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1.0k · Sep 2013
God of the Sea
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Rolling of a broiling and boiled red sea
swift sticky sick twisted greenery
netting licking at our heels
at pillars of strength O' mighty Achilles
pulling for bronzed treasure
but the marble temple stands
and our idols fall crafting a crown of sin
but who is the idol of the sea?

The compass
the stars
the moon

The sailor prays to his Women
the captain for his Men

Heaving and **'ing
of storms brewing since long before the Men knew the Women and the captain knew his god
How heaven unloads a thunderous sigh
belching a quelling force

Sheets shape figures in the dark
tip louder, louder, darker, darker
colder than wet
clutch yourselves close because you're all that's left
open your eyes and see
the real god

You are not a Man
there is no Woman
You are flotsam
I am eternal.
1.0k · Jun 2013
Diction
Steven Fried Jun 2013
There are billions of words- yet there is only one correct word.

Whether in the fields of Oklahoma,
or in the deserts of Saudi Arabia,
writers know that one right thing to say.

Happy, elated, joyous, cheerful, blissful.

They all mean the same thing, but connotatively,
are worlds apart.

I was happy for his success.
I was elated over my success.
I was joyous at the party.
I was cheerful during the Christmas season.
I was feeling blissful during the wedding ceremony.

Without conscious word choice, the world would a very sad and monotonously gray place indeed-
rather than a beautiful spectrum of color.
1.0k · Jun 2013
Vanity
Steven Fried Jun 2013
I write because I'm vain.
I'm searching for validation.
I reap a meager harvest.
searching for aches and pains.
I don't envy you,
I'm not invincible,
just immature.

My dam will burst with inspiration-
to be wiped by a blank canvas.
When vanity passes and enlightenment is bestowed,
the words are here now…
where is my inspiration?
983 · Jun 2013
Amplification
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Volcanic destruction. 2 words
A volcano destroys the citadel. 5 words
A tiny volcano destroy the movie-set citadel look-alike 10 words
A paper machet volcano spurts water and melts the miniature ice-city for a home movie 15 words
Did i amplify or detract?
Conceptually what grew and what shrank?
969 · Jun 2013
Over the Bay
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Gaze over the bay and
recline with me.
Appreciate the beautiful trees that ebb and flow in the wind,
join them and become one with the flag on the breeze.
Don't mind the intruders.
There is juxtaposition with
the two red satellite beasts.
The bay is waging war with technological innovation in the twilight before dawn.
The towers are malignant tumors.
There can be no explanation...
Speak on things far deeper than the common vernacular.
Externalize your feelings, internalize the images, worship the stars.
I have a sheet, and an uncomfortable bed, but I need you to listen,
for a while longer yet...
947 · Aug 2013
Revolving Doors
Steven Fried Aug 2013
Revolving doors are after me,
Brushes from a stranger are pickpockets,
Financiers are after the little man's money,
Bankers are all corrupt,
Politicians are all corrupt,
Everyone has an agenda...
or maybe I'm just paranoid.

Or maybe,
this is a delineation of the deplorable state humanity,
and the world,
has plunged to.
Maybe my paranoia is,
a byproduct
of years of justification and
rational motivation
939 · Sep 2013
Small, Medium, Large
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Small, medium, and large
men
face adversity.

Violence begets violence
they say.

But with hate...
a choice
arises.

A small man
perpetuates.

He is not just angry at the world,
but at himself.

A small man is small in heart, mind and body.
no compassion.
no free-will.
no strength to resist.

A medium man
avoids problems
because he doesn't know how
to be a part of the solution.

And,
a large man
fights.

He'll fight the system, the power,
the oppressor, the instigator,
the teacher, the mayor.

Not because he is bigger, because god knows…
sometimes the largest of men are the smallest of stature...

