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Ian Stern Oct 2015
Insight bloats the rotund sun,
Energizing everyone.
In the effort to be different,
We are similar.
Shackled to this broken system,
Still it's prisoner.

It fades as it forms ,
As we're freed,
from our own hands that hold.

It fades as it forms,
As we're freed,
From the storm and reborn

As crooked as its crooked center,
As a symbol of surrender.
Tears that fill a forlorn corner,
I lost so much as I got older

Where i was and,
What I wanted.
How bad it burned, and
How I forgot it.
Third Eye Candy Oct 2012
These soft stones you call stars
claw at ravens, underneath the skull of your irony.
We are not without our useful futilities -
That function as the only spiral
of our narrow chasm

yawning in the wicked mist that tingles in the nerve-dead breath, your charms are few -
well met    and the hour has lost it's keening dread...
Where the hourglass slept -

Things are not the things we name things, alas
Our lexicon corrupts the numb jest -
the dumb joke that chokes the joy out of dominion
and bloats the vulture
till it simply

explodes.

You're next.
gothicc Oct 2014
Toys get lost.
So-called "best friends" cost
much more than ere thought.

Flowers wilt.
She felt gross in kilts;
too tall, like on stilts.

Santa: ****.
Rain annoys the roof.
Wishes on a hoof.

Soda bloats,
so do root beer floats
and ice cream boats.

People die.
I still wonder why...
They're too tired to cry?

Money's spent.
Must speak eloquent,
yet not what she meant.
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
some people might cite you that slavery had disappeared,
not to my knowledge,
         it was a wednesday at my local supermarket,
and there was only one male in the place, a manager,
and only women stacking shelves and sitting at the tills...
it really looked like all the men were laid off...
         well... what with the export of manual labour
to china... what sort of man would want to stack shelves
for a lifetime? it's not exactly coal-mining,
it's not something his body is used to doing...
                   he stacks supermarket shelves,
       and then watches modern day "gladiators"
break the sweat and have a lean body...
                                              women can stack supermarket
shelves...
                  men? they need physical ambition...
     women can have that, when being pregnant...
then this old strytoczała "******" of a woman tries
to encompass small-talk with my purchase...
    - would you like me to pack your bags?
- no no, i'm fine...      
               all i have is a rucksack, a bottle of ***,
a bottle of ms. pepsi. and a bottle of ale...
                 i can't do small-talk, i never know why people
would even bother with it... it's easily disposable...
       but it's a wednesday in my local supermarket,
and there's only the male manager, and the rest of the employees
are female...
                    imagine seeing men moaning like women
in the easy-sector of physical exertion...
       there's absolutely no reward for them!
                             what the **** are they doing?
     something akin to housework, knitting, or gardening,
arranging "flowers" / packaging in the most satisfying formation...
    have they all left for australia to work in the outback?
i wish they had...
              i buy my *****, a fat employee is buying
sugar snacks and ready-made meals...
                and i'm thinner than he is... even though i know
that alcohol bloats you up a bit...
                 but what sort of men are you breeding?
in india they'd be called the untouchables...
                 in england? they're called the disposables.
oh slavery hasn't died... it just evolved, morphed...
    it's called a 0 hour contract...
         and you know what that is? right?
        you're aiming at: poodle!
                             you earn an hour's worth of employment
whenever they want you to come in for work,
and if they don't want your labour? you're back
at zee-ρ: yep... 0. like kant said: 0 = negation...
     western societies lied about a need for labour...
    forget the hegelian master & slave relation...
      it's more        parasite & host these days...
        am i a social justice... thingy?
                                isn't it a form of slavery?
the worst kind... it's not like you have to be constantly present,
like house-service, and have a constant form of "employment"...
the new whip is the clock that has no synchronisity
with, any form of responsibility...
          if this isn't slavery, guided by spontaneity,
then i'd rather be an african-american in the south prior
to the civil war... at least i'd be fed, day by day with some
sort of rigour, some sort of structure...
         where are all the men gone to?
     so you think a strong chimp mating with a weak woman
will provide a strong chimp?
     just another ****** working a 0-hours contract...
come here poodle... pooh pooh... come back on friday
    and work 5 hours... we might call you back in 4 days to
work 7 hours...
                      **** me... and i thought my jokes were bad...
but this 0-hour contract "innovation"...
    you're basically opening a can of worms, or at least
summoning the spirit of pandora...
       you're really summoning a bunch of crazy *******...
  and that's not even islam...
               islam is going to be a softcore version of violence
these ******* will be programmed into...
    you're going to be talking ***** films, ******* gang rapes...
i know i would, be reduced to that sort of level
if i was on a 0-hour contract... fair enough if you're a woman...
but take metallurgy from men, or other types of production
that makes their physical strength utilised to an exertion
that competes with athletes... and you take that away...
  they either get fat... or they go mad...
    and that's mad in the casual sense of exercising violence...
but of course you sold us out to the chinese...
       and if you try to retract that "chess" move now?
well... we number a few millions... they have a billion willing
conscripts to overwhelm these lands....
       the german third *****? that's candy-floss compared
with what might come.
    but yeah... thank you very much... i'm with the dodo project;
and my my, ain't this spiced ***, just fine?
Jeremy Betts Oct 2019
(political)

