[Official] Share and discuss your amateur poetry and stories.

@greenbird9183, cool! thanks for sharing ! :D

@imhotep,

title: I would strangle the rainmaker to give you a sunny day

Panic,
placed on the splintered edge of a dreaming mind,
I spit and sputtered, like the dying wings of
a dragonfly on a cold cappuccino morning.

She called me in the dark moody blue hue of early morning
as if to steal the broken moon from the attic in my chest.
So early I could hear the creak of spider legs
inching for a place of warmth.

Still in dream logic, she was crying so quietly
Melted spoons for a brain, I could only hear
the groans and pains of
the pet spiders on my ceiling,
their so cute and pissy in the morning.

She muffled “I need help”
I snapped awake as if a reflex to fight a charging train wreck.
This time advice came direct from my dream landscape the truth served dark black
and without the vanilla flavor.
I focus and get in gear “Hey girlie I am here, whats going on?”
An hour goes by a like a cat sneeze on a stormy day.

Again she laughs if I could see her, her smile would be wide tired and tear stained.
I laugh with her, while aching at the corner of my eyes ” well hey try that tomorrow and if it doesn’t work we can brainstorm to try something else. Call me tomorrow my sleepiness is welting my consciousness, I am not much use now except maybe for some mad hatter talk.” A pause she sighs as if pushing of sleep. I wanted just one more smile to be sure” Stand strong if you can survive this hit the sky will clear for you. We’ll strangle the rainmaker if we have to”

parting jokes and the call the ends, my moon back in my chest
content spiders basking in rays of light I can almost hear the hum of the morning sun.

I smile fading with the ceiling tucking me in, I can see her curled up with her stuffed animals half crying half terrified she falls to sleep drooling on her long time best friend
Mr finkers.

and
Finally the purr of happy spiders lulls be back to sleep.

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Soulfulbubbles/1004055/

I wrote this a few years ago, it’s one of my favorite pieces.

In A Moment
There is one thing I hate about commuting. Traffic when it is raining. You are behind and in front of whatever cars happen to be around you and the weather gives you a depressed feeling. You can’t go too fast, because you might skid and hit the car in front of you. You can’t cut into another lane, because another car might skid into you. Those who drive trucks and off-roads do not have to worry about that though. Only sports cars and some sedans that are not made for rain have that problem. And that’s the situation I am in right now. In a car that’s meant for open, dry road with wide turns and straight-aways cruising at ninety miles an hour.

Ok, so my car can’t do that. Not anymore at least. No, my 1969 Mustang has seen better years, years of which I was not alive. Damn thing is older than me. I bought it off my neighbor from down the street for two grand. The new black paint job with white racing stripes caught my attention, driving it for the first time on the highway made me realize my mistake. The transmission does not like to go into 3rd gear at times, so I get stuck going about 36 miles per hour pushing 4000rpms and get to feel the entire cabin shake while the car tries to do what it was made to.

I pushed the brake ever so slightly so my car would inch forward as the traffic moved slightly forward. I looked up and across to the other side of the highway, which was elevated by the ground four or five feet, or this side was going down four or five feet, regardless of which was the case there was a drop between the divider. The cars on the other side all drove quite fast, happy that they finally got out of the traffic. It was always like this, where one highway ended and merged into another. Pushing 3 lanes of cars coming from New York City during rush hour into 2 lanes and vice-versa will create traffic for miles. I rarely put my foot on the gas during this; simply letting go of the brake for a few seconds gets the job done.

Sometimes I don’t really mind the traffic much. It gives me time to think. Think about things that will most likely never enter my mind before they occur. Like what am I going to eat for dinner, should I do my laundry, things of that nature. But most of the time I just listen to music. Music that reaches deep into my mind to the point of where there is no thought at all. It is a moment of true peace that few people in this world ever get to experience.

I stared out my windshield while in this moment of peace. For the past 20 minutes of slow moving traffic I have finally reached the merging lanes. Directly to my left is that little hill and countless cars driving out of the same situation I am in on the other side of the highway. I press the brake slightly and come to a complete stop once again. I let go of the wheel and sit absorbed in my music for the length of another song.