But because a large man
has beliefs, morals, and values;
all of which trump the latest trend.
911 · Sep 2013
winter kite
Steven Fried Sep 2013
the wind whisked away the kite
with a whipping force abrasive to chill reddened cheeks
went away went away the kite flew free

saucy clouds white with ****** of whim
the airy attitude elevates the aesthetics

small fall eyes chris crinkling in winter weathering the biting air

hidden by a ski cap and sheepskin innocence
the white knuckle grip shadowed by the fluttering fragile flurries

white the purest closeting the sadness at home
between father and son
love unrequited

engorge on the winter scene
but do not venture near
for families are the greater fear

not a crack will you see in day
and o' they do go out and play

but tarry neither close nor far
pretending supernova star

for they are safe to watch to learn
because all families end in turn

the dark winter sphere gorges
at any shine found so gorgeous

mood reflects a cold solstace glow
happiness you are struck down low
906 · Sep 2013
Paper
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Paper
Flutter by
Ruled lined blank
Limitless Possibilities and Destinations
Life
Steven Fried Sep 2013
I do not know who I am addressing
but to whom it may concern
I am concerned
I am concerned with your character
past your name, past your sign, past your shore
I am concerned
you fear death, and loneliness, and loss
Your ignorance is your downfall
Your life, companionship, and love
are open, and still
waiting

I don't know where you are from
but I reach
I do wonder
past your street, past your zip, past your block
I do wonder how far you've come,
how hard your journey,
how arduous your task
but though chaos and entropy may dismay
further on through the further, and deeper, and colder, and darker

I don't know what you've done
but infinitely so
I do care.

Money rips
fibers pulling
and snapping
valueless greenery
as it ever was

Gold melts
like the slime
of materialism

Oil burns
for those who have
burned
for it

Be eternal
because to me
you ever will be.
869 · Jun 2013
Anarchist
Steven Fried Jun 2013
The strongest man is just immature.
More versatile than the
much real work, we operate machines, so whatever really. But the chillest part is,
too few women in their crop-tops, their bandeau's, their strips of cloth- are
death-defyingly wild. And
far more cutting than a bullet can ever be.
We never press the surface;
you have a beautiful aroma as wood in a forest.
Help. I know I'm stronger than that.
We are all entertainers and audience members
I am an anarchist
One, please, do it with me…
842 · Jun 2013
Free Verse
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Definition: Poetry that does not rhyme or have a regular meter
Free verse is not just poetry
Free verse is an expression
Free verse is an escape
The beauty in free verse poetry is it's lawlessness
Poets become Jesse and Billy; they break rules, they break hearts, they break tradition.
The difference is their words are far more cutting than a bullet can ever be.
The beauty in free verse poetry is it's adventure
Poets become Columbus and  Sacagewea; they break barriers, they explore new lands, they become wild.
They explore the boundless blank page rather than the limited natural world.
But the real beauty in free verse poetry, is it's structure.
The structure of a free verse poem is new and varying every single time.
The reader not only yearns to find the meaning of the poem, but the dual meaning of the structure.
Definition: self-expression and puzzlement of the mind and for the soul
838 · Jun 2013
Sick Obsession
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Why do we have a sick obsession with fleeting encounters and quick passions
We brush the surface of interaction

We brush lips
we brush hands
we brush lives yet
never pressing the surface
we never press our passions

We need to press our lips
we need to press our ambitions
we need to press our hands
we need to press our lives into symbiosis.

We are scared for what happens after the blissful, brief, mysterious moment
what happens once the surface is broken

We fear rejection.
We err toward safety- to minimal contact- minimal exposure- minimal risk
Our fragile continence’s are limiting our life- our passion- our love.
Turn down the offer for fleeting life, fleeting passion, fleeting love.
Dare to press deeper- life has more to offer than mitigated risk and passing romances.
826 · Jun 2013
I am a Falsehood
Steven Fried Jun 2013
I am a Falsehood
I am naive
I am humble
I am self-effacing
I am diligent
I am a narrow minded
I am an anarchist
I am scared
I am alone
I am docile
I am ignorant
I am a liar
This is not me.
816 · Sep 2013
Fun Meter
Steven Fried Sep 2013
And if you ever reconsider
you will get no chicken dinner