I can almost guarantee the powers that be own a most coveted secret
A key to our mortality, a complete rid of social duality, a newly constructed exit on the set of this twisted skit
Can you imagine it? That'd be one heck of an achievement, almost a magic trick, especially for this government
But a magician never tells! They keep it so far under wraps you can't even peep it like some area 51 type sht
Like buried treasure at the bottom of a filled sand pit, no map, no opportunity to find it
You're not even allowed to know about it's existence much less that the stories of it are legit
It's right there, in the small print on the bottom of every voter pamphlet
I don't know if that part is true but I wouldn't put it past them or doubt it for a minute
They never speak it out loud, never leak it nor tweet it #youdontknowshitaboutsh
t
You feed on your feed, the algorithm arithmetic, all the mind numbing bull sht
You forget the outrage over something like Charlotte too quick, makes me physicaly sick
I'll point out that it's largely due to strategic fluff stories from the puppet at you're local news outlet
The same bigot that's probably got an audio booklet cassette on deck
Explaining in detail how to be completely wrong and still politically correct
I get more credible info on current events from the cashiers down at the corner market
The talking box force feeds you this toxic banquet, I've seen it prepared so I'd steer clear of the brisket
They flood the market to keep you off target, to stop you from forming any kind of argument
To stop you from asking yourself if they are the solution to the problem or a part of it
Truth and lies on both sides inviting me to sit but I run the gauntlet
A tactical gambit, there is no quit like a bad habit, I've kicked the social media vise, you haven't
Fear is a typical sidekick but that's what got us in this predicament, permanently visibly upset
Messing up the placement of priorities, becoming complacent with corrupt authorities and it's evident
We offer up our thoughts and prayers then get distracted by an ice bucket?
Subconsciously saying f
ck it I guess as they hurd you off topic with the rest of the simple minded public

Here's a challenge to get behind, why don't you try to expand your mind?
"But I have guy, I'm color blind" a preprogrammed "progressive" response strategically timed
But you'll find that those mindless sayings quickly become the shackles that bind
And cause a divide by the combined efforts of trying to confuse and misguide
And trying to cover up the line they should have never crossed but you can't be kind and rewind
Any and all opposing views or educated ideas get disregarded like a watermelon rine
You look at this dysfunctional timeline and say it's fine? Are you out of your dang mind?
This problem defines the word problem but our county lying in a chalk outline is too real of a news headline
Fear is again what's driving mankind as credibility starts a fast decline, like a Boeing Max airline
It's more like a drop off, a Saturday morning cartoon kind with a cliff edge right before the finish line
Stuck in first gear as we redline through the confines of what they try and say is benign
Can't enjoy the ride while blind cause that's when you'll get blindsided, now paralysed with a broken spine
I saw the sign but you're oblivious every time, tweeting comfortablely from table nine
Soaking in a brine of lying swine, greedy bovine, salt from the grape vine but no thoughts you can claim as "mine"
It's a sad history we say we've left behind but we're still riding it with the thrill of a first Valentine
We redesign the facade after every indecent like Columbine and think that'll do fine but that thought in its self is asinine

An empty statement with good intention deserves no attention, not even a mention
But that's what is given over and over again and some don't even see we're headin' in the wrong direction
Directly to gettin' skull ******, takin' ***** to the chin and we've given permission
Here, just for you, let me paint my vision, my interpretation of every villain within those white walls of sin
Yup, that's right, turns out it's modeled after the famous painting of the last din-din
That's to say it's a portrait of every Democrat and Republican, from now to back then
Back from the moment this little experiment began, way back when
They welcome your frustration hoping that by the end you'll abandon your mission of self preservation
By throwing in the towel with the sink from the kitchen
Yoda esq sage advice can't be given if, for one, no one seems to listen and two it's all gone missin'
Ahhhh, that's cute, your all insistin' you had a hand in each and every decision
But you're just siftin' through fake news, wishin' for break throughs, this isn't livin', this is survival and the lines thin
And hand on the bible I can't promise or pretend we'll win cause once we get that tail spin a goin' it's out of our control again
Got you btchin' about it the entire time but never taking action
A worthless, regurgitated post now brings a job well done type of satisfaction
So while the world burns around you you're convinced you've done your part and mastered the equation
You've gone and put your 100th phrase in, time to sit back relaxin', waitin' for your empty praise to come in
Self worth and entitlement bought for a bargain, actually, you glide in and take it when no one is lookin'
It doesn't belong to you but of course you deserve it more than him, am I right? Sure I am
A moral compass no longer a good life's linchpin, good and evil lookin' like twins in the same discount bin
But when you start conversatin' about how bad you've got it, I hear the worlds smallest violin start playin'

