fabiochiu/medium-articles huggingface dataset:
Silence
By: Sandrine Biagui
Tags: Imagery, Free Verse Poetry, Poetry, Free Verse, Short Poem

What is a silent voice compared to the loud cry?

The rabbit’s prayers unheard from the roar of the lion

The calm wind unnoticed from the thunderous clap

And yet,

you hear the smallest voices

and the silent hearts
Christmas at Porters Lake
By: Jade Gatsby
Tags: Nova Scotia, Christmas, Poetry, Free Verse, Friendship

Christmas at Porters Lake

Picture of Porters Lake, Nova Scotia, taken by me

I cross the border into your city,

my bag filled with chocolate-covered jujubes

and snowmen-covered pyjamas;

I’ve made it to Porters Lake

and my heart aches

from the feeling of warmth from your home,

(though my breath comes out in clouds of fog),

and the feeling of longing

for what I never had

I’m brought to tears when I see that

you’ve made a stocking just for me,

my name spelled out in glitter;

I didn’t know anyone could see me

and your mom fills my stocking

with lipgloss and candy;

I clutch it to my body

like a security blanket;

physical proof that love is real

Snow falls on Christmas Day,

just like the song

and I go for the slowest run

dressed in five layers;

I’m petrified of the cold but

the laughter in your parents’ living room

filled with red and green decorations

fills me with gold

You and your sister sit by the tree and

rip open the wrapping paper on your presents

and there are presents for me, too;

I’m included in your family

and in their celebration,

and that night I sleep

in your childhood bedroom,

and when I close my eyes,

I pretend that I live here

in Porters Lake

And I know, for you,

this place was not always so idyllic;

I see, in you, the pain

of growing beyond your planter;

the clash of your wings

against your cage

But when we return there, together,

and you see it with older eyes

or maybe through mine;

something’s different —

do you see what I see?

Do you feel as free

as you seem?

We spend our vacation watching

episode after episode of Game of Thrones

and eating dollar store popcorn

and I fall asleep often and you get mad,

but I can’t help it;

I’ve never felt so safe;

how lucky I am to have a friend like you.
In every poem we hear the soliloquy, and now I find myself seeking it out too. 💜👏👏👏🙏🙏
By: Lennie Varvarides
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Feedback, Poetry, Free Verse, Poem

…only

be hashed out in the morning

The liquid talk spills

all over the bar, the table

in front of me

I converse, we converse

I soliloquy…

We’ve hammered away

at all that’s wrong with the world

the fact

that we’re not drinking

the whole d…
van gogh dream
By: Jacob Hempel
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Poetry, Free Verse, Van Gogh, Surrealism

van gogh dream

i sink into the waters of sleep…

…dreaming,

i wade through the river

of my mosaic subconscious mind

and see in its water

passing fractured images self-assembling

into swirling ruby-sapphire starry night eddies

until I am submerged

in van gogh magic

and then i arise

refreshed from the baptism of dreams
A Good Home
By: Trapper Markelz
Tags: Christmas, Poetry, Christmas Tree, Free Verse

Photo by Mister B. on Unsplash

She was the last tree in the lot,

leaning against the fence, eyes

averted, a frumpled, torn dress

pooled at the ankles. If she had

a cigarette, she’d be smoking it,

a danger to herself and others,

as soft lights reflect in her welling.

Someone has to be last — a year,

a night, a kiss, in line — it might

as well be this one, seven feet

slanted and regal, ready to stand

in the center, or transform

into millions. People come and go

with fists closed, but it rarely ends

that way. There’s always an embrace

if you know where to look,

one who sees past the cigarette,

into the cold soul, to lead one home

by a broken hand soon decorated

in a thousand beaded stars this night.
keplerian dance
By: Jacob Hempel
Tags: Free Verse, Dance, Poetry, Minimalist Poetry

keplerian dance

the planets she wears on her wrist

are engaged in a keplerian dance

strung together in a ring around the rosie

hand-in-hand

united by the force of gravity
Trimming Eyelashes
By: Cormoran Lee
Tags: Self Talk, Depression, Mental Health, Free Verse, Self

For J.D. Harms

Forward midnight

Wrinkles o’clock

Former hairstylist

Former self

Late time, lost

Found minefield

Vapor on the mirror

Trying to pull

Trying to style

Swinging a baby

Adult’s cradle

Back in time

Cooking cucumbers

Can’t do that

Craving a cut

A lil touch

A sprinkle of gut

Hair pulling

Eyebrows fading

Life in ING

Progressive depressive

Einstein seizure of brilliance

First aid kit salad

No space for justice

Cracking codes

Looking away

Flickering lights

Actually closing opening

Eyes, legs, mouths

Too wide, to hide

Swinging a soul

Roller-toddler

Until the very end

The end of no return

Eyelashes

Hold on tight

I blink twice

In one second

Can’t miss a thing

Gotta trim

Gotta steam

Gotta train to catch

Gotta train to jump

Gotta jump to catch

Gotta a look

Gotta a look

Prince Junior

Purple tears

Deep rain

Christmas eve

Filthy music I hear

Sleep or party

How to steer

A former self

A former hair

Turned white

Turned fear

Turned near

Turned me

Turned over

Over and over

Getting over

Overcoming

It ain't over ‘til it’s over

Homecoming

Homemaking

Ownmaking

Ownbaking

Ohbabying

Ohbegging

Oh oh oh

I think I know

Now it’s time

To let go

And let it grow

Grass clipping

Me just me

Getting older

Former lifestyle

Falling hairstyle

Flailing chest

To catch a breath

But sneering

To nothing

Alive

Not needing to trim to steer to style a damn thing but being former future Whatever

Stylish soul

Future self

Funky shelf

Rent is high

I jump off

Next door girl

Adores high floors

Watermelon sugar low

We flush the sugar

Adding salt

And licking

Bushy eyelids
Jealousy
By: B M
Tags: Free Verse Poetry, Free Verse Poem, Poetry, Free Verse, Poem

Jealousy

jealousy consumes me.