Then I see something large and white move erratically on the other side of the highway. I can only see the top due to the divider blocking most of my vision. To my left, the man in his jeep gets out of his car and runs forward. I look at my rear view mirror and see the woman with her friend in the car behind me do the same. I look back to my right and see why such strange behavior ensued. A large eighteen wheeler was going too fast around the turn after the merger and lost traction, sliding it into the divider. The divider stopped the trucks tires from moving, but the momentum went unhindered. I saw that in only a few seconds time the cargo section the truck would land completely covering my car. I had no time to do anything. By the time I opened the door I would be crushed. The elderly man in front of me would most likely be spared, only having the rear of his vehicle crushed by the semi. I would be the only one to die in this accident.

It is very tragic for anyone to die in an accident. Say five or ten people die in a boat accident or car pileup, it is just a number. But when only one person dies, it is their face, their name that is used in the reports. Sympathy and pity are not spread through the number of casualties; they are focused into the one death. This makes the impact of the tragedy so much more. Because these people see the face of the victim and that victim is me.

But I do not want to be this victim. There is so much more I have to do. Only a freshman in college, looking for a dream job to hopefully move out and afford a new car. Start a family, have kids, and see them off into the world. Maybe own my own business, or work from home. If I was successful I could retire early and end with a relaxing life. Or maybe I would not be so lucky, and be unfortunate enough to have to work until I am ninety years old just to pay debts. Who knows what the future holds. Or held, for me at least.

I started to think about the things’ that I have left unfinished. School, for one thing. My current terrible job where I barely make 50 a week. Those things will not be missed. I still had a cell phone bill to pay. Do I have enough in the bank to cover it? I honestly cannot say. I do not ask for my balance when I pay for things with my debit card or take cash out so I can avoid seeing how poor I am. The car I am driving isn’t actually mine, now that I think of it. My father put the two grand for it, and constantly reminds me that it is his car. But then at the same time, He tells me to take my car, bring my car up into the driveway at night, take good care of my car, etcetera. So whose car is it? Whatever, that does not really matter anymore.

So many of these real world things and world issues seemed so trivial and meaningless all of a sudden. I watched the semi fall closer and closer to my car at such an agonizingly slow rate. It seemed that time gave me some sort of reprieve from a quick and cruel fate, that it felt pity for my helpless death. I looked past the falling semi into the trees that surrounded the highway. The rain fell so slowly that I could see each drop clearly. I noticed that in each there was a tiny rainbow caused by what little sunlight got through the clouds. It was probably something you would never see in life, but here in the warped ending I could see in such a new light.

It made me think of the beauty in nature that everyone takes for granted. The fields of grass swaying in the wind, with the pink petals from trees flowing through the air around me as I walked through them. I remember standing on the edge of a cliff and seeing the countryside stretch for miles in all directions. Buildings poked through like ugly wounds but the trees did what they could to cover what has been done to their once natural home, before man came and replaced the fields of dreams with urban jungles and called it progress. I see the earth crying for what its’ children have done to it. Sucking the lifeblood of the planet dry called oil, laying waste to the air purifiers called trees. I search for places in my memories that were untouched by man, but wherever I look there is a building or a road or an electrical line. These moments of natural beauty are a dying breed, and there is nothing we can do about it.

I noticed that the truck has finally made contact with my car roof. It is falling at such an angle that it will crush the drivers’ side first. I see that my spine will probably be crushed vertically into itself. My legs will be pinned under the engine and steering wheel and will probably never be recovered. I wonder how my funeral will happen then, if only, well, no real part of my body will be recovered. I will just get a picture taken some time ago perched on top a coffin that supposedly has my body in it. My family will be there, but the only ones I really care about are my younger brother and sister. I look after them and make sure they make the right choices. I care for them; I want to see them succeed. I do for them what my parents do not. I could care less how my parents are affected by this. One is too stubborn to take me seriously the other is too stupid for me to bother. Years of anger and frustration swelled inside me thinking about them. To be told by your son’s dying thoughts that he does not care for you must be the cruelest thing that could happen to a parent. But in all my rage I do not care. They can wallow in despair for the rest of their lives and it will not affect me. Because I will be dead, dead with this rage and hatred of them.