And if there is a place in time
you will not find not foot nor rhyme

And do come now I won't be long
for I am late to ring my gong

And don't you waste your good knish
or I will cut you like a snitch

So write your books and read your poem
oh that is Bob I hardly know 'em
813 · Jul 2013
My Home (revised)
Steven Fried Jul 2013
Earth, USA, Poconos, Camp Ramah, Boys Campus, Bunk 12, Third wooden step/
a hornets nest underneath- harmlessly buzzing,/
we are invincible/
peace draws
me back./

Leaning back on the fourth step, the wood digs into my elbows but/
I'm too content/
a sprawling bright green hill of grass/
plunges downward with a strip of gravel leading to the lake./

Feeling the aged, warm wood beneath my feet is/
cozy/
A gazebo is at the apex of the lush hill/
falling apart with cobwebs and flaking wood/
no one said home was perfect.

I tilt my head upward briefly to feel the warmth of the sun/
downward a square pool surrounded by a romantic chain-link fence./
a run down boathouse./
My first kiss./
I had a "secret to tell her."

A serene manmade lake sits just below the boathouse./
deep blue waters/
and the "blob” capture my attention.

The picturesque scene… the lake surrounded by a dense forest at the bottom/
the giant beautiful hill which houses for just a brief period,/
some of the best friends I’ve ever had/
is home to me./
It is serenity, it is comfort, it is love.

Home has no definition,/
but the third wooden step, bunk 12, boys campus, Camp Ramah, USA, Earth,/
gazing in the hot summer sun/
 over the most beautiful piece of land/
I've ever laid eyes upon/
sure feels like home to me.
808 · Aug 2013
"Do you believe in God?"
Steven Fried Aug 2013
On a chocolate tour through Paris,
after asking me which type of ice cream I would like,
My tour guide asked me if I believed in god...
I told her it was a loaded question,
and said "Plum and yes."

An odd question from my self-proclaimed,
atheist,
and godless tour guide.

She said she didn't believe in Adam and Eve because
she was studying Archeology,
hence she could not believe in god.

I felt bad for her.
807 · Jun 2013
Twin Clowns
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Two clowns with tremendous feet
stacked upon each other
one a miniature of the other

these clowns have diminutive heads
plump bodies
pieced together

monstrous feet out sizing their legs
pigeon-toed outwards
with a big toe the size of a meatball

both have screaming faces
eyes set atop their heads
without eyebrows- but it's not unnatural

ether floats off the larger clown on the bottom
radiating from the knee and the torso sides
and shoulders

the larger built like a body builder
with massive shoulders
and a v-torso

the diminutive clown has massive ears and
skinny arms facing outwards with hooked fists
on rollerskates

the anger spewing from the larger lower clown
is parodied on the upper's face
they are both men

both squat, human
made of circles
nothing is a straight line in their make-up

niether naked
nor clothed
it doesn't matter

these clowns represent nothing
they simply are; they are in the world
but where, I can not say.
803 · Sep 2013
Pills & IPods
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Pills are like IPods
They come in all different
Shapes
Sizes

and Colors

but in the hands of the youth
Pills & IPods serve the same purpose
Pacification and
an Escape from reality
800 · Sep 2013
Money
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Money
Plastic Paper
Gold Silver Platinum
All the value is subjective
Pursuit
793 · Aug 2013
Kineret
Steven Fried Aug 2013
The hustle and bustle is nature…
Ants swarming,
Birds soaring with majesty over
Sparkling blue water, over
Blinding reflections.
These birds and these ants
and this hustle and this bustle
revolve around
the Life Source of a nation, of a People…
So breathe deep; you may drink This water.
This is a pure land.
790 · Jul 2013
Closure "Fuck You"
Steven Fried Jul 2013
I'm going to handle this **** myself
Be it by
Holding in
Shutting out
Getting angry
Lashing at those around me
I don't care.
Because no one can know
That I'm mad as ****

