Poem #167

The world was falling apart and she kept a smile
until at night she heard the howl of the wolves
calling for her, making her blood to boil,
making her step outside.

As her body carefully hit the grass the rain started
pouring down on her and she felt like the earth
was giving her comfort and a place to rest.
A light appeared in her sky, the meteors started piercing the night

She was just lying under the meteor shower while
the roses were crying raindrops and she whispered
to herself: “How long can I live a lie?” She was lying
on the ground when the meteors started coming down.

Everything caught fire as she ripped pieces of paper
throwing them to the side. Every verse and every line
seemed to get her to a breaking point instead of
getting her up from the ground.

The wolves howled louder and stronger than before
just to let her know that if she runs away on all fours,
she won’t be alone. She knew she would never be tamed
because the wild instincts only grew stronger in her veins.

The fire was destroying the nature but the moon was in the
sky safe and sound ruling over the newborn wolf of the night,
giving her his name and making her one of a kind. The fire was
getting stronger but it was never as strong as the one in her eyes.

Her mouth opened and she howled.

On cresting a Sunday night hill

And there was the Moon,
like a bilious balloon.
She was sheeted in linens
of heavenly loom.
This ghostly attendant of summer entombed.
This spirit ascendant,
This prophet of doom.

 Hello, I am Lee Dunn.
Working stiff (retired).  Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher.
I write some eclectic poetry, prose, personal stories, and fiction.
Have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press.
I blog on WordPress at https://secret-lifeof.com/

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Poem #166

I refer to this place I’m in right know
as to a dead spot. I’ve been on this dead spot
for years,  no movement forward or backwards.
the same shit, every day, for years.

I bang my head into a wall thinking it will bring
me clarity because no right answer in my life
came from happiness. It always came from pain.
Nothing happened. I just have a red mark on my
forehead now. Guess the pain isn’t working anymore.

But that one great thing is coming. I know it is. I’ve been
waiting for it for years. High school graduation, university,
boyfriends, new job, new meditation… I thought all of these
things were that one big thing, but I was wrong. And I was wrong
one too many times and now the doors are shut and the windows
are so small I can’t crawl out and I’m stuck here on this dead spot
and I’m trying and I’m pretending I know where I’m going and the
key word here is “I” because it’s just me here, I’m alone here.

I did this to myself. I got me here and I don’t know how to get out.
I don’t know how to ask for help. I can’t find that one big thing,
that great change. Maybe I am the thing that needs to change.
Who am I?

She Lay There

Grievances were given
Everyone proceeded by
She lay there
The people talked
The people cried
She lay there
Memories of long and close
One in particular just stared
She lay there
She lay there not because of slumber
And not because of death
She lay there
Because she was disparate from the rest
Not in guises—nor in dress
But in awareness and in thought
She was the only one they caught
A fairytale yesterday
A reality today
She lay there invulnerable
She lay there unreachable
She sat up
The people moved back
Sensitive to attack
She had no such designs
They had captured her but she had their minds
What they had seen as lying
What they had assumed sitting up
All that they had assumed
Kept her amused
Because reality had been bent
Their intellects limp
Her uniqueness was elsewhere
And at times neither here nor there
A ghost among ghosts
She lay there
Never once truly stirring when they came too close
She had not set up
They had not played host
It was her domain
It was where they remained
As long as they slept—As long as they lay there
She laid them bare
But as every day ends
Another must begin
And in-between the suns moment of glare
She waited
She lay there

I was born in Ohio in October 1974. After graduating from high school in Indiana, I wandered around the states for a few years playing in bands, you can check out some original music on my blog, before joining the Army as a satellite communications technician. I spent two years with the 101st Airborne, thirteen months in Afghanistan, and two years in Alaska before returning home to Indiana. I was diagnosed with Agoraphobia and Bipolar Manic Depression some years back, and that has opened my eyes to a whole new world of introspection, thought, and way of life. I stay inside a lot with Serica my cat and sometimes walk around the lakes surrounding my house taking my camera and trying to catch some of nature’s beauty and stillness. Of course, I love to read every chance I get, and I am always looking for that next great story.

Website: https://gedwardsmithblog.com/

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Poem #165

If these walls could talk, they would have so much to say.

They would tell a story which we wouldn’t believe because
things like that don’t happen in our neighborhood, this
is a good neighborhood. A story we wouldn’t believe to
be true because things like that only happen on TV, only
to people we don’t know, the people we know don’t
live these stories.

If these walls could talk, they wouldn’t talk. They would scream.

The walls would scream but you didn’t and you still aren’t.
Don’t let anyone hear what’s happening, don’t seek for help
because no one will believe you and it could only get worse if the
cops take him away because he will return and then seconds
will be a matter of life and death. If you seek help he will place
his hands around your neck and your daughter’s neck and her
daughter’s neck and he will suffocate a generation of women but
he will suffocate it even if you scream so why are you still
holding your breath?

If these walls could talk, they wouldn’t talk. They would cry.

Well that’s the thing you have in common with the walls hiding your
misery. You cry. You cry over your daughters fragile life as you put
her to sleep, you cry hugging your son hoping he will never have the
courage to stand up to him and end up killed, you cry under the shower
so no one would hear. You cry when you fall down the stairs and you
laugh while you tell your friends that you fell down the stairs because
things like that happen behind crying walls. No one will notice your shame.

If these walls could talk, they wouldn’t talk. They would bleed.

And you too bleed every time you realize you’re living oppressed by
that filthy beast. Why are you holding your tears and hiding your
wounds? Show them to the world because if you don’t that sad
destiny will be your daughter’s destiny because she will mistake
violence for love. If you don’t teach her she has the right to live
and breathe and fight she might never learn it herself
and she just might end up hiding her bruises as well.

Who will talk first – the walls or the women?


A few words by the insecure
With a deep sorrow to accept
First your love, now you’re lost
That’s how I became so obscure

This unbearable grieving I need to endure
Every single tear I wept
Broke out my soul to exhaust
My fate, eternal love to assure

Still, you are in my heart, that’s for sure
With your magical sight and your endless delights
The mist of your touch and my yearnings to have you near
But with your depart I became impure

A few words by the insecure
Words some times came out of fear
Your presence ignite my insights
That’s how I became so obscure.

Hi! I’m Lynyo a self-taught/amateur writer from Mexico, I’ll like to share my work with you all and hope you like it… Or at least hate it! Jajajaja Visit me at http://lynyo.blog

All pictures and contents are original work of mine unless is noted.

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Poem #164

What we had was so carefree like a Sunday
morning, so natural as the summer breeze,
so sudden as the smell of sea salt in the air
The only problem was that I wasn’t me.

You took away my breath and worries in
a single heartbeat and I let go of everything
because it was easy, for once something was easy.

We were opposites that weren’t supposed to attract.
Too much dark of a different kind can’t create light.
When I was with you people could finally see
what I didn’t want and who I never could be.

It doesn’t hurt anymore that you didn’t really love me
because the person I was with you wasn’t me, wasn’t even real.