It is the churns of my stomach,

the bile on my throat,

bitter taste on my tongue.

jealousy becomes me.
Do you still adore me?
By: Quy N.
Tags: Poetry, Free Verse, Poem, Love, Literature

Do you still adore me?

Tell me you do.

You fought for and won me at the socialites’ auction,

yet I am now the subject of your ignorance,

forever mounted on the wall as a vessel

for dust, without your remembrance.

Do you still adore me?

Tell me you do.

even if you

Spilled wine on my canvas,

scratched me with your listless strokes,

buried dents into my gilded frames,

turned my blues to blacks and my reds to molasses,

left me to burn in your negligent flames.

Will you still adore me?

Or will I end up holding court with spiders in your basement?
Smoking Kills, You Know
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Romance, Melancholy, Poetry, Free Verse, Poem

Smoking Kills, You Know

Photo by Jorge Rojas on Unsplash

I watch the lighter’s flame

Slink back into itself

Leaving behind the warped

Warmth of the empty

Air,

You inhale,

Exhale smoke,

The tendrils curling around the

Auburn strands that

Tumble across your

Cheeks when you

Smile

Something hides in this

Silence

A trinket that begets

Luck if you believe

Hard enough,

Your eyes

Hide burning letters to

Yourself written in

Unanswered cries for

Help

I see that fragile

Vase that holds the tiny

Pieces you’ve collected,

The collage of disappointed

Arms you thought would

Cradle,

And my skin waits with

Patient scars

For the in breath, for the

Exhale

Bradon Matthews
Change
By: Raúl Güereque
Tags: You, Free Verse, Self, Love, Poem

Photo by Theodor Vasile on Unsplash

Change

You are funny

Witty

Sexy

A thinker

You have something in you

You are sincere

You are faithful

You have strength in you

You live

You love

You laugh

You are this

You are everything

Don’t ever…

4.27.07
fishing for words
By: Jacob Hempel
Tags: Fishing, Patience, Poetry, Free Verse, Minimalist Poetry

fishing for words

i cast my rod into this winter silence

waiting for the words to bite

waiting

to sew them into an ode
Sun
By: Quy N.
Tags: Poetry, Free Verse, Poem, Love, Literature

You are a sun that beats down too furiously at the world,

and men can’t help but stare.

But who needs their sight when they can bask in your warmth—

your gilded grandeur.

Looking up into your eyes—O! they are the most magnificent beacons

of heaven. I’d die just for you.

You are something holy for the irreligious man,

and I can only dream of being with your heat,

your most intimate caress.

Your touches disarm even the most weaponised army,

all the while you suffocate them with your intoxicating perfume.
Please
By: Raúl Güereque
Tags: Self Improvement, Life, You, Free Verse, Poem

Photo by Alejandro Tocornal on Unsplash

Please

Know that one thing

Is at stake

Know that time

Is on your side

I am on your side

So go

Go on

Do what you set out

To do

Do what your heart

Told you to do

5.1.07
I Am Not Unique
By: Blair Fawcett
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Free Verse Poetry, Poetry, Free Verse, Self

Time moves on.

I am dead. I am living.

When I look at you and see your face, I feel such a mixture of emotions.

Where are we today?

Will you always smile at me like this?

I want to believe in the power of your smile. To believe that we can touch space and time with our eternal love.

When I think of bills, and lack of money, and compromises, I am driven mad with stress.

We can’t possibly make ends meet.

I compare myself to other people’s success and I want to cringe.

Where are we? What are we doing?

Time passes.

Photo by Murray Campbell on Unsplash

If there is one thing that I have learned, it is not to fight the changes that occur. I would rather let the light and air coax me into my next space, rather than fighting for something that can’t exist.

Human beings are powerful things. We believe in the power of right and wrong so fervently that we make it so.

I feel like a cloth doll caught in the tumultuous waves of the sea. Forever batted back and forth, my arms and legs ripping in the tide.
Cycle
Tags: Poem, Free Verse

I want to take it one day at a time

Whether that day be dreary and bewildering

Or warm

A day often feels like a small town

I’ve experienced these buildings all my life

Every season of every year I have known this place

The roads

The places people my age will go to hide

What they do is not my business

It’s no ones really

The certain feeling when the air doesn't move in the fall

And a place can feel deeply enchanting or deeply worrisome

When you get a feeling in your stomach that tells you you’re home

You are right where you need to be

But it never says you should be here

The amber leaves shroud over the grey burlesque buildings

Those are used for reasons beyond myself

And when you come home to the wooden walls

That surround you in that intense feeling

Look out to the trees much older than you

Wiser

You see people walk by in their coats

And their fabric button ups

They capitalize on the cool air

The outside looks like fire but is eaten by the cold

But frigid air is more than bitter

It is harsh but enveloping

I wonder what a day somewhere else is like

Places where the terrain differs

And it is hotter

I think about what isn’t here
So Tired
By: Tessa Vriend
Tags: Love, Poetry, Free Verse, Longing

Photo by M. on Unsplash

I’m so tired

That my mind aches

But every time I try to close my eyes

My heart aches

Can your heart ache if you’ve never really loved

While love feels futile

Lust is fickle

but this isn’t either

I am but a shell of who I once was

Stripped of vigour

Here I lie

So tired

That my empty brain aches with the hollow echo of contempt

For none other than myself

And the disappointment shatters what should be a deep slumber

So goodnight

To another day of being nothing

No one

Someone brushed off

Again
Snakes in Senegal
By: Jess Hackett
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Creative Writing, Poetry, Free Verse, Aspiring Writer

The opening and closing of drawers transported him

back to his freshman year when he lay awake

listening to the sound of drawers. Open, close…

his roommate was a fencer — hard rock and

a snake crawling around his legs — he locked the

door each time he left because the guys down

the hall were from Senegal and in Senegal you

killed snakes.

