Infamous one
Infamous one
Apr 17, 2013

I've down played my ego changing everyday
Not listening to any other voices but my own.
Not into the drama or rigged games
I spent my time away instead of wasting away
I give it to god he will provide no need to hide stay true
Others can be cruel even if they don't know you
I let the bad fade away start to make my own way
I've learned to love it's hard to trust
I forgive but it's hard to forget hate being stuck living with regret
One more time on my own this time I survive and grow.

tread
tread
Mar 30, 2013

till the tips all
wither and
die.

I saw Brussels for the first time yesterday.
It is a sad place.
Eating Brussels Sprouts may extend your life,
John F McCullagh

Eating Brussels Sprouts may extend your life,
but it will be a long life of eating Brussels sprouts.
Be careful what you wish for!

allye
Feb 6

Sitting in the darkest corners of my thoughts,
I've never felt such clarity.
As if the nothingness made me feel more
Than what life could ever provide me.
Its void reminds me of my own
Reality trickles down my spine like cold embers.
I try to ignore the whispers of my mind
As they speak to me of a time I've long forgot
And the cold fire it made me feel
A cold fire that made me sick
The cold fire that made me be.

Sarina
Sarina
Apr 7, 2013

Said, I can show you around the blackberry bush –
I planted it last summer, you know, that June you coasted
to university and stopped having crushes on cousins.

Said, you grew your hair long.

I toss it out the window many mornings:
dewdrops as a conditioner and tease strollers with
a crease by my armpit you like(d), my flab on the side –
I impress others now, men cling to the bottom of my skirt
and suckle on the hem to make each thread fray.

Said, but your knees feel dusty up against mine.
There is no big wide world, no plum summit skies below
the cuff of another person’s dress shirt –

just a watch. Remind me how much time I have left
until extinction, no hand held or hug goodbye:
this is a kingdom where nothing can die
and when it does, seeds are sown in the pelt of your heart.

Said, no, I bred this world for the fireflies.

Said, there are berry-droppings on your chin.
You look as if you’ve eaten licorice or caught lung cancer;
I wish you had, I wish I had never called you sugar.

Unlimited essence of floatation
The slow turn of rotation
Flying across the vast stitched multiverse
Extreme wave of beauty, but with a curse
So large, infinite if you will
Though, at float I am, still
Moving towards a planet
Gazing deep within it, I can tell it is stranded
The low gravity warped around my astral shell
Not enough to send me to a dwell
Paralyzed as its beauty is spectacular
The dark, purple atmosphere moves upon deeper into my soul
Absorbing and soaking its cosmic realm, my eyes center towards a trickle of light
A shine calling upon my invite
Invitation towards the 3rd Heaven
Still trapped within the box
The 2nd Heaven
Leaning closer, my aura and the planet's begin to lock
An increase of gravity as it embedded
Embedded a mere astral body on towards a new oasis
The closer I began, I noticed how my eye was so basic
Or was it
Creating barriers, I mustn't
Now upon the barren, desert soil
The dim black and purple formed as crystals
A plant sprouting, as the roots coil
Gazing upon the birth of one's self, a force trickles
Awaken from the deep slumber of meditation
A possibility of an infinite number of myself brings an essence of incredible invasion
Or perhaps, I'm moving forward within my soul
Moving closer towards a reality-based goal

#soul   #deep   #trippy  
Danny Adams
Danny Adams
Oct 27, 2013

I don't know what to do with my life right now
I am an abstract thought fleeting from my mind
And every aspect of me is running away faster and faster each minute
Each second each hour each goddamn day
I can feel myself slipping away
When you're a kid
You don't think about this type of shit
You just live
Life is life
C'est la vie
The French have a word for every goddamn feeling
I swear it
If only I could speak French maybe
it'd make writing poetry a bit easier
But it will never get easier
Because poetry is life
And with each word you extend yourself
You extend the years to come with this poem
A single poem
A single stansa
A single
Word

And within that word a thought can sprout
But with water and time that thought can become work
And with work and effort you give birth
To a beatiful goddamn poem
Filled to the brim with emotion
and strength
and power
and fear
and loss
and hope
and dreams
and pride
and envy
every sin in the damn book
written onto a blank white page
You dissected yourself before a crowd
And you open and pull your guts out to only have them shoved back in
by ungrateful
undeserving
undead
flesh eaters
because thoughts are the flesh of your brain
the meat
and the words are the substance
the minerals of this poem
the good
And they may taste bitter and they may come out hard
but when they sit in the stomach of your reader
and digest
and crumble and decay
and die again
and again
and again
you live
you become the eternal worm
you become the everlasting fruit
you become the demon that your parents and your pastors
and your lovers and your friends and your family
and your pets and your dreams and your goddamn thoughts warned you about
because knowledge is power
and power corrupts
and thinking is evil
so be a villain in the most beautiful sense of the phrase
and live and please
please live
longer than this poem ever will

as soon as these blue speckled
socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit
runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up
a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon
body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little
cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.
Just these blue socks are left.

Written Sitting against an Oak tree outside of a family friend's farm in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin
Daffodil sprouts say spring, yet the weatherman says not
Skip Ploss
Skip Ploss
Mar 18, 2013

Daffodil sprouts say spring, yet the weatherman says not

Crocus sprouts unaware of the snow that is coming soon
Skip Ploss
Skip Ploss
Mar 6, 2013      Mar 7, 2013

Crocus sprouts unaware of the snow that is coming soon

 
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