THIS SH
T IS NOT GOING AWAY ON ITS OWN FOLKS
As our world coughs and chokes and everyone pokes and breaks the rotten yolks
Sitting in a rancid environment, we take tragedy and twist it into jokes
Then back peddle saying everyone copes differently with the hopes that the real you stays out of public scopes
It's crazy that facts seem to be what provokes outrage from one side as the other side claims it's a hoax
An abundance of fake news cloaks the real issues and gets us to turn on our kinfolks
We see them toss the stick into our bike spokes but still believe when they say "it was definitely those other blokes"
How is it we know it's smoke and mirrors but everyone still takes it in with deep tokes
What we witness everyday should be what invokes change but we can't change anything with empty keystokes
It's good to stand for something but now we need to move forward before we're clear cut like old growth oaks
And it won't just be one side or the other that croaks, no, this divide stokes our collective demise as our head bloats
It somehow strokes our ego as we think we traverse the high road but can't steer, flying with no yokes
We pray that we can at least stay above water but nothing so poorly put together floats
Take notes cause if history repeats itself we're on a crash course with diminishing hopes
Which will leave only a shell of what we use to be as a country, nothing inside like empty envelopes

©2019
PK Wakefield May 2010
hot womb blooms
                                "'time is an in-finite mother'"
bursting  belly bloats
withs
econds
creaming
rand
reams
          they cry out
for release
  trapped in hollow tight
but
      they burn
but a second
                      before
smothered by                             passing
                                 kin
smoking from             that                           kiln
Andrew Rueter Jan 2018
I drive all night
The only way I know how to fight
I drive all night
To search for light

I noticed a possum
I thought it was playing dead
Until blood blossomed
Like a flower out of its head
My vision flooded by red
My heart filled with dread
My mortal anxiety only grew
When I realized I have blood too

I hear the deer
They're busy snickering and bickering
While my emergency lights are flickering
They scatter in different directions
After possible danger detections
They are timid and meek
They hide in remote foothills
People see them as weak
Because their kind doesn't ****

I followed a mad rabbit
That made a bad habit
Out of always running
And digging holes
It thought it was cunning
And made of gold
Until a predatory eagle
Made it feel less regal

I witnessed a raccoon eating and called it a thief
The next day I saw it lying dead in the street
Did my erroneous blame
Lead to its execution?
That's part of the game
In this institution

Every step
Could mean death
Just by making noises
You're making choices
There are jaguars and elephants in some places
There are humans in others
Predators have different faces
They could be your brother

On this darkened road
I reach a sedentary mode
When I approach a herd of stray cattle
In my mind there is a reciprocal battle
I could ******* a saddle
I know where to prophetically lead them
But the path of least resistance is freedom
Is it really right to use disciplinary order
To keep them within a fenced border?

This road is a loop
That passes by farms of no fruit
Or vegetables for that matter
Yet we somehow get fatter
Society bloats while it starves
Because we refused to see the signs that were carved
So mothers start crying
And vultures start flying
Because everyone is dying
We're always making new recruits
To drive along this predatory loop
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
anon Apr 2018
let me tell you how it all happened

they'll tend to tell you bullies caused it
or that everyone has the same experience
and it starts because
other people
forced it to

but what i have to tell you
is that i did it to
myself
i'm a turncoat
to my own flesh

i would look in the mirror and see
a gut
and suddenly
that was all i could see

no matter if my calves were toned
or my arms were sticks
i saw that gut
or my
curdled thighs
and that was all

so i'd say i wasn't hungry
or i'd "sleep" through a meal
and i'd work extra hard at practice
pretend i wasn't always run down

and even if i'd pass out
or struggle to stay awake
i'd pretend like it was sleep
i was depriving myself of sleep

and you know that cycle
in every anorexic girl's story
where her body bloats before it thins
because it's trying to protect her

i went harder in that stage
so i could lose the weight that made me a 2
instead of 00
and i would cry myself to sleep
because i was in pain
mental
and physical

but i couldn't stop the
taunts
i gave
myself

my dad would tell my friends
to make sure i would
eat
but i never listened

and now i look back
and see my former shell-f
a self that had no self
a self that was only