Or maybe it was

Somalia or maybe

Nigeria or perhaps

Egypt he didn’t

remember it wasn’t

important.
Lifeless With a Heartbeat
By: Never Sugarcoated
Tags: Addiction, Boundaries, Alcoholism, Poetry, Free Verse

Lifeless With a Heartbeat

Photo by Francesca Zama from Pexels | Edited by Never Sugarcoated

Pressed against

the steering wheel,

lifeless with a heartbeat.

Snow-covered streets

never turn down

a dare.

The cracks in

your foundation

glisten in

the rearview

mirror.

Good thing

you can’t see.

It would have

ruined

your night

out.

Your disease

drips

from the bottle

stashed

beneath your seat,

beckoning

you to come

clean.

But you sleep.

My friend,

you’re lost

again,

trapped in

a cycle

that never

tires.

But I do.

I try so hard

to take your pain,

my fingers

bleed and scar—

daily reminders

of my failed

attempts

to lift you up

again.

But the truth,

white as snow

and red as wine,

is that you

won’t stop

until it hurts

bad enough,

no matter how

bad it hurts

everyone

else.

You hate you,

so you follow

suit.

No one else can save your life.

You are dying,

it’s the truth.

But I hope you

come home

soon.
Warp and Weft
By: Christine Kelly
Tags: Poetry, Relationships, Free Verse, Endurance, Love

Warp and Weft

Photograph by author

There are stories

there, waiting to be told

to be heard; secrets attending,

vulnerabilities held close,

whispered truths binding us

tighter. Moment by moment

warp and weft remaining

strong and aligned when pushed

and pulled

by elements out of their control.

There was no unraveling,

only threads more tightly bound;

skeins woven through

the tapestry of us.
someday, some month, 2019–2020. a poem about weltschmerz and not…
Tags: Depression, Weltschmerz, Poetry, Free Verse

someday, some month, 2019–2020

a poem about weltschmerz and not wanting to get out of bed paulmartincurry Follow Dec 22, 2020 · 3 min read

Photo by Jp Valery on Unsplash

7 : 0 7 AM

You roll over,

check the news

from your bulletproof bed

and then convince yourself that:

“there are so many of them marching out

in the streets — most can’t end up dead.”

You squeeze yourself onto the subway

already somehow starting to sweat,

while you will some brave

soon-to-be martyrs

to not become

just yet.

8 : 2 5 AM

Enough

slow tourists

mean you won’t be

at work on-time, so you

shoot gaps like running backs,

while one thought runs through your mind:

I guess at least enough of them lived long enough

to raise a generation carrying freedom

and fight as recessive genes.

You decide you like this

new office coffee

machine.

9 : 3 6 AM

While it’s

espresso pods

help you shake off the

morning weed, you learn just

how much someone’s eye can bleed

— at least when it’s shot with a bean bag

at close range, by police who are

effectively brainwashed and

sufficiently trained.

You wonder if

it leaves

a stain.

(she’ll

see

with

her

one

eye)

1 1 : 1 1 AM

You lie,

and run off

to the closest empty

conference room to answer

a call. It’s your love, half a hard world away.

You grit your teeth when the call drops before

you can really hear what she really has to say.

Walking back you decide you think you

would stay. Fight back in a black

face mask. Get your head

cracked. But theres no

time with these

meetings

all day.

6 : 4 6 PM

But life’s okay,

because you’re high

before you go back underground.

Eyes full of smoke. Ears full of sound.

You can’t hear the screaming in the street

anymore. Can’t feel the ground shake

as they chant in the airport. Can’t

see the girls face as they rip

off her pants and spray

her with mace.

6 : 5 4 PM

Honestly,

it’s a fucking disgrace —

how long these trains delay.

You turn the music up louder now

and close the article you never got to:

The one with the title “here’s what you can do.”

You’re thirsty from the job you sort of

hate, so you hit the bar on the way

home. The one where other

outraged hearts rage

out hurt parts, and

replace them

with booze.

1 0 : 1 0 PM

“They’ll lose” You

slur with confidence.

“And they’ll die.” You sigh as

if being a pessimist protects anyone

in any way. Another death another day.

Another drink, another way for you to play

pretend. As if someone’s life didn’t end.

As if marching or social media

mattered. Somewhere, they

are bruised and battered

Just like your liver.

The next day

you shiver.

7 : 0 7 AM (again)

You roll over,

check the news from

your blood-free bed. Then

take a little longer to leave it.
Fraud
By: Madeleine Anne Bognar
Tags: Automatic Writing, Poetry, Free Verse, Self, Poem

Fraud

Photo by Max Letek on Unsplash

A performance I churn

Maybe I am not the one

Not the spirit of the wind and sky

I do not know really

what he was doing

if he liked the shapes more

or the colours

Or if it was just the way he drew it

I will be back in my place soon

process, sympathy and little understanding

but just for this one moment

let me pretend

tell the world

that I am beautiful
I Face the Shadows
By: Virginia Roces
Tags: Strength, Life, Courage, Free Verse, Self-awareness

I face the shadows,

Their faces rising from quicksand,

And their voices,

Psithurisms in the dark.

I face the telling of their midnight stories,

Fear —

A beleaguered imagination,

Their faces dovetailing with the woods that I’ve left behind.

