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    Liziantus-Marantus wrote a new post

    Poolrooms

    It was a place I saw countless moons ago.Everything was tiled.And after the dream,I woke up tired. It had pools oh so deep.And I saw the place,dreaming in my sleep.It just looked so familiar. And so,I did research.This place divine wasn't...

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    sulk

    in tempo with my sadness I keenholding close to my feelings unless they slip freeinto the void where I am left with nothingsolace need, just to feelwithin me I am greymy emotions laced with the agony of forgetfulnessI'm losing...

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    • The sense of outside, of otherness in this so so palpable. It definitely reminds me of moments when I felt on the outside looking in. I remember days when it was YOU who stopped by to reconnect me to the world. You expressed it so perfectly, Brenda 🧡

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    Styxian wrote a new post

    A Garden For Your Ghost (9/11)

    The day you left, Autumn went with you.It was Winter right away-The city kind. Snow falls heavy, and gray.Snowmen slouch to their knees in muck,while I stood in the archwayof a cracked-face store,staring at the skyand waiting for the rain.-Waiting for you to walk upand show me that you're okay.I know, in the illogic of my heartthat you've not gone.You simply left to follow the sun.I know, as I fall to the fate of sleep,that you stir awake.Not so far off, that I can't hear you stillsinging to me.Not so far off; These everyday dreams.I can't name a single song,but I can see your face.It's a quiet world, around me now,after the stonefall settled down.I thought to gather it up and make a wall.But then I'd end up locking myself in, and alone.And you out, when you try to come home.Winter retires, but this rain has not,for it is not.It's the tears and the sweatof the snowmen's tired journey.These clouds are their spirits, lifting away.Through their confusion, in all the fury;Restless ghosts, too loved to float astray.I know, in the illogic of my heartyou've not left with them.So I don't pray.There's a basket by the door,for your dirty clothes.Atop the stairs, on the banister,your robe.I'm in the family room,'tho it's not (but I hope)by the window, looking past the snow.When you left,you took away the logicto the seasons.Through the television,it's mostly blue.But off and on, it shows again,the lack of reason.Of falling stones, crumbling snowmen,gray rainbowsand ten thousand tears for you.Inside my window,I've lit a candle for youand I cup its lonely warmth.It sits beside a yellow rose.I swear, tho, I swearit's not the startof a garden for your ghost.When you left, years ago today,a struggle started,as logic and I parted.Of fate and faith.One so strong and obnoxiousand one quiet, not as obvious.All those ghosts, I couldn't save.In my tears I didn't see you wave-If you did, I wouldn't know.I admit, I knelt to groundas the gathering puddlesmirrored the stone falling down.But my love, I'm standing now.It's been many years,clouds again come and go.Rain is again rain.And snow, it's just snow.But in the still illogic of my heart,there's a few ghosts.Maybe one of them met youand could tell me, before they go.Where you went, when we had to part.Where you are, besides my heart.This sky, this peaceful blue,carrying wayward spirit-clouds.None of them you.All those...

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    • You always have a way of bringing a person into your writing. I remember that day watching the smoke roll in from the towers towards the ocean over the medical building I was working at. Something you never forget. The fear.

      • Hello Fia. You were in NY right? I can’t imagine what you all were going through. I left work after the second plane hit, thinking this is the beginning of an onslaught, even more than what was occurring at the time. My military years were not that far behind me, and I was full of rage. As the day went on, the utter sadness set in.
        I wanted to write something with a personal attachment towards the events of that day. It turned out pretty good, even though it’s such a horrible topic.
        thank you.

    • I’m pretty sure we all remember exactly where we were and what we were doing that day. I know my entire office just sat in silence in the conference room, watching it on the screen. The people covered in ash and dust…this poem brings those images back in full vibrant agony. It always seemed strange to me that the world didn’t simply stop. But for some, it did. Beautiful tribute, Styxian

    • What is ironic is the day that i wrote this I had gotten into a very heated argument with a guy who was making fun of the people falling/jumping from the buildings. I wanted to rip his head off, and could’ve.
      But after I calmed down, this write came about. I needed something that was healing. or at least coping. Hopefully I succeeded. It is one of my own favs.
      Thank you, Willow. I try.

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    Bat Powers
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    Bat Powers wrote a new post

    Breeze

    Breeze come take me find me a new place to roam love come make me travel too far from home blue in the eyes of sadness green to the promise I pray brown to the dirt that found me...

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    • Sounds like a cadence call while traveling through the forest of concrete. How we can get lost so easily even when we know where we are. Our heads are balloons, they break free sometimes.
      Tight rhymes within this little gem. Great read, Bat.

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