Crimes of Society — Poetry

I must have seen something…

Glowing eyes of blazing flames
Cowering in a corner behind
A rusted, rat-infested trash bin
Smoke billowing from broken window panes

This is what fire fighters are for…

Lustful, groping hands
Muffled screams and cringes of fear
Under a dusted light post
Darting eyes fixed upon my back

No one rapes in plain view…

Gangs running wild in dim-lit streets
Smashings and bashings of any
Race or sex not mine, not yours
Or a lifestyle alternative to ours

But all men are created equal…

…yet, I did not stop or speak or help

©October 2015 Lori Burks

This Tangled Garden

The precious flowers that color and fragrance my world
are somehow lost to me today–no, not just today
for weeks, I am now realizing
I stumble over simple explanations
fret over words and phrases

My flower garden has become a nightmare
a tangled, unkempt patch of weeds
the home of trolls and wicked beasts
all strangling my mind to the point of numbness —

Is this what my future holds?
The digging, digging for the right things to say

If I could bulldoze the entire plot over, I would
and begin anew–an empty garden
Am I still young enough, well-enough?
or will I suffer my grandmother’s fate?
Unable to plant, I will merely pass away

Copyright ©2015 Ravyne Hawke

The Perpetual Cycle — Poetry

First me, then you
we take turns screaming
our voices shrill
long into the night
no compromises, no surrender

Exhausted
we go to separate rooms
computers flared up
music booming through shadows
of angry faces and redden eyes

Sleep fails us
and by morning’s rays
we stomp around each other
avoiding eye contact
tension as thick as mire

Your anger creates chaos
of shattered plates
and smashed computer parts
I cower in my room
shaken by your wrath

By midday, I emerge
beholden to my nature
ever the one to give-in
lower myself to knees knelt
and reverse the course

©April 2015, Lori Carlson

Fear — Poetry

you simply won’t do —
you are eschewed
all bone
a poor pathetic thing
rolling in your memories
hanging on to the past
like a sacred tome —
You have no life of your own now
You’ve been assimilated —
the we, the we!

you’ve given up control —
do you get it now?
Don’t you see?
It’s far easier to cease
than to be!
You’ve little courage —
down on your knees, pleading
the begging, the begging —

the desire to be free
is no match for fear —
you’ve bathed in it for years
it’s soaked into your skin
runs rampant in your veins
’til it settles in your heart
your lungs
drips from your fingertips
rubbed raw
from counting days on the stucco walls

How long have your passions been imprisoned here?

Twelve years, twelve years!
years like memories — wasted away

©February 2014, Lori Carlson

Less Than Nothing — Poetry

~for the Universal You~

I may as well be a ghost
as far as you bother—
every time I display myself
you turn the other way

this curse has lingered
from childhood – ignored
thru adulthood – scorned
into marriage – rejected

even now as I sling
inky tar against cotton
my stains never cross
the divide of your mind—
my oblivion complete

reduced to an aberration
even my haunts elude you

©April 2014, Lori Carlson

Exhaustion — Poetry

I exhaust you
I exhaust me too —
this calamity of my mind
leaves a decimated forest in its wake
nothing beautiful flourishes here

And yet, you still love me —
despite the reign of terror
I unleash with voice and hands
the screaming, screaming
and objects aimed at your head —

I am a wildebeest!

In those moments of rage
I am engulfed by fire
my eyes frantically scan
for any exit in sight
but I cannot escape myself
I am trapped inside this mind
as much a hostage to my illness
as you are for loving me

I can’t make this fair for you —
no amount of wishing makes it go away
nor denial
it’s not a matter of if, but when
I will go off again —
How many times will you put out the fire?
How many times before we are both so exhausted
we are consumed by the flames?
Exhausted, exhausted
And die

©November 2013, Lori Carlson

What They Don’t Tell You — Poetry

What They Don’t Tell You

after the happily ever after
is how fast your life turns to grey

how you lose tiny pieces of yourself
first your voice —
nothing you have to say is ever that important
next your appeal —
you look nothing like the porn chicks he prefers
then your dignity takes a walk
followed by your self-respect —

and then you awaken one day with amnesia
you don’t know who the hell you are
nor why you are in this shitty marriage —
you are alone, friendless and jobless
in a dark hole with no help in sight

Marriage should come with warning signs
bells and whistles and quick exit doors —
or at the very least, a coffin in the bedroom
to practice death upon

©January 2014, Lori Carlson

I was reminded of this poem of mine after reading Patience’s poem

What They Don’t Say

It is enchantingly beautiful and hauntingly sad… Please have a read and support her blog LOVELETTERSTOAGHOST