I must listen to their stories of boldness,

The bravery of women who’ve succumbed,

Or of men and what they’ve had to lose,

Eyes open, ears set free,

Whispering like a breeze in my face,

The thing that I must face,

How did the child die in me?

And why did I not face her death, her flurried ashes?

Those questions of youth,

Curiosities of longing,

The forlorn war that stands ahead,

The internecine war of those unnamed creatures turned away from—

Now I ask,

Now I question,

Now I wonder,

Even more wide-eyed than I had been before.
A Puzzle of Two Pieces
By: Rand Grey
Tags: Puzzle, Relationships, Free Verse, Poem, Broken Relationships

Puzzles take time and patience. Photo by Ben Stern

We’re separate pieces

That fit together

About the same size

Yet different shapes

The Puzzler with keen eyes

Snapped us into place

And was satisfied

To let us rest for awhile

Sometimes we get lost

Which is annoying

For what good is a puzzle

With one piece gone missing?

But when we’re together

Combined just right

Perfectly tight

It’s beautiful
Flicker and Fade
By: Cameron Garnes
Tags: Poem, Poetry, Free Verse

Photo by Erica Marsland Huynh on Unsplash

The lights in my grandmother’s bathroom flicker

It’s an old house you see

Built long before she became its curator

Maintained through hard work and the demands of family

And it still stands even though she is gone

But for how long now

Shall this house remain?

Now that the lights in grandma’s bathroom flicker

As I look into the mirror and the lights strobe on and off

I think back to growing up in this house

To the many lessons, I learned here

Some were harsh, perhaps too harsh for a child

Some were tender and delivered with kindness

Kindness found through wisdom and adversity

But who will teach me these lessons now?

Now that the lights in grandma’s bathroom flicker
When the World is Lost
By: Tessa Vriend
Tags: Free Verse, Poetry, Feeling Lost, Writers Block

Photo by Louise Sacré on Unsplash

I’m having a hard time with reality

Time has placed its hold on me

Tight

Like a noose on my creativity

How

Can I be found

When the world is lost

Yet pulling at my attention

And gripping my comprehension

Like fingers wrapped around my throat

I might be gasping but the breaths come

Faithfully

The air is there and so am I

Meant to be here

Today.
Twelve Days
By: Trapper Markelz
Tags: Christmas, Poetry, Free Verse

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

When I was longing, I would sing

Christmas carols to myself in the hum

of engines running; the same sound

of an air hockey table that clattered

away the mysteries of who made

magic magnificent in the colored light

of perch and paper. We would gather

around the organ, the women

on the couches and the men on the stairs,

with our “five golden rings” wrapped

around beer cans and a conducting

baton, hay still stuck to our socks

from the shivering with sleigh bells

while we wished all a very merry.

Where have the carolers gone?

There have been many and one, few

and none in this choir of footsteps —

a family fractal in the new-fallen snow.
The Blooms of Spring
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Romance, Poetry Sunday, Muse, Free Verse, Poem

Photo by Lorena Bôsso on Unsplash

Being with you is light,

Forgetting the to-do

List, turning on

Do not disturb so I can

Drink the autumn in your eyes,

Do you know the sun I hear

Within your words?

Do you feel the resonance,

The daybreak through

My fogged and shuttered

Windows?

You, the apple blossoms,

The singing of the

Birds, the

Promise of a new

Day written in your auburn

Hair,

Do you see the way

I follow?

I am cracked and bruised and

Reupholstered, bled more than

I thought but I will

Open up the knives,

Lay them out

Along your bed and dull

The jagged edge,

Just sing to me the notes

Of you, whisper

That you are

And I will find myself

Adrift again

Within the blooms of

Spring
ancient young love
Tags: Love Poems, Poetry, Poetry Sunday, Free Verse, Love

ancient young love

Photo by Andy Holmes on Unsplash

For how many centuries

have young lovers been saying:

This modern age isn’t made for us

true love (in our time)

has started to rust.

Because I trust — that even in antiquity

before we leaked out history, there were probably two.

Who held each other’s hearts

in their eyes.

Who bled

when the other one cried.

(Like you and I)

And I

think that one of them probably sat on the train

(or however it is he got home)

and tried to push out a poem.

About how his love wasn’t like anything

he’s ever been shown.

About how it must be something ancient

and old.

Something sacred

he can hold.

Something impossible to understand

if you’re only ever told.

So now, centuries later

in another modern love age

another young lover puts down on a page:

This modern age isn’t made for us

true love (in our time)

has started to rust.

But not ours.
Missing Pieces
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Reflections, Poetry, Free Verse, Existentialism, Scuzzbucket

Photo by Gabriel Crismariu on Unsplash

I have bought so many mirrors

With aims to find the

Angle where my face feels like

I do, somewhere between

Sleepless night and

The yellow of euphoria,

Between howling eyes

and the reverberating touch

Of death,

I know the fruitlessness

But only through the reach,

Only through staring for

Hours till I feel a

Theif of my own

Skin, my cheeks

A softened scream,

My face a puzzle missing

Every piece
Between Ultragreen and Ultraviolet
By: Solverv Gaul-Berrard
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Poetry, Free Verse, Personality