I shouldn't be
There were no feelings
It didn't matter
But for some ****** reason
I never had closure
Never thought I needed it

And now she hooked up with this tiny ****
And I'm just here
Not wanting her,
But not wanting her with anyone else

It's selfish
And confusing
But *******
It's me.
747 · Jun 2013
Music is
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Music is*

Pure exhilaration, inspiration, and ecstasy/
Uncontrollable drive and dedication

An uncontrollable but welcome smile/
A shot of adrenaline throuhg every vein/
The pulsation of an entire body

Every muscle fiber pulled taut by anticipation/
A crescendo of notes and chords fueling an emotional high

Butterflies, no- jetplanes in the listeners stomach/
Being headed from the lyrical content

Unification through the melting of souls

Rent apart by individual and intensely personal fetishes

Immortal...

Timeless.
745 · Jun 2013
Nightmare
Steven Fried Jun 2013
A castle with millions of doors
And long corridors ghosted by
Thirsty alien creatures.

Each door led to horrifying monsters
with visages of stone and grime.

Some doors, red, titanic doors,
led home.

Time flowed out of sync.

I returned to an infirmary fiilled with my friends and family.
Few hours passed in my castle of terrors
yet years would fly by in the real world.
They aged
These visits
broke my heart…

Every door was a possible portal back,
I'd inch the door open slowly for fear of falling and losing my family.

I'd end up in the castle again.

Because a fair maiden lay in waiting.
How did I know?
I never saw her,
only a feeling.

This was just a dream,
just a torturous dream in which
I was torn away from my family
and drawn to a mysterious woman through a castle filled with
vile beasts
as I stayed
Immortal.
739 · Sep 2013
Jack
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Jack screamed sillily
Trilling along the border,
the edge loomed nearer…
of the known world at least.
The archer notched his arrow.
He was not yet eighteen.
But drafted
for his country.
Older days, of mystery and castles, lords, ladies, feuds and feudal lands;
before science hit the starting block.
Green blankets where cities stand
towering skyscrapers of another kind,
of wood and oats.
Knights strode
reminiscent of Cyclops
for his visor was singular.
But I digress,
Jack screamed.
for the archer's arrow had indeed leapt off the bow.
Jack made no sound.
Jack was as victim of war… but as well a perpetrator.
I like to believe there is always a choice.
This is truly a false sentiment.
735 · Oct 2013
Immovable
Steven Fried Oct 2013
River
Flow over me
Anchor

Steady rock
Crustaceans roll by
Iron stood

"Come with me my friend
Explore the wild wet world
Stick no longer here."

Brother eel
Slither lithely by
I am scared

Strong rock
Weak spirit
Conjoin
735 · Jun 2013
Wind
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Unseen,
destructive reaction

a branch quakes,
pines sway,

whiplash,
forces glide

millions of fingers,
through my hair

the original pompadour,
no adhesive necessary-

the original home wrecker,
no mistress necessary-

all natural, 
one-hundred percent reusable

eye pulling,
lip smacking,

directionless,
brute force

Strong enough
to lift a house…

Delicate enough
to abet a butterfly…
722 · Aug 2013
Lost in the Decadence
Steven Fried Aug 2013
I wander
and question.

I may have been raised on the wrong language
or continent,
or culture…

The hubs of European culture
have me lost,
and fumbling with my own.

Lost in a park,
a canal,
a street,
architecture,
decadence and delicacy.
Steven Fried May 2015
Some men have greatness ****** upon them.
While some men, are average

They resent their privilege,
and miss their dog,
and hate their dad,
even if they know —
he’s just human.

These men don’t want greatness.
No,
they wouldn’t know what to do with greatness
if it kissed them upon their lips.

