mind's drawing board,
in your deepest safe place?
will you cry out at night
when your soul cannot rest,
when you cannot recall,
the times I consider best?

The Old Barn
by HUETH

Comment:
The Old Barn

Out on Route 45, past Williamsford,
the folks have a saying,
and with hesitant lips I repeat,
"Don't go messin' round the old barn."

The skeletons, literal and otherwise,
make up the walls, and only to be held
up by phantoms limbs,
the remnants of dead desires.

Take a picture, write a poem,
but leave the structures core alone.
Don't say you were not warned.
Don't ever say you were not warned.

the watchers
by UrfaK

Comment:
The Watchers, (a poem)

As if laughing at the Caladrius,
snow white and disease free,
the watchers wait.

The plague of Galen worsens,
and the time is near,
the beaks are sharp.

As pestilence cries out,
health remains silent,
as all the thoughts
and futile prayers,
disperse silently on the
unforgiving wind.

Remains of Winter Past
by digifotojo

Comment:
The sun had not returned,
nor the bees to the meadow,
and for 34 moons,
we waited, in silence,
and wept.

The remains of winter past,
filled up our minds,
and glided to the cold muddy earth,
like French Paratroopers,
seeking shelter.

Balloons cannot replace love,
seeds cannot undo the will of God Above.
The earth cannot breathe choking
Upon its own blood,
with the Remains of Winters Past.

Her sunglasses and scarf
by markwiley

Comment:
Her eyes and lips alive
With the memory of a lovers' denial
A boring neglect, not a ripe affair
The smell of makeup and lipstick
In a faux leather purse,
Near a market keychain and half pack of gum
The purse smell, the crisp air,
Smack of lips, her sunglasses and scarf.

"November"
by jmritz

Comment:
November, a poem.

And with joy Grappos wept,
the age had come and gone
and the sequinned blouses had closed
the air more still, the hunch returned.

On golden shores,
the ageless bathed,
yet the glittered nights had ended
and the windows shuttered,
the air more still, the hunch returned.

As modernity approached
and characters alighted from memory,
like rats from a sinking ship,
the air more still, the hunch returned.

The clues became too equivocal for me to pursue any longer.
by rooum

Comment:
The clues became too equivocal for me to pursue any longer
- A poem, Words by Blindjustice

As I set out on that unenviable task,
to know, or better yet to tell,
the official difference between Elbow and Ass,
I was daunted as proverbial hell.

And fearing no slight or daunt,
I persevered, unafraid.
Alone and Blind with stupidity's taunt
on my ignorant escapade.

And when I looked up, the
feeling became stronger,
The clues became too equivocal
for me to pursue any longer.

Late Night Taxi
by GeorgesBogaert

Comment:
The asphalt,
Alive with shadows and piss
And mystery steam
Impossibly warm and dense

The seats full of sweat
and lovers' perfume
a musky driver,
With unwanted breath and eyes

But you and I
We know its temporary
We go where we need to
In the late night taxi.

snow falling
by mariuca

Comment:
We are all snowflakes
Unique and cold
Edgy and crystalline
Waiting to melt
Into nothing.

the lady wore trousers
by Abra

Comment:
All things must pass.
She new it was true.
Time marches on.
The cliche was earnest.
There is no going back,
no rewinding the clock,
no return to ways of yore,
the cat was out of the bag,
the curiosity sated,
the glorious future arrived
men were like children
the lady wore trousers.

Message edited by author 2018-04-06 04:35:36.