Suddenly a long, slow, and yet very loud crack disrupts my thoughts. The windshield cracked diagonally down towards the right of the car. The metal frame in between the windows started to buckle and snap. I see the physics defying shapes that it is compressed into and the shockwave the ripples down the entire body of the car. I hear another pop from my left and see the drivers’ window crack like spider webs instantly. It looks quite beautiful, and then the glass starts to shatter piece by piece as it can no longer hold its form under the pressure of the semi. The roof starts to buckle and come closer to my head. I cannot move, only watch. At this moment I regret having been granted this time anomaly, because it will be some time before I will die, and I will feel every bone crack and muscle rip slowly until I do so. I imagine the pain will kill me before the semi does.

All of a sudden I see her face. How could I have forgotten? The guilt of it alone almost tears me in two. All I can think of now is her. I am once again swallowed by anger, frustration, and now sorrow, regret. I am leaving her alone to live without me. I am putting her through the worst pain for someone to feel. I want to survive so I can rid her of this pain, but I see none. Almost instantly my anger and sorrow disappear. All I feel now is love. Beautiful, pure, faithful love. All I can think of now is her. The first time I saw her, the first time she kissed me, the happiness that swelled in my heart when we came together. I could feel a tear forming in my eye. If I had the time, I would cry. Not of sorrow, but of joy, of happiness. The blessing that I had to experience with her is unforgettable, unregrettable, and something that I think every person needs to experience in order to truly value life. That last thing I will think about is her, the only thing I will think about now, is her. She saved me from a life of loneliness, anger, and failure. She helped me spread my wings. I know that death will not end us. If there is something after, I will find her, and I will be with her again, not just because I love her, but because she loves me.

I feel the roof touch the top of my skull. I feel the pressure increasing in my neck. I feel it about to snap, but for some reason, I feel no pain. The only thing I feel, the last thing I feel, is holding her in my arms. Then time returned to normal, and I felt no more.

if you want to write serious poetry, IMHO it should not have a singsongy cadence and rhyme. rhyming poetry is so hard to do well. there are things like “Goblin Market” that get away with it because it is trying to sound childish. Read people like Anne Carson, Elizabeth Bishop, and Sylvia Plath. Bishop is an absolute freakish master of form. Her poems are like drum tight.
I don’t want to seem rude, but i think a lot of people think they can just put fragmented thoughts in singsongy rhyme and call it a poem. i feel like a poem should instead be this kind of small, alluring, insolveable pearl.

here is a something; “this is hard to say sometimes”

bearing anemones is inefficient
as hands grow eyes that
wince at the thought of
letting go

and passivity encompasses
process, slowly as if
dragging bodies to stasis;

the eyes blink before
finding themselves
blinded by tentacles.

Kyle Koala was your seemingly average, loving marsupial. He was a peaceful creature who could often be found conversing with his marsupial buddies, snacking on the leaves of eucalyptus trees and exploring the world with an adolescent sense of wonder.

Indeed his actions could be attributed to a lapse of good judgment and an undeveloped frontal lobe in his brain, but what if the explanation is simpler than that? Koalas are fairly simple creatures with fairly simple emotions that can be evoked fairly easy, and just like other young animals, adolescent koalas emotions are fairly unbalanced. What if something happened to Kyle? What if one day, Kyle simply snapped?

Kyle awoke that morning and rolled off his hammock. He stretched, scratched an itch on his backside and wandered onto the balcony of his tree house to greet the early dawn. It was a new day, and Kyle felt great. He moseyed into the kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice and fixed himself a hearty bowl of eucalyptus leaves. After he’d devoured his breakfast and swallowed his ADHD medications Kyle cruised down from his tree to the forest floor below. He met up with his friends and they spent the rest of the day shooting dice and basking in the sun.

That evening Kyle returned to his house. He took a shower and prepared himself for the events to come. Him and the homies were hittin’ up the club scene and he had to get fresh. After taking a swagnificent shower and applying Old Spice to the underarms, Kyle went to select his footwear. As he laced up his pristine, white Nikes he checked out his reflection in the sliding glass door. He looked fresh. Hella fresh.