No,
all they want,
is someone to talk to.

But all they see,
and all they can feel,
is the blank page.

And all they hear,
no matter how hard they strain,
and beg,
and plead,
is silence.
687 · Oct 2013
The World
Steven Fried Oct 2013
Burning red eyed glow
Cool to your embers
Blow smothering the flame
Bonfire emotes in flame
Blue oceans deep pass over your heat
Let me sink in I've dove deep

Your pools of blue
Draw and drown
Magnetic energy motorized within me
I spark
Hitherto never shocked
White blinding light
Disappear in the cloud

Trampoline of cotton
Take me higher, higher
Show me wonder
Don't drop me.
For I will fall onto the green
Grass won't stop this descent
Bush won't cushion this fall
Tree won't just impale
Forest nights grow darker

I'm lying down on my blanket
Pressing into the lush
Breathing nostrils tendril tickles
Sink a half inch deeper
into the bending saber tips
Watch from your tower
Rays of gold meld and procreate naturally
Don't take my warmth and life

Golden globular orb melting sloughing sliding down
Un-fathomable happiness
Limitless light life justice
Ice cold depression
Death wallow in grief
When the mighty winks goodbye
The black will rule
Hades rises

Hellish requiem depress souls
Let the forms wander as empty husks
Tombs line roads and no light to see them
Take my vision hearing smelling
Leave me warmth
Even your red eyed glow
I submit
679 · Jul 2013
Mild insomnia
Steven Fried Jul 2013
Heavy eyes
pins in my
sockets

Yearning for peace
finding birds, crickets, and creatures

Knit brow in aggravated
concentration

Deceived.

Earlier than preconceived
trapped against my will
by my over active mind

Efforts are
Futile

Sleep is
Elusive

Life is
Conniving

because

I am
Exhausted.
676 · Aug 2013
All Gone
Steven Fried Aug 2013
All one glory.
ominous contextual, meanings
humongous without thought to consequence…
sulfurous smell, sour, double entendre
homogenous council
genius plan, or so we thought
genuine execution, or so it seemed
feminine taste in styling, perfect
female operatives
male operatives
stale-mate… disaster retruning
pale faced bodies lie strewn
plate on plate on plate of shields return, with bodies
flat faces
flake, crack, and cry
fan the widows, fan the orphans, wipe their tears
plan for the future, if you dare again
dan-ce for the youth and show them hope
man-to-man we deserve it… or do we?
mention history
prevention is operative at this point
invention, 1984,
convention, Meadows
convent, Corrine
Death ends for us all with a path… or without.
674 · Nov 2014
Her and Him
Steven Fried Nov 2014
Her bones were brittle, her hips
fresh cracked plastic.
Her hair was gray
lackluster straw.

Her sweatshirt was too large, her stomach too small.
Her pain overwhelming, her resolve a mask.

He lay near.

She sat in a wood chair
at the kitchen table;
where she'd been
for days.

She lowered her arm gently, and beckoned,
"Come back."
Her plate was empty- her glass too.

His plate was empty- his glass too.
He lay away, as tired as she.
His eyes found hers
in hungry confusion.

"Please," begged her nature.
Hollowed, that was all that remained.
"I'm sorry."

He did not know.

He looked to her, his first, his last,
his only- perked ears and a dry moan.
He sighed and closed his eyes.

She chose to close hers too,
"Goodbye," she hurt.
love
658 · Nov 2014
Your First Time
Steven Fried Nov 2014
You took me stumbling to the elevator
Into my dorm, it was not even nine

I put on a movie
we kissed- hard

I laughed
you unbuttoned your blouse

I was below you
and I asked, "What should I do?"

You said, "Take your pants off."
so I did.