I have longed for a blue, pure

And of cerulean proportions, chiefly—mending

As the contour of clouds on the azure

And yet also dark, as ultramarine,

Deep and oceanic—a color

Of late nights and spurious conversation

And the Atlantic, a tone of valor

And of wine, of payments in libations

I am lost in my search for a hue

Substractive, the tint of a photo negative

As a positive—the kind of absolute blue

That one finds tentative

When eyelids have been shut before the sun

And sight is substractive, matterless, anti-lighting

Though as an acrylic, as matter, when all but blue is gone

A mirror’s mirror in a star-lit painting

Somehow evanescent, as though

I wish to write with the background of cyanotype blueprints

The blue that deep water bestows

Onto all fish and all that dares to sink beneath the world’s shallowest imprints

I desire both the blue of Libra the negociator and that of Aries the ultimatum

The tint of the Cambrian, and that of a fallen prince

Compromise and intolerance—A color to trust as surely as the sanctum

Of the secret garden, the minute revolutions of the North Star

A color to paint something other than the borderline—the tightrope that scars

I sisyphean chase an ultrablue

Between those two extremes I rue

Tumor and entropy — and mimicry—between

The Ultraviolet—and the Ultragreen
The Narcissist Saga
By: Amber Redmond
Tags: Love, Poetry, Free Verse

Last Night

Last night, the dam gave way.

All that we’d built,

all that we’d promised

washed over me.

Your voice, a distant echo,

your words etched in my skin.

I beg for seamless sleep,

but your face is painted on my eyelids

So I let the pain envelope me.

I can feel my heart shards

pressing through my chest.

A bed that’s not my own,

an empty space beside me,

a nagging ache inside me.

Help me, I can’t fight this tide.

Save me, I can’t swim.

I’m still alive, just barely.

So I let go, I just give in.
The Visible Spectrum
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Reflections, Romance, Poetry, Free Verse, Poem

The Visible Spectrum

Photo by Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash

You are the sun,

Radiant, a

Yellowness unmatched

Pouring through the breaks

In everything, the

Greenness of the

Trees reaches

For you as for

Home, your warmth

A distant mountain

Peak, your laugh

Reflections

Dancing on the

Lake

I am a blacklight,

I shine darker

Than a whisper,

Everything I touch

Distorted, sick

With half truths

That shrivel in the

Daylight

And as we lie together in the

Whiteness of your

Sheets you see

Beams of brilliant

Crystal promise,

I see the

Glow of blood stains

On our

Skin
Parted
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Romance, Sad, Poetry, Free Verse, Scuzzbucket

Photo by Ameen Fahmy on Unsplash

Her eyes gold and soft,

My iris is

A sea, parted by a

Loveless tide

That forgot to merge the

Halves

And I stand middled

Out, suspended between

Everything and staring at

These walls of water

Staring back at her,

What do I surrender?

There is nothing

Left to swim

Her voice is soft,

A hand that glides along

The surface,

I kick the skeletons

Of heartbeats

As I wait for her

To pass
You Are Beautiful
By: Raúl Güereque
Tags: Life, Beautiful, Free Verse, Poem, Love

Photo by Lukasz Szmigiel on Unsplash

You Are Beautiful

I wanted to tell you

Long ago

But I wanted it to be special

I wanted to tell you

That I’m proud of you

That I love you

That what you did

Was beautiful

That you

Are beautiful

4.27.07
It’s hardly morning here.
By: Kate B-L
Tags: Morning Routines, Creative Writing, Coffee, Early Morning, Free Verse

It’s hardly morning here.

The sun won’t be up for a few hours and neither will you. I’m exhausted yet horribly snd inexplicably awake.

It’s Saturday, and I have no place to be, but I’m already dreaming of my first cup of coffee.

What makes a morning person? Are we goal driven or just partial to the sunrise? Is is the sweet sound of a quiet world, the calm before the day storms in?

I’m already making plans for the day.

Imagining myself curled in a blanket on the couch, a book in one hand and strong coffee in the other.

What makes an early bird?

Is it joie de vivre or just a fear of wasting the day?

All I know is, it’s time to wake up.
Minerva
By: Dalton Geyer
Tags: Poem, Free Verse, Poetry, Minerva

Where have your eyes gone?

Your favorite question

Pale whites

missing pupils

They were painted on once

The brush

more delicate

than the pick

and hammer

It could capture

the azure fire

floating around the rims

feeding star-eaters

at the center

You weren’t always

a marble monochrome

The skin

untouched

high hanging

Athens apricot

The dress

sewn yourself

doused in orchid

thistle kerosene

The armor

antique bronze

untarnished

slowly oxidizing

Look at you now

Your armor stripped

by burglars

Your dress burned

by the sun

Your skin debased

by time

But your eyes

What is it in them

in the vacancy

that turns the

spine of a man

to a tesla coil

of calcium

and collagen?

May your blindness

their blindness

be eternal

Minerva

If they don’t know

where you’re looking

they can’t know

what you’re thinking

Photo by Hert Niks from Pexels
Nowhere to Go
By: Jade Gatsby
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Poetry, Relationships, Free Verse, Love

Nowhere to Go

Photo by Mike Lorusso on Unsplash

Did we really drive all this way?

There was nowhere to go but everywhere.

Usually I drove but this time, you did.

It was a strange feeling,

not being in control,

but then again,

when was I ever in control?

Don’t you just want to scream?

I asked you, a hesitant joy

creeping into my voice,

wind whipping my hair

in front of my eyes.

You were quiet but I knew

that you were happy,

if only for that moment.

I leaned my head against

the car door;

the moon shining like a spotlight

on my opening night number;

look out, world!

It was finally my turn

and I turned to look at you,

my twin flame.

Oh! Life is so holy,

I thought.

It was a strange time

to be alive and constantly

losing myself in the deep waters

of your eyes.

Did you ever fall into mine,

drawn in by your own reflection?

