view poets register log in
Sponsors:

Posts for June 10, 2020 (page 8)

Mani
Category
Poem
8
6/10/20

True Love

I finally know what true love feels like.
Like something gritty under a finger nail.
Like a growing pressure behind one eye.
Or the sudden smell of burning tires.

Listen to me, please. Love is something like

a mouth full of glass and spit and cartilage.
Love is a cadaver dressed in gold leaf.
Love is blood and puss smeared on a mirror.

Do you hear me? Love is

Mold spots on memory foam.
Two palms cupping Robitussin
Love is a hacked webcam feed.

Why aren’t you understanding me?
Love is a freezer burned dinner!
It’s your doctor’s maiden name!
It is court ordered pyrokinesis!

Please stop ignoring, me I’m telling you,
it’s cybernetic enhancements superseding
the microscopic cellular components of
the serous membrane fucking hear me

It’s the bridal paradigm: the Bride of Christ,
the marriage supper of the Lamb the aching
breast bone as gods face softens the body
lurches past the kingdom, into god’s open mouth.

If you’ve never felt this way
you’ve never known true love.
Let me love you just once
and you’ll understand.
Venecia Proctor
Category
Poem
3
6/10/20

Another Day

How does one love during a time like this?
Watching the world through a screen
Perhaps the trick would be a kiss
To wake me from this dream

Watching the world through a screen
I fear my mind is mush
Dumb and numb and longing, interviene!
Someone wake me from this dream

I fear my mind is mush
Inside closed doors all day
Please, wake me from this dream
That feasts on repetition & decay

Chayton Ragsdale
Category
Poem
1
6/10/20

Poison

There’s a poison out there in the world,
stronger than any venom or toxin,
It can be injected through anything at anytime and anywhere,
It’s a paralytic poison,
Stopping you from doing all but the most essential functions,
It hits fast and hard lasting seconds to years,
This poison has a name,
It’s just two words but can destroy lives in a second,
The past

Whitney.
Category
Poem
3
6/10/20

Harrison

 And God, if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was a Kennedy,
                                with how he dressed, by which he spoke, in the way that he walked: 
               handsome, and destined for incontestable greatness— 
                                    and when you looked at him you couldn’t help but wonder if, he too, 
                                much like the others,
                                                                        were cursed for all eternity. 

K. Bruce Florence
Category
Poem
5
6/10/20

Pine Mountain Cemetery IX Johnny

Pine Mountain Cemetery IX
               Johnny

Walk over the brow and down a bit to find
A wend of grapevines, old, strong standing
Over the narrow valley like an overlook.

Johnny, now resting just behind us broke
His arm and still swung all day, for one
Never knew when the vine would tire and sag

Stealing all the fun of that one ride. Fire
Beds between rock rings still smell of
Marshmallow, mustard and Hershey bar.

Sky so bright stars became our blanket
Against the swoop of cold air running
Down the face of our Pine Mountain.

Was it one summer or two before we raced
Into the dreamed for future we thought so dear?
Johnny died a spy caught in a foreign land.

The rest of us scattered to places not so
Scary, but never near the rock rings that wished
For our return for a swing on waiting vines.

Newer Posts