The ****** was on
and I was still laughing

Then it was happening
inside

I laughed during
I finished

I stood up, "You should go."
you left

On my comforter
you left your mark

Blood stains as big as my head
that bleach could not remove

I was drunk
you were sober

Was your first time,
"special?"
649 · Aug 2013
Hyde Park 1
Steven Fried Aug 2013
Aged wooden tentacles stretch towards the sky, gnarled and dignified with age.
They push upward breaking ground
miles high.
Foliage sprouts, blooms, reflects, and falls.
Dead among us… the living,
survived by the lush greenery.
Billions of the green soft razor-edged blades which
help create the scenic setting
pad the tread of man and beast during
Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring,
Rain, Shine, Snow, or Hail.
In the distance colossal concrete monsters rise.
Just another part of the picture,
another piece to the puzzle.
Another evolution of Mother Earth’s tentacles.
618 · Jun 2013
Nonsensical Rhyme
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Don't be afraid to take a long-due break from your
raking

Then we'll put a brake on the cake we are done our
baking

Down by the lake lay a snaking just
waking

For Pete's sake won't you make this place stop
quaking

Put a stake through that drake- he is no swan, he must stop
faking

When I shake this snowflake my wrists began
aching
617 · Aug 2013
Paris 1
Steven Fried Aug 2013
The desolate feeling of being in a foreign country and having a case of the monolinguistics…is done to death.

The constant smell of burning cigarettes is
nothing new.

The pick pockets who give the city a bad name are
unfixable and unshakeable.

The attraction for the brightest minds in the world though…
that's impressive, inexpressible, and so utterly obvious.

The stunning structures,
warm atmosphere,
and beautiful architecture,
don't hurt.
617 · Oct 2013
Woman
Steven Fried Oct 2013
Woman
Losing race
give-up

Women are
never there when you
expect them

Woman
Formed from first
Man's rib

Woman
delicate
steel rose

Woman
risen anger
dire glare

Woman
clueless to
mankind

Woman
figured then
never
2-3-2 Haiku
611 · Sep 2013
Broke and Dogs
Steven Fried Sep 2013
****** hounds
but stop and nod

Scrappers or survivors
a quarter here a quarter there

ears bit neck scratched
a Styrofoam cup

fights won, lost, lamed
an upturned top hat

Defenseless, lonely, sad eyes
a blanket and a stack of newspapers

A fighting dog
or a fighting man, don't walk by.
604 · Aug 2013
Homeless Parisian
Steven Fried Aug 2013
A woman,
prostrated,
head bowed.

Her one possession?
a paper cup.

On Champs-Élysées street,
what a shame…

What else is there…?
But a shame.
585 · Jun 2013
A fine continuous existence
Steven Fried Jun 2013
I fell out of orbit- this was the end
Rocketing back to the ground
My life flashed before my eyes: this chance a god-send

A curious calm was to be found
A fine continuous existence
An old-faithful tape: I was rewound

Life was not a game of subsistence
Nor a rat race for wealth
I lived with ordinary consistence

I can not complain; I was fed and in full health
But neither can I rejoice in a titanic victory
I flew under the radar- living a life of stealth

Not that I needed a majestic mystery
My life was customary
I felt no compulsion to add to my family history

I am the testament to the half-sweet cherry
I am not complaining, I have lived happily and well
I closed my eyes at the end of the dive and was glad i lived so middle-of-the-road non-contrary

Reflection and total repose
My life I happily do expose.
Terza Rima
583 · Oct 2013
Animals
Steven Fried Oct 2013
Chicken whole
The paltry poultry
Not a meal

Puppy
Loving eyes
Rub close

Horses limbering
Stride gracefully long torsos
Grass feed grain joy

Human
Intellect
Malice

Human
Origi-
nal Sin
Varied Haiku structures
568 · Sep 2013
The ladies have moved on
Steven Fried Sep 2013
You were with me.
That was true.
It happened; do not deny it.
Don't deny. Don't forget.
Leave it be. Don't touch it.
Put it on a shelf; stand next to it; and then staple yourself to the floor.
Forever in that moment is where you belong.
I can move on. You can not. You are not Allowed to.
I can scan; you can not. The field is mine. You are Benched.
This double standard is ripping us apart.
Or maybe, we're already torn.
No, we've been torn since we started.
565 · Nov 2014
What is your name?
Steven Fried Nov 2014
What’s your name?
Does it have a sensuous timber?