I still think about that sometimes.
The Escape
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Reflections, Poetry, Sad, Free Verse, Poem

Photo by Te Akatea on Unsplash

There are caves that understand

More than the sun

There are silences that chew

Like starving teeth

There are days I can’t

Remember

My lips press juice I

Cannot drink

This maze is

Long, I am

Fast but narrow

Footed, I

Fumble on the

Turns and

I am

Chased,

I am

Slowly slipping

Into

Shadows,

The weight,

The bitter scent

Of every

Step
Dawn
By: Sydney J. Shipp
Tags: Depression, Poetry, Free Verse, Self, Morning

Dawn

by Vinicius Henrique Photography on Unsplash

Every day,

the blink of an eye,

the twitch of a leg,

short hand straight on the seven,

pointing a few inches

west of hell,

long hand directed above

towards the twelve

The east brings

the soft, blue ache of morning,

carried on a birdsong that bends

through the air

then sweeps along

the curvature of an arm

to land on a finger

Shushed,

notes fade from

ears that can’t hear

for the ringing of the alarm:

morning again,

an opportunity

that should be taken

Help me to forget

another chance rising

beyond the blinds

that I won’t take

Tomorrow I don’t want

to remember missing

it again

Everyday,

I shut my eyes

and cease to stir

in this place before

a new start

Begging a new beginning

won’t break,

I orient myself to the end
Moment to Moment
By: Trapper Markelz
Tags: Poetry, Free Verse

Photo by Sarah Shaffer on Unsplash

In the morning, I taste a strange unease

on bed breath. The white, warm blankets

can’t block the sound of songs

and sunshine that fills the glasses full.

All of it is one phone call, one X-ray,

one blood test, one crosswalk, one bolt

of lightning or phantom pain in my

testicle away from a great equilibrium.

Close friends know that I refuse to stir

the cream I pour in my coffee, relying

on the second law to manipulate me

each morning. It has its way with all

of us. It takes our sleep, rips our skin,

and burns our mouth when we least expect it.
Living in Two Cities with the Same Name
Tags: Art, New York, Poetry, Free Verse

Living in Two Cities with the Same Name

Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash

I live in two cities with the same name.

The first city is beautiful

like you are, when you get off the plane.

In it live all the explanations of all the generations of dreamers

of artists and thinkers.

The first city has a taste to it,

like the brave parts of everywhere

that everywhere brought with them when they came

bites of culture smuggled over in seasonings

and grandmothers recipe book stains.

The first city is an almost empty train

with no delays, and you two stops away.

It’s only the clean cabs

and only the time square tourist cops.

Its kisses so slow the entire city stops.

It’s a lot,

but it spits you out smiling.

Unlike the second city.

The second city bites

deep like freezing rain, and pitch black nights.

Millions hiding in their homes, or behind glassy eyes,

—the second city is twisted steel and shiny lies.

Like “ everyone can make it”

Like “ you don’t really hate it”

Like “ stay busy, stay high, and if not you can fake it”

It only has expensive schools

pretentious art

and cardboard signs next to shopping carts.

The second city is only ever hard

never laughs or smiles back

always defensive and on the attack.

It’s so hallow I can hear it ring when it rains.

It’s not looking at homelessness

then getting mad when it stinks up your train.

It drives you sad

or insane.

But it changed

back the moment you came.

The streets filling with dreamers who refuse to wake up

like they always do when they see you.

And I was back

in the place where my love lives.

And where your love let’s me live too.
The Idol
By: Solverv Gaul-Berrard
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Christmas, Poetry, Ecology, Free Verse

through a multitude of panes

across the mist-ridden courtyard

a tree, nondescript—a pine—a fir—? his name lost to the indoors

stands uprooted, his sap frozen

as by the chilling spectacle becoming

his surrogate forest, that of mirrors and hardwood flooring

squared and scorched, his ancestors as pagan monuments to finery

stand covered in gold foil

and an atmosphere as thick and dead as peat, or vitriol—life

felled, timber called with the waning orbit

of the sun each day less punctual

the fall of an empire, the apex overcome,

the seasons in their sisyphean course bring us to a feast of scarcity

the smell of orange zest and needles turned deciduous

a foreign cheer fills the room—a pale substitute

for nature, for life— the tree slowly

assimilated by the chandeliers and ottomans

shedding the few needles it has held on to

increasingly emaciated as it is denied all but luxuries

covered in mirrors disguised as orbs—even the tree must

make itself as the invisible to the superficial, unchanging light

that floods the living room—a weak surrogate for sunlight,

a weak surrogate for a forest, for the truly pagan idolatry of wind and water

foreign to the mausoleum of finery that has entrapped the tree

its endless reflection as sole company—the odour of its waning needles

constricted, musty, deprived of the gale that brought with it

true life, true death—and its name
One Forty-Six AM
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Anxiety, Poetry, Free Verse, Poem, Scrittura

Photo by Susan Yin on Unsplash

Avoid the tilted mirror,

The walls closing like a

Book, the world

Is so enormous and my heart

Is beating like it’s trying to

Escape, like it knows it shouldn’t

Be here, like it

Never was at all.

My therapist said

“Five things, one for

Every sense”

The sink, porcelain,

Threatening to break

The words I think but keep

Behind my teeth

My feet against the freezing

Tile

An old voice screaming

“You are broken”

The smell of perfume in my

Hair

The sink basin fills

Slow, the water cold,

The mirror fogs

Up as I breathe

In and out along

The glass
re-runs
Tags: Art, Poetry, Free Verse, Remembering, Love

re-runs

Photo by Jisun Han on Unsplash

I know, we haven’t talked in a while

yes, I still get mixed up

about what makes me smile

But, I was sitting in the dark watching reruns

and I thought of you.



And it wasn’t for long,

and it wasn’t that hard,

but for half

of a part

of a sliver

of a second

I was confused.



Because you were not next to me,

the warmth if your legs pressed tight against mine

that was always so uncomfortably clammy and fine

with me — was missing.