Then it happened. He noticed something stir in the darkness beyond the door and as he looked on a figure emerged out of the pitch black. He watched, as it pressed it’s horrible, disfigured face against the glass and smiled a wide, yellow-toothed grin that stretched from horn to horn. Pure terror shot through Kyle’s body as he starred into the sickly eyes of a goat. It starred back menacingly. Blood dripped from its unkempt hair and ears down to its horrible toothy grin that encompassed most of its face. The thing stood on two hoofed feet and had the torso of a well built man. Its hairy arms led to hoofed hands that it pressed against the glass. It starred down at Kyle with its vacant eyes and a smile that continued to stretch forever. The little marsupial had never felt so small. He looked back upon this figure of evil and could see its lack of respect for humanity and the well-being of others. Summoning the little courage he had, he asked, “What do you want?” The smiling goat looked at Kyle. It said nothing, only winked its right eye. And then, never breaking eye contact, it walked off into the night on its hoofed feet.

Kyle felt better as he stepped onto the dance floor at Club Primate. He had just eaten a burrito laced with the highest quality, medical grade ecstasy for medicinal reasons, and as the synthetic chemicals began to bind receptors in his brain, a heavy euphoria washed over the little marsupial’s body. The black lights illuminated the room and an eerie glow shined over a floor crowded with color changing chameleons and kangaroo prostitutes. It was wild. He lost all control and found himself grinding with a lady orangutan. The pulsing music synchronized with their gyrating hips and the little koala groped the unnamed ape with no thought of the deformed creature he’d seen earlier in the evening.

Kyle awoke the next day in an unknown hammock, in an unknown location, next to an unknown animal. He glanced over at the sleeping kangaroo and a sly grin crossed his fury face. “If you’re feeling like a pimp then go and brush your shoulders off”, he whispered under his breath.  He did just that and stretched contently. What an excellent night he’d had. Again he looked over at the motionless kangaroo. His gaze dipped down from her sleeping face, past her tiny kangaroo paws and came to rest on what should have been her kangaroo pouch. But the only thing there was a gaping hole and a bloody mess of fur. Kyle let out a horrified cry and put his paws to his to face to shield his eyes before letting out a long scream. His hands were covered in blood. Kangaroo blood.

Kyle continued to scream as he ran along the forest floor, back to his home, as fast as his little legs would take him. His pristine Nikes had become soiled and dirty but he could care less. He has just cut off a kangaroos pouch. Something was wrong with him.

He climbed the tree to his house and collapsed on the couch. The TV was on. Tired, confused and scared he numbly stared at the Teletubbies as they ran down a steep grassy hill. He heard a vacuum in the background and the look on the Teletubbies face was one of sheer terror. The vacuum grew louder. It was getting closer and the Teletubbies knew it. He watched as they ran in all directions, arms flailing, screaming at the top of their lungs. He watched as a new figure emerged on screen. He saw the horrible yellow grin and watched as the goat creature walked down the green hill, pushing a vacuum it clutched in its dirty hooves. Kyle Koalas blood ran cold. The goat creature grinned at him and Kyle starred into its vacant eyes.

“What are you doing Kyle” it asked in a low, monotone voice. “Watching PBS” replied the small marsupial, trying to sound as big as possible. The goat creature’s smile grew even bigger and it squinted its vacant eyes. “So go eat your ADHD medication”, it said.  And then it walked back over the hill, pushing the vacuum, trailing the Teletubbies. Kyle Koala sat there and then dumbfounded and deeply disturbed; he fell into an abysmal slumber.

Kyle Koala awoke the next day. He stretched, scratched an itch on his backside and wandered onto the balcony of his tree house to greet the early dawn. It was a new day, and Kyle felt great. He moseyed into the kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice and fixed himself a hearty bowl of eucalyptus leaves. After he’d devoured his breakfast, he swallowed his ADHD medication but something on the little orange pill bottle caught his eyes attention. It was a warning sticker and with closer inspection he discovered that it read, “Should not be taken with eucalyptus leaves. Side effects may occur”

Kyle Koala screamed a long scream.