Like Nina, and nuance- necessity, and
No nonsense numb love

Like Rayna, and rapture,a release, and
Rending/rupturing by a rasp in the
dark

Unending length and infinitesimal declaration of love and hate
It's ulcerating in your mouth and
unsteadying in your bones

Your name is like two future lovers
Hands inching hungrily
For the first touch, they graze
Slightly at first, slowly, playfully
Dancing lithely in a crowded room
Groping and touching fingertips and skin
And then the fingers interlock

Hand muscles contract to such a degree
That your intentions
Shine

And for the ephemeral and ultimate
The silent inching explosion of passion
Is the universe
563 · Sep 2013
Immortal Spring
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Immortal spring trickle dry
flower blooming petals fall brown
a spry dog hops his last skip
or good leather falls apart
fresh pen run out
a pea wrinkles up
the hare finishes last
the loaf goes stale
solitary confinement wastes away
let the last breath pass
Will there be a soul to cry?
559 · Jun 2013
Dreaded Cure
Steven Fried Jun 2013
I’ve been cured of my passion, my drive, my power.
Where has my sickness gone?
The push behind my brain, the pressure upon my artistic uvula has been relieved.
  
I threw up words, stanzas, poems.
I barfed- poetic-*****.
Pure-unadulterated *****
I was content, fulfilled- or rather- emptied.
The bug has flown from its host; my well has run dry

I don't wish to be cured
I want to *****, puke, ****- more lyrics than ever before.
The world is in need of sick poets, deathly ill individuals.
What sick vaccine is eradicating our precious uncommon cold?

A cleansed world is one without expression, without freedom, and without the most beautiful and necessary illness we fondly christen as: Poetry.
556 · Sep 2013
Teddy Bear
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Teddy Bear
Childhood capsule
Chewed fur lost glass round eye
dragged along on muddy mine fields
Best Friend
544 · Jun 2013
Poetry is not a joke
Steven Fried Jun 2013
Poetry is not a joke
Wanna get metaphysical?
Wanna express yourself?
Wanna be real?
Wanna let the world know your pain?
Wanna let the world feel your happiness?
Wanna share your triumphs and tribulations?
Do it.
Live, love, feel, share.
Poetry is a joke; the punchline is, that it's the most important joke ever told.
543 · Jul 2013
Katzrin
Steven Fried Jul 2013
Roots of Judaism
Thick as the pillars
Solid as the ancient stone
Sempiternally grip as a testament
To the growing nation
Sixth century tradition

These roots burgeon a tree
We are leaves
We fall
Among dead legends like the millions before us
We turn to dust

The tree of Judaism remains
The flag flies, the sun rises
We stand in defiance
Barbarically attacked
Our tree pruned
The roots of Judaism run deep

Pray for the country, my country
Pray for the nation, my nation
Pray for the people, my people

For I am Jewish and my roots run deep,
I lie among legends
Wreathed in tradition and community
543 · Aug 2013
Hyde Park 2
Steven Fried Aug 2013
Bikes pass the green park bench.
Arabs in Armani Express outerwear circle the natural beauty; I watch.
Demur English women plod past in ones, twos, and groups of elegance and young simple folly.
They breathe the freshness in, and again, I watch.
Aged men play with their grandchildren in the field.
I recline.
They see me watching, they all do, even the sun…
English boys with coifed hair cycle by in expensive jeans and extravagantly matched shirts run, bike, walk, stroll, and I watch.
Hyde Park is the richest public good that has become… or maybe always was…
The milieu for different races, ages, and sexes to converge, collapse, and coexist.
And for men to sit on green benches,
watching… and writing.
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