And all the angles of the room stretched out with shadows.

And I remember the outline of your head and neck doing the same

as they were cast on the wall above the couch

and I was convinced that you were most beautiful

in the soft blue glow.



And I wondered where you were.

And I wondered how you were.

And I wondered if you knew of her, and if you knew that I was happy.



Because I hope you know I’m happy



And I hoped that you were happy.

And I wasn’t confused anymore,

everything is where it is supposed to be.



You, wherever you are,

and me —

sitting in the dark just watching reruns.
287 Disturbing Words to Conceive While Engaged in a Staring Match with Our Turtle in the Road
By: Markus Scorelius
Tags: Ascension, God, Nonsense Verse, Free Verse, Storytelling

What would you do if you walked the first 40 years of your life on your right foot only. Then, one day, plop! You’re left foot falls out of your leg, onto the ground. Suddenly, you’re walking with both a left leg and a right one.

Wouldn’t it freak you out? Suddenly, something which had always been a consistent law in your life changes. It’s like learning about the existence of interconnectedness, the quantum multiverse, and the fact that we are all one whilst living the life of as an extremely selfish asshole in a hyper-capitalist country. Imagine the disconnect. I wonder how long it would take that person to realize their fucked up karma and the laws of this universe.

It’s enough to make one giggle.

But seriously, what are we going to do when time starts flowing two directions? The Earth is headed towards a dimensional blossoming, a fourth density awakening. That would involve some unexpected addition to the human experience. Don’t cha think?

Truth and Lies become interesting elements when experiencing reality fourth dimensionally. Donkeys and Bazookas don’t bake easily into the same pie together. At least, they don’t historically. Who knows? Maybe we won’t need the bazookas as long as we have enough whip cream to climb the staircase to Candy Land Lane. South Paw can be tricky to navigate this time of year.

The snakes in the bathroom make it difficult to take a shit. I don’t like the way their glowing red eyes pierce my soul as they look through me when I’m sitting on the toilet.

Upstairs and downstairs, together? What do I think? I think it’s a horrible idea! Whoever thought of it should be taken out and shot.

It was Gods idea.

Oh. Um. Well, then. I suppose we’re all just gonna have to play along with it.

I have no idea what they’re thinking. Either of them. God or myself.

Alexa told me I should keep a thought journal. I think that’s profound advice from a kitchen appliance.

Upstairs and downstairs together. Holy Hell, God is an asshole. You have no idea how mentally disturbed you people are downstairs.

Wait a minute. Are we downstairs now?

366 words later, I’m wondering what could the 287th word possibly be? It is it.
The Velveteen Writer
By: Paula Light
Tags: Identity, Poetry, Free Verse, Writing, Reality

The Velveteen Writer

Image credit to AdinaVoicu | Pixabay

It wasn’t enough

To write away the pain

In fictional realms of romance.

The writer herself became

A character,

And that additional distance

Enabled the flow of words

From brain to pen,

Then back again.

Layers of illusion clothed her

Like the most exquisite satin gown,

As she boarded the coach

Of the unreliable narrator.

Does the writer create the writing or

Does the writing create the writer?

Words tangle and tango, swirl

And whirl upon the page

In a glorious dance.

Some remain and some return:

They breathe life into the mind

That feeds them.

Nourished with her own words,

Encouraged by action verbs,

She flitted comfortably

Between first person

And third.

As her tears turned into ink,

Blurring the page numbers,

The love of writing made her real.

She reassembled broken sentences,

Which formed the story

Of herself.

And when she got lost in the forest,

She stretched her limbs,

Real as anything.

Leaves crunched under her boots;

A raven grabbed her pen;

The wind whispered,

“The end.”
Shadows of Anxiety
Tags: Anxiety, Happiness, Poetry, Free Verse, Poems On Medium

— Sridhar Venkateswaran

0:28 AM,

Light from the streetlamp pours in

through the window,

projecting the bars of the steel casement

on the white canvas of the wall;

where the bars of the casement ends,

the painting on the wall begins.

This farce, resembling a portrait,

tirelessly repaints itself,

unconcerned about an audience.

There is an obtrusive tree outside,

the leaves of which

become obedient ghouls

of the imposing streetlight

night after night,

and its shadows superimpose

on the checkered wall painting,

dancing back and forth

to the whims of the wind,

seemingly similar to the hand

of an accomplished master,

a hand that paints not from sight,

but from vivid memory.

I lie down on my bed,

and dutifully witness

the same drama unfold

every night, worrying about

my insomnia,

the futility of that worry,

and getting caught in a vicious cycle

of anxieties that cause anxiety.

As the darkness of the night

fades away towards dawn,

the chiaroscuro art

of light and shadows

evanesces into the void.

This art will sustain

the test of time,

passionately succoured by

the inanimate object,

and the tree that will outlive me.

Even after vacating this house,

during moments of anxiety,

I will forever remember,

the painting that showed up

every night, without fail.

In the shadows of my reminiscence,

I have painted a similar piece,

clumsily imitating —

my fears and tears,

heartbreak and insecurities,

the lump in my throat,

and the knife sticking out of my heart.

The cheap forgery in my memory,

shall remind me

why I chose to live,

and why I chose to fight.

It shall remind me,

that light shall come,

sooner or later,

and the brightness of the light

shall evanesce the sadness

that has commandeered my heart

into the void of voids,

and like the painting,

I shall show up every day,

battered and bleeding,

but alive.
Everywhere I Look
By: J.W. Parr
Tags: Humanity, Life, Poetry, Free Verse, Self

Everywhere I Look

Photo by Ron Jake Roque on Unsplash

Everywhere I look, it’s the same old thing

Lost souls, fumbling feet

Nervous glances, unsteady words

Unsure,

Without any confidence

Trying to find their place

In a world full of misdirection

There are no maps, no real guides

No certain paths to lead our lives

Just one foot after the next

Living on repeat

A never-ending cycle

One day bleeding into the next

Indefinite

Hope carries us forward,

Or is it naivety? Stupidity?

