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Homosexuality BitesThey found me slumped over in the school showers
With a towel loosely wrapped around my waist
Scalding hot water was blistering my skin
As I bled from an unspeakable place

A hard-handed teacher dragged me to my feet
With little or no sign of sympathy
For the bruising to my feeble framed ribcage
And the fractures to my identity

I think they all thought that I had it coming
As no one was willing to testify
That the sodomy inflicted upon me
Was something to which I hadn’t complied

Boisterous boys laughing in the corridors
As I shamefully limped throughout the day
Not a thought for the pain that was inflicted
Just worried for what my pa

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

*Mask*Tonight hearts will beat
Identities are concealed
When we masquerade.

Familiar voices
Behind flamboyant disguise
Recognize those eyes.

2013 Delice1941
13th April2013

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

AveryHis veins are filled with music and with stars.
His thoughts are filled with emptiness and flow.
His voice is made of dusty old guitars.
His mind’s a rusty cog that clanks below.
And these affects and gifts with which he’s blessed –
Or cursed, as alternately it may be –
Are some well-known and some yet unaddressed,
And they determine all that he must see.
But when his veins must open up and burst
And when his thoughts in dark directions fly,
When all his voice can do is preach the worst,
When all his mind can think to do is die –
It gives him pause to check himself and breathe.
May he stay in this world and never

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

All AloneI'm sitting in my four walled room
Their closing in, like an ancient tomb
I feel like I'm wasting time for two
When all I want is me and you

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

You never chose the middle pathYou never chose the middle path, the place
of careful, safe and unremarkable,
the sky at 10 am, the camp at base,
the decaf paper cup unbreakable.

You had to go with high and low and real,
with rich and fast and things more notable:
the sky at midnight, Himalayan-feel,
the oxygen and you, unstoppable.

But then your weight became too much for skies.
Your melamine became a china cup.
And those who cried moved on to lesser highs.
They look ahead, or down, but never up.

You never chose the middle path, you raced.
I’m looking up, and pray that speed is graced.

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Hey Diddle DiddleLestrade was rapidly coming to the boil. But then, he was a kettle.

“Look, Sherlock,” he said to the tall teapot, “any information about the missing spoon, you have to tell me. It’s part of a very expensive set!”

Sherlock hesitated but then he saw the steam coming out of Lestrade’s spout.

“It was the cat and fiddle figurine that inadvertently gave the game away,” Sherlock began. “He and the cow creamer have shifted slightly to the left, away from the Spode dish. To allow access to a hiding place perhaps.”

He looked directly at Lestrade. “And there was the curious incident

SentenceN O U N
V E R B
F U L L
S T O P

Blind Man's BuffJohn had a magnificent black eye.

"What happened?" demanded Sherlock, immediately alert as he entered the flat.

"Calm down," said John. "There was a power cut while you were away. I got a bit disorientated and walked into the door."

"Impossible," said Sherlock.

"Er, no," said John. "I definitely remember it happening."

"We've lived here for months," said his flatmate. "You should be able to find your way around in the dark."

John sighed. "If you suddenly can't see, it's very easy to become confused…"

The challenge in Sherlock's eyes was unmistakable.

They found a diving mask in Sherlock's dressing up box ("Disguise compendium!") and J

Belittle JohnJohn had a date.

"I'd advise against that jumper," said Sherlock.

John turned from the mirror. "You know nothing about clothes. You never wear anything apart from your detective 'uniform'."

"I have a great deal of knowledge on the subject," said Sherlock. "It's important to understand why people choose to dress the way they do." He languidly considered John's outfit. "In this instance, for example, one might deduce you were short-sighted and colour-blind…"

"I'm going," said John and he left to meet Michelle, who loved the jumper. Unfortunately, John then spent the evening complaining about Sherlock.

Michelle declined a second date.

Joh

InnocentSammy woke abruptly from his dream.

He was back in the garden in the sunshine but the scene was still vivid in his mind. Mummy pale and lifeless with bruises on her throat. Daddy slumped over her, blood seeping from his chest.

Sammy's mother glanced across at him.

"That's a lovely smile, sweetheart," she said.

Classic(al) Move(ment)Fancied whole orchestra. Managed first bass.

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Breaking Through

by *SCFrankles, Dec 28, 2012, 10:43:00 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

~~□□□~~ T E A R □□
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□ D O W N ~~□□□~~
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~~□□□~~ E A C H □□
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□W A L L ~~□□□□~~

Breaking Throughby *SCFrankles

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

©2012-2013 *SCFrankles

Written for #FourLinePoems.

Er, trying something a bit different. Are the words clear enough..?

~anapests-and-ink Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I love the visual edge you've given this poem. It really adds to the message and the overall effectiveness of the piece (not that it needs anything extra to be powerful

). I'm excited that you've found this form; you do so much with it!

Reply

*SCFrankles Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks ^^ I wasn't sure if the "wall" made the piece too "noisy" and difficult to read.

I really appreciate your enthusiasm

I must get going with the four line poems again!

(And thank you for the fave. Mustn't forget my manners

)

Reply

~anapests-and-ink Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

The wall wasn't noisy at all! It just gave shape to the poem.

Reply

~TheChesherCat Jan 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Clever! And yes, quite clear.

Reply

*SCFrankles Jan 4, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks ^^ I'm glad it looks clear to you - it looked so much better in Word ^^"

Reply

*Hermetic-Wings Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

I have a painture on my wall...It is a poem but some part of it is not clear! Suppose some of the words are out of focus so only some word can be seen. I mean just the same thing you with that poem... Imopressed much

Reply

*SCFrankles Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much ^_^ And thank you for all the faves ^^"

Reply

*Hermetic-Wings Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

Alllllways pleasure dear friend :d

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