Stream of Consciousness
Open Air Drowning
It makes sense to a head held underwater. The blues mingle in the skyline and bleed Across the rain-slick asphalt, pooling there. Cerulean light puddles near the road marks, Painting pictures of obedience where there Is nothing but rebellions and nightmares. . Look at the bodies shoved under the cars, Old polaroids of a city snuffing its greatness. The roads are derelict under the blue water Headlights turned on but going nowhere. We all like to sit in our cars to avoid the ticket. Gas is too expensive to think about the ride. . The finger flicks and flicks until blue overflows Its rectangular bounds and bleeds across The thinly carpeted ceiling of a cabin made to Mimic the sensuality of being enveloped, Swallowed by something strong and malicious. And the night drags on as we drown in open air.
By Silver Daux3 months ago in Poets
the beat consumes me. Runner-Up in Say It Again Challenge. Top Story - July 2026.
i’m dancing; the beat consumes me my eyes are shut, swaying to a tune under the morning sun butterflies swing by to check me out and there you are hopping around like a sad baby bird, mouth open, i read rejection from the caricature of you, yet you will never acknowledge it your projected self-image clearly says that you are a stand-out, good enough to be on Dancing With The Stars. dream on, buddy, your hips won’t sway, or rock to a beat - you are not sexy; instead, you’re very creepy. i'm dancing; the beat consumes me. my head bobs as my knees rise, and others join me; hopping in, holding skirts high we all move in a circle, hips swaying, arms flailing i’m dancing; the beat consumes me crushing grapes, as you leer at my legs, sitting smugly in a manspread, wearing your clod hopper boots, while - i’m dancing barefoot, so you can drink the juice of the sweet berries, in the vat, yet remember where you sat and how it came to be i'm dancing, the beat consumes me i danced in the crush of the vineyard crop under your leering eyes and went home with purple feet.
By Andrea Corwin 3 months ago in Poets
tiny shards
He put me on a pedestal And I pompously perched upon it, High and vacuous until He skipped away. I was defeated The pedestal fell What a shock I endured, and I shattered, tiny shards scattering Where did he go? What am I not - to him? What did I do to make him turn his back, not caring to look as I shattered, tiny shards scattering The world twirled day after day Earth rotated purposefully in its orbit The moon waxed and waned until My existence eventually brightened And there were Sunbeams striking hanging crystals, Shining rainbows onto me, and when I shattered, tiny shards scattering, They were multi-colored, scintillating, Revealing my new love standing silently in front of me
By Andrea Corwin 3 months ago in Poets
More of Self
The words they call Shakespeare Where is my pound of flesh In the darker side of humanity I expelled it across My ledger of creation From behind and below From the inside out I could use Damocles I guess That has stuck with me All my life It To proliferate My art In the shadow of the perilous sword My want Is to feel the Steinbeck In me, the understanding, beauty But the horror Without hiding Behind a ledger of Anything grey or black Was almost always more intriguing Or made the pure and good Even more impressive Forth with Jekyll My doctor my captain They The bastard I am doubt And cannot ignore All my Degraded egos And My own Disintegration In spite of Victor I am more Of self And dare each and every one Of you Out there To question validity And artistry As if communing with Those who came before Hemingway or Joyce Who echoed the halls Of history Through their fingers And felt the pains Of humanity In their hearts
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Poets