Or, perhaps, just plain laziness

Too lazy to make a change,

We’d rather stick with the unhappiness we’re accustomed to

Afraid of what could happen were we to find something

Better
Briars
By: Christine Kelly
Tags: Time, Poetry, Relationships, Free Verse, Love

Briars

Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash

Some labyrinths are found in our minds.

Instead of leafy verdant cover,

binding as steel but soft

beneath the fingers we trail over it,

this boundary is rough. Hewn

from thickets grown of time

and pain. Notched ridges made smooth,

relentless touch a marker of my journey.

I seek reprieve

and escape from what I’ve known.

Prudence mislaid, I stumble

through the warren of my thoughts.

Lost in a maze, yearning

for what can never be,

emotions on the precipice.

A heart wedged in briars

no bloom to caution me,

one wrong move

bloodshed the consequence.

Risk outweighing reward

I search for safety amid these steps,

longing for safe passage

to that remote isle of dreams.

The clock ticking ever louder, shadows

telling the tale of a forlorn heart.
Seasick
By: Glenn Tong
Tags: Pirates, Free Verse, Poem, Love Poem, Love

Seasick

Won’t you be mine.

For this only time.

Alas this be my only plea.

Although, I know that you do not like me.

But whenever I see you my heart is at sea.

So won’t you give me a passing glance?

Though there isn’t very much a chance.

My heart shakes with joy and pain.

But you decide which one leaves a stain.

You love another I know it’s true.

But I can’t stop looking at you.

My heart you stole.

My love you plundered.

And lastly my mind you thundered.

I hope these reasons give reason enough.

Because the path to your love is ever so tough.

So let me ask you one last line.

Will you please be mine?
Stage Right
By: Cameron Garnes
Tags: Poetry, Micropoetry, Free Verse

Photo by Euan Carmichael on Unsplash

My departure is bittersweet, but lamentations

Have never been for the joyous

It’s a slow jazz song that plays me out

As I exit stage right

In the care of my public chauffeur

Forever it would be if forever it could be

But we all have dreams to be achieved

And we all know, love doesn’t end on a single goodbye
Lily Pad Girl
By: Amy Rose
Tags: Lost, Nature, Poetry, Free Verse, Growth

Photo by Grant Durr on Unsplash

Little girl blue

You’ve lost your way

As you hop from one pad

To the next

Careful not to lose footing

On the floating base

A thin surface

Separating you from below

The murky waters pose threats

But you are thankful for the

Magic discs that linger just above

Never standing on one too long

Because the illusion is gone

The longer you live in it

Yielding a shaky reality

With blurring, bent edges

Under the influence of

Too much

So on the move is best

Eyes look down to check

For scaly tails

And grass that cuts

Blood that draws in famished creatures

Ready for a mortal feast

You hop and go and start again

Rest can wait for now

Rest will wait for then

Looking to outrun

Looking to forget

Looking back and down

But never looking right ahead

Rest won’t come until

You can find it crumpled deep within

A worthless typed up letter

Riddled with mistakes

With an urgent request

To forgive the wandering little one

For sins only you can absolve
Vulnerability
By: Yvette Brand
Tags: Creative Writing, Vulnerability, Poetry, Free Verse, Poem

Vulnerability

Photo by Jernej Graj on Unsplash

If I knew

That becoming what I tried to eliminate

Would bring me the purest inner peace

I would never have learned

How it feels like you figured it all out

How it feels like you think you know it all

I would never have learned

How it feels to be lost

How it feels to have no direction

And I would never have learned

How it feels to feel nothing

But our lives are lived for learning

And by showing what I feared the most

I learned my biggest lesson

Vulnerability gives us the ultimate inner growth
Cracks
By: Jade Gatsby
Tags: Life, Mental Health, Poetry, Relationships, Free Verse

Photo by Matt Sclarandis on Unsplash

Sometimes

after I spend a day

talking to friends

and holding up pieces of me

as bigger than they are;

showing my strengths as

stronger than they are;

my laughter, my conversation

almost cartoonish

I hang up the phone and feel

hollow;

a shell of who I made myself be

The show I put on is so fantastic

an animated feature film

I direct and star in;

and I am insatiable

building this facade around my body

lest someone should see through the

cracks that I fear could form

in my voice

when I reach and stretch for a spell

I haven’t learned;

the sorcerer’s apprentice

drowned in a flood of

his own making

though that’s not the story they tell

and I surprise myself when I

hang up the phone

and moments later I drop you a line

“Hello,” I say, and then I wonder

why can’t I just sit in the silence

why can’t I let the sound of the blood

rushing in my ears engulf me

and bury me in a watery catacomb of

my own making

instead of forever reaching for

life rafts that never signed up to be life rafts

and especially not for humans encased in the

strongest cement;

layer after layer of unbreakable material

covering a weakness so unremarkable;

“How are you,” you ask, casually, but still;

“I’m okay,” I say, always.
Sun Beams
By: Bradon Matthews
Tags: Reflections, Melancholy, Poetry, Free Verse, Poem

Sun Beams

Photo by Ivana Cajina on Unsplash

I see the tears of noise

In the dust that catches the

Light, the way the moment drifts

In silence

My life has followed dust

In this, reverberating like the

Sunrise, ringing violent yellows

Through my years

The weight of my body as it tilts

Along, my heels sing into toes,

My heart a violin

Without the strings