Brother

My brother’s Soccer Net

 

My brother’s Soccer Net

 

               It was a cold and joyful Christmas morning. One of those in which my younger brother and me raced down the stairs to see what Santa Claus had brought to us. My brother’s gift was a little envelope, as he read it he began to sprint towards the backyard, there was his present, two real size soccer goals. Huge white posts with a brand new tight net, that made the ball bounce immediately back to your feet. This was what he wanted since he was little. After that day, there is no other object that can describe him better. Every single afternoon, walking through my backyard after practice, I could see him taking shots. I summer days, rainy days, and even in early mornings he was there shooting. No matter the distance scored always great goals from many different places. Those nets really made him happy. He constantly changed the net for a new one of tightened the old one. He was always asking my mom to get them painted as he didn’t want them to loose their bright, winter, white color. Years after, my brother went to boarding school away from home. I was weird getting home and seeing no one taking shots. I every went outside and used them for a bit, as I felt bad they were so useless. These goals were a constant reminder of my brother not being home. As time passed, the goals began to rust and the net  started breaking apart. No maintenance was given to them. The goals, had a very strong feeling for me as they represented my brother. It was hard to think of my brother being away from home and then looking at the rusty, old nets abandoned in the backyard. My brother came back from boarding school, talking about how much he liked rowing and saying he did like soccer any more. All of a sudden, I realized I had more feelings towards those goals than my brother did. The abandoned, rusty goals had more importance for me this time. After hearing that, my mother was more than happy to send the goals away. Days after, as I saw the goals being carried away from my backyard, I felt as if I had lost something, a part of my childhood, a memory. I felt as if my brother had grown older than me for a moment.

 

 

View manolocarzo's Full Portfolio

Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born,

But I was repelled.

 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

 

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I run away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.

 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

 

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much overall...

 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I bought a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My biography in poetry-form.

Headquarters

Folder: 
Personal

"The coffee shop,

where in the middle of the block,

it had started;

where they met.

 

Their headquarters,

where they rested

over iced drinks

after a long skate.

 

Old friends,

young men,

two, not the same blood

or kin

 

shake hands 

and embrace the others grin,

a tight squeeze

given to each. 

 

Brothers,

such a tight bond

with so little time,

sealed the deal

 

of interlocking

storylines,

adventures and shared 

scrapes.

 

Escaping near death,

falling off boards onto wrists,

downhill descent

screaming past parked cars,

 

wherein that itself

is a rare occurance

when once was daily.

Temperature varied,

 

as did the places they'd

hunker down,

sweating,

stopping to have a drink.

 

Seperated by little,

attached at the hip,

it seemed. Until

life happened,

 

having sent the older 

away for summmer,

the younger away for the rest,

testing himself and his brain.

 

Drumming away,

marching on by,

the two had lives 

blur on by, 

 

spiraling in different directions,

story arcs and sidequests,

conquests coloring the night,

but by and by, 

 

when guest apperances

would transpire,

everything dropped

to meet one another,

 

the bond was made stronger

with the short time

it had to cure.

Not to say

 

neither were lost,

but both stepped in confidence.

Always looking ahead,

but once they were together,

 

unspoken,

to each love was gave.

Brotherly love,

concrete waves."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Always good to see an old friend you rarely talk to, but as soon as you're together you're as close as ever.

the one i loved most

Folder: 
After Death

no two loves are the same.

i forgot to bury my hope

in the grave with you.  

i could live a thousand years

or marry a thousand beaus

have infinite children

still

 

no blazing afternoon

will shine with your pride

no future ever

holds any love

like what you took with you

into the other side of eternity.

View and_hera_met_zeus's Full Portfolio
tags:

thank you Brother

                                 thank you brother                       2015

 

thank you doesnt seem like enough to show you that i know
all the  sacrafices you've had to make because you love me so
while growing up we were inseprable together day and night
 even thou there's distance between us were going to be alright
and in my heart i want you to know theres a place in it for you
you've always been there for me  i know this to be true
all the love that you have given me means everything to me
i'll never forget all that you've done and it's very plain to see
that if i need you no one on earth will be able to stand in your way
you'll be by my side supporting me keeping those monsters at bay
for me you are the rising sun and there'll never be no other
and it doesnt seem like it's enough to say i thank you brother

 

                                zoeycup16

Author's Notes/Comments: 

this was one i wrote to my brother hes the best brother in the world and i wanted to show him just how special he is hope you like it

 

                                                                                                                      zoeycup16

View zoeycup16's Full Portfolio

Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born,

But I was repelled.

 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

 

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I ran away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas appeared.

 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

 

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much to deal...

 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I bought a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my auto-biography in poetry-form.

exhausted mom

Folder: 
Women

 

 

 

 

 

 

View saiom2's Full Portfolio

Brother Come Back

Won’t you come back brother, won’t you come back?

To be here, to share, to laugh, to mock!

Living expands the minutiae,

Your gift of perspective to apply


Brands and flavours of love, challenged

Shock, upset, designed to be “different”?

Barriers created then dissolved

Clinches, partners and acts untold


Passions twisted within cultural sterility

Gasping, choking under ecclesiastic decree

Emerged to uncover your own reality

Become whole, unified, male, happy?


god plays dice?

You rolled and lost

Your right to change foremost

No entity should demand that price


Don’t come back brother, don’t come back

To be drugged, to suffer, to cry, to be mocked!

Reach contentment, know love for all,

 

Be memories, be ashes, be a plaque on your wall.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

18 years ago today I lost my Brother, he died in a very painful manner but discovered a contentment he had not had

View davidjleighton's Full Portfolio

Untitled

“how beautiful is the silence of growing things
in a place full of even deader things?
the soft roots of innocent herbs
poke through the rotten flesh
and curl around the dirty bones
of forgotten ancestors
that deserved better than this.” And
all of this underneath the rubber soles
of a young girl’s Sunday shoes,
scuffed white surrounding curled baby toes.
Her world watches as she jumps from rock to rock,
lining the winding road as it leads out.
And she laughs at herself,
dark curls bouncing with her. Again she wonders,
“how blind are the sunken eyes
of those who stopped looking? the flies buzz
and run their tiny feet all over
the stiff, unfeeling organs
of ancient lovers from a different land, different time.
if they could see now, they’d just see rotting wood,
the unsightly view we condemn all our expired kind to-
maybe that’s why they stopped looking, closed their eyes.”
She smiles, and the old breeze
chills her crooked teeth, stirs her Sunday dress,
black and white against her bony knees.
And she tells herself-
“It is just his body that lingers,
falling victim to natural defamation;
his soul floats on to a truer place,
full of grander memories.”
For she cannot afford to think in any other way.