a shell

a turncoat

anorexic
Fay Slimm Oct 2016
The breast of the sea swells tonight
as her efforts to rise, heightened
by great heaving breaths, break her skin
like inflated balloons, topped thinly
with spume, sea bursts in labour.
She roars, tries suppressed pitch to gain
the shore, finds her efforts are checked
then sweeps out once more, tumbling
somersaults over herself, grumbling
with submarine thunderly sounds.
Begets disorder by flinging herself round,
sea bloats, yet moving no slower,
bellows ignored, her foaming tears flow
down watery frills and rollers make
naught of revealing  her saline-stained face.
Sea-swell intends to bare all this night-time
in majestic embraces with Spring tide.
Danielle Rose Jun 2013
I am lost in a space I cant claim
with shape shifters playing some twisted little game
and I have been pawned into the unknown
Far from any sort of counsel
With silent watchers eyeing my back
Sizing me up to see what I lack
As if I've been put to a test
I cant tell if I've been granted some sort of pass or sentence
As I cling to the fringes of my past
Holding onto the false security I never truly had
and love is lost in midst of this war
Is it myself or someone else trying to settle some score?
Is this heaven's gate or the fires of hell?
What's one without the other?
My skin bloats and swells
As the sea lightly salts my skin
Will I be eaten alive or am I learning to swim?
The question is where I'll go from here
Does the path lead to clarity or am I forever caged in confusion?
Ken Pepiton Dec 2021
Can't you do anything right?
As a nation, my we, my act I made up,
as a mind, as bear
me, the big ol' teddy bear I became
when she wed me,
as she did… yes, she did

my awesome new creature, some how
lost all hope of wind
change, whistled away,
the courage departed at the first, estimation-

- interupture, bloats out, bic bubble,  popped in
- this stream to rewind the new mine, sparkfire
- mine, me, I whistled that very tune, go
that rock song about a river in Russia,---
not then, now, then

I got angry, a gift I gave, was rejected, my god,
wombed man, what must I do to know
as you know, knowing good and evil?
- where did I miss,
- I gave, oops, an iron.
- I called it a gift, but it was a common tool
- we needed in those early days of suits and ties.
But when I got angry, at the rejection, I slipped
into a schema, a modulation, in a wave… a point
- this was that point, ever once began with
Green satin sheets, a gift too
slippery,
not a point a foul, judged evil,
no good at all.

Knowing, if I do know, y'know
like what one
might know,
once, upon a taste,
slow chew, soft chew to taste, something
in this other tree
is new, new as any new shown thing
in this new polity
state, a new being, yes. this is it.

Make up a mind, or find one ready
made to take you in, and you cease
to be
you.

--------- later, we take up these qwerty codes
as in olden time

signals, modulation rhythmic silent letters
sounding
----
time and space, as the vehicle, the bubble,
we live in, or on, or as a part,
perhaps, of a we, awe-ish,
we function as a piece, in the whole idea
holy,
fill it, fill the hole, fill the empty, whither
nothing was and now,

I see, I am.
Where nothing was, I am, now
seeing as I am
where nothing was, am I as
nothing, open source
spirit, in a word, mayhaps,
may has always
been your way to go, we say
may be could be, no permission,
no mission maybe, go,
this is the message, the medium we be in.
Certain,
something is real, as real as any angelos,
as an os
developed to reach Lex Fridman, as an an-
swerving answer found
round that prickly little hedgehog facsimile
wink, past, flash glimpse
sense,
eh, bow, oops,
wow, I ran into the strong man in Iran
ascriptural blockage bear trap for lying spirits
Where Persia yoostabe, I managed to slip
through on a green sheet, that flipped
over time into an invitation, to a party
three weeks ago. Missed it.

Daniel's message read,
Excused. How could you cogitate the ways
time and chance twist the dance to seem
a tangle of possibilities, burnt satin
ash of things that never mattered, spirits
unprecipitated, Red Spot, Ted Talk, chalk
it up to another Warholian pro-phecy
or pro- fessing fident confi dense ity, we
inspire con-spiritstory-aspirations, toward awes.
as we beingspirits, at most, we make wind in the
bubble, we heirs of breath y nada mas,
we breathe meaning, even, average, virtue, which is
virtually an idle word in many tongues, virtue is
"moral {moral, really, what is that?
-AI says they may use the same tool,
-in an ever where chess is infinitely played, let them learn}
Lex's AI reads Hello Poet- tryal
-link, link, think, reader, first reader, mora-
more more more or, no, now define,
- the point-
show
strength,
high character,
goodness;
manliness;
valor, bravery,
courage (in war{LIE, I cry, war, morally, repulsive,
I talk back to war as my moral use of courazonic
minds erupt in matters consci-ence
weighing the worthy breath
versus the empty breath});
excellence, worth,"
from vir "man" (from PIE root *wi-ro- "man").

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=virtue&ref=searchbar_searchhint>

Wierdo, dam, vvery wary are we, mere winds in minds
that never matter, participate - no price, appraise
an angel, a message, nada mas participate in
precipitation, