Stream of Consciousness

I am Bleeding Music
I am bleeding music I am hurt; my mind, a wrecked room. the way in, an inky vacuum swallowing words. Words! Swords of air, cutting through a soul
By Barb Dukeman2 years ago in Poets
College Class
My head is full of empty thoughts; noises echo lazily, echo lazily; Kant, Obtuse angles, Joyce, and Wars echo lazily. She speaks to me,
By Barb Dukeman2 years ago in Poets
Note to self
I’d like to stop but I’m running late. I think I see some shelving and maybe some dishes? No time though Gotta get to work
By Sam Spinelli2 years ago in Poets
Yielding Of The Spirit
In the lullaby of the evening, I hear A murmur which softly resounds yet clear. “Release your grasp, dear soul,” it says,
By Emma RMD2 years ago in Poets
As above...so below
What form of light can penetrate the darkness Tattered ashes Smoldering beneath the beleaguered decadence of memory Doomed to walk the thin line between
By lazarusInfinity2 years ago in Poets
The Key Between Stranger Realms - Day Seven
On this ordinary morning, I’m heading to the neighboring cafe for a hot cup of energy. I sing along to my new favorite song that reminds me of chilly sunrises and autumn leaves. On the sidewalk, a spry, elderly man kneels beside his rucksack, rustling through it as if digging for some lost trinket. He doesn’t eye me, too absorbed in his search.
By Sam Eliza Green2 years ago in Poets
Two Fish
Make me pretty, I want to say, before walking out of the door. Make me pretty, somehow, amongst all the anguish of our lives.
By Sean Bass2 years ago in Poets
Woke af
song birds out my window Tiny dinos? Living alarms clocks I cannot hit snooze, they’re too damn organic But hey they’re just trying to….
By Sam Spinelli2 years ago in Poets
Black Day
Black like night. Black like oil. Black like money, like misery, like war. Black like parenthood, like suicide, like cremation.
By Sean Bass2 years ago in Poets
Upon seeing Adore Delano shot by Magnus Hastings
Hands stretched upwards in that Budweiser bikini, McDonald’s drive-thru sign behind. Days on end, drunk and hopeless, hidden in
By Sean Bass2 years ago in Poets
After the film
we go outside into the cold, October street crisp, flat evening like our voices could break it if we wanted but we don’t whisper
By Sean Bass2 years ago in Poets
Subt(l)e Differences We All Know
There's guilt and then there's, "guilt"... we all know the difference, even if we don't want to admit it. just as there's caring and then there's, "caring"
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets