I say life is painful and dreary
As it’s difficult to fully live
When not well equipped
Through a journey not chosen

Lost hope in a torturous struggle
For being misunderstood
With emotions uncontrolled
And dictating every move

So I change angle and look for the good in things
I try - “get a grip”  - as people tend to say
But difficulty remains
When others take the lead

So, with tracks of tears
Deeply ingrained
My journey remains decided
But not by me

So be prepared and well-equipped.
mj cusson
Nov 2, 2012

Calamity is a storm of icy rain and striking fires.
Casting you about in a boat of your own design and build.
Preparing for the approaching storm with a firm rutter.
And you will survive, only if though willed.

Calamity is a renegade goat of raging fury and slyly forte.
Hammering its way into you aiming for the throat of your own girth.
Heat and eat hearty meals to be able to retort.
And you will survive, and be of worth.

Calamity is a surprise, you cannot see it’s approach.
So be prepared and well-equipped.
Stomp it out like a fire or upon a roach.
And you will survive, through your own wit.

Time is going so fast now
I am trying to keep up
yet I know I am killing me
for I am going all the way

Don't worry for I am well equipped
for I am a child of war
I am one hell of a fighter
I know not the word Defeat

I am forever a servant to words
may I die still writing
and who wants to challenge that
Let's have a bath in baby oil

I am the bad boy of Poetry
and I live and die by it
for I will do what I have to
for I am going all the way

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

RJ Days
RJ Days
Jan 17

We dryly sweat when she with maiden tongue
Rebukes with haste the wicked ways of men
For all do writhe and feel most tort'rous stung
When from calm lips eschew our mortal sins

Are we not well equipped to follow rules?
When now the forms of long ago return
And look to us who do not come as fools
For time and heart require no subtle burn

But ne'er was one brought down too far from grace
To cry from fear alone with need to flee
For deepest cuts spur us to upward race
And that which does not kill will make us free

When deep within our souls we still believe
That curse of hope is still our best reprieve

I’m trying to acquire a taste for black coffee
But the bitterness of it just seems to resonate
All too well with this heart in my rib cage.
And I’m learning how to sleep alone
The sheets on your side of the bed stay cold
But I have to learn how to tackle the nightmares
All on my own. You won’t always be there,
Well equipped to shoot down the demons.
I’m building up my own artillery,
I spend most of my afternoons at the shooting range.
I cannot continue to rely on an unreliable army
So I must learn to rely on myself.
This black coffee stains my teeth
I’m dropping weight again, it seems,
But my outward appearance is none of my concern
I have an entire enemy base to shoot down
While I build up a defense of my own.
Perhaps it is better to win this one alone.

Chasity Moreno
Chasity Moreno
Sep 13, 2013      Sep 14, 2013

Raw and straight
It is something without hate
It's a new feeling
I'm enthralled
He speaks with charisma
And I'm oh so involved

I guess I can fly
Because he makes me feel so high
He shows his care
A passionate delight
A single person in this mass world
But I can see his might

If he were to ask me what I feel
I'd say what was real
It might be too early some can say
But what is time
In relation to love
It doesn't even rhyme

I wasn't searching for it
Not well equipped
But here it is
Gracefully soft
I'm at the bottom of a mountain
With a view from aloft

I put it out there. I don't even know what this poem is. What is this poem? I don't know.
Monica Abigail
Monica Abigail
May 2, 2012

your life experiences
out surpass mine by a long shot
with your run ins with cops,
drug life and women
and spontaneous outbreaks of brilliance.
you scare me
on a level that is
unknown to me.
i suppose this is another case
of my brain turning it's wheels and gears
into overtime and then some.
i fear you'll soon realize
i'm not as incredible
as you believe i am,
if you haven't already
and i hate that
people (women) are getting
so frustrated over something
that is so menial.
i suppose.
maybe if i was one of "those" girls,
i would try to be what i expect you to want
but that's just a never ending circle
of guess and check
which i'm not very well equipped for.
i keep getting this overwhelming feeling
in the pit of my stomach
and i don't know what to do with it
but i know you're to blame.
give me a prescription
or something.
i do care about you
entirely too much
and i know you care about me as well
but where will i end up
when a newer model is formed?

Anubis the Philosomancer
Anubis the Philosomancer
Feb 5, 2013      Feb 6, 2013

Living and dying
are not so dissimilar from
swimming upstream
and being pushed
by the current

It is not a matter of
how well equipped you are
to swim upstream,
It is, however,
a matter of application.
Death is a wondrous thing:
not in that I envy the dead
but in that it so defies language.

Death, of itself, is a rather dull topic. Uninteresting.
But the implications of the asymmetrical nature of Life
reflect many of those we theoretically deduce and induce of the Universe itself.

We, and all the things around us,
are but spontaneous expressions and manifestations
of that which defies description.

We arise, we exist, and we return again.

It defies description not because no one has experienced it,
or because we don't try to translate it when we do experience it,
but rather because no one has the capacity
to translate this experience
into the languages we happen to use
such that
it can be shared with others
much less
become common knowledge.
(Assuming also that others would be willing and able to understand)

In fact, I feel that we've all died already.
Maybe once, maybe an infinite number of times.
We just can't seem to recall it,
and even if we do,
it mocks us with it's ineffability:

I feel that death is the inevitable night
from which one awakens
at the dawn of the day of one's Life.

Circles beget Spirals.

Well-equipped with lightweight armour and claymore,
Jordan Dean Mystery Ezekude

Many legends there be back in days of old;
Legends of bold knights upon their noble steeds.
This be a tale starring a knight and his steed
As one and the same.

'Twas in the Renaissance city of Poitiers
The prodigy of a holy knight was born;
Sir Nathanëal of the Salomon bloodline,
Lineage of victors.

He bore the heart and voice of an archangel
And the loyalty of a priest to his God.
No other horse he rode but his first and last;
Dear "Divinitus."

Alas, his loyalty had cost him dearly
In the midst of the Battle of Moncontour.
Thus came the end of Nathanëal Salomon.
Or so it had seemed.

By the hands of benevolent sorcery,
Nathanëal and Divinitus lived again,
This time sharing a peculiar physique
Of both man and horse.

Thus, blessed with fur of white and a mane of gold,
Well-equipped with lightweight armour and claymore,
He walked the outskirts of France slaying evil
As both knight and steed.

Here is my very first sapphic which I wrote as part of my homework for Tees Achieve Creative Writing.


© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
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