A deserted beach, shipwreck on the shore,
Desolate remains of a life once shared,
Before it was clear what fate had in store
In Eden, with you, when our hearts were bared,
Forbidden fruit can ne’er be un-eaten
Once taught, good and evil can’t be un-learned
Battles can’t be won once you’ve been beaten,
Bridges can’t be crossed once they’ve all been burned.
Alone we walk the paths on which we’re hurled
Exiled to wilderness, where truth is found
To become ourselves, to create our world,
To accept the fate to which we are bound.
No way to be that you’re not meant to be
No way to accept this and not be free
Guest Barista John W. Leys blogs at the Darkness of His Dreams
Image: Wrecked fishing boats at Grasbakken in Nesseby, Finnmark, North Norway (6 December 2012, 17:53:17) by Hans Olav Lien.
Found on WikiMedia Commons
I’ll never have the perfect face, be taller than five-five or catch a single freaking break.
Won’t ever love mornings, follow crosswalk warnings or adore myself the way you do me.
I’ll never tolerate the boring things, know how to sing without butchering the lyrics,
write poems that don’t cuss because I don’t give a fuck about appearance, slash conformity.
Don’t give a damn if you mourn me or not, gloss over all the awkward to author fiction.
I’ll never oppose these antisocial quirks, even when diction fails them. I’ll never be the alpha male,
just as some never bear to
I’ll never be older than sixteen and self-loathing, chasing some girl I inappropriately fell in love with,
knowing I’m the
she actually covets, but she’ll always be a
character to me.
All these things I’ll never be, and
yet you don’t look
hopeless enough to flee.
It’s all the denouement I could ever want, but one does dream,
You can read more of Nicholas’ work at Free Verse Revolution
By Charles Robert Lindholm
I have a garden Continue reading
Wrapped inside this lace prison, beauty
Tied to the post barks at the convention of standards
She turns to the mirror, gagged, looking for a safe word
Unable to spit it out.
Who is prisoner, who is warden?
Wrapped inside this lace prison strips beauty
Of depth. In the fathoms, sharks swim with barracudas
She turns to the mirror, looking for an oxygen tank,
A rifle to shoot at the gag.
Who is hunter, who is hunted?
Wrapped inside this lace prison, beauty asks, naked,
Why don’t you untie me, stare at gently falling flesh
In the mirror, laugh, then smile at the unravelling
Spit out unsafe words until the tank explodes
Who is safe? who is safe?
Lace lumped on the floor, the mirror looks back
At beauty dancing, spinning, whirly-dirvishing
Singing words that explode, spitting them out
Like poison sucked from a rattlesnake bite.
We have only recently met
But there is a sense of inexplicable
An easiness of souls
Like greeting an old, dear friend
Whom I share a deep
History with Continue reading
Dance With Me
-Linda Lee Lyberg, 2006
Dance with me as the morning light
Creeps unto our bed.
Hold me close, caress me dear
Be a pillow for my head.
Dance with me when I am sad
Wipe my blues and tears away
Whisper sweet musings into my ear
And tell me you’ll always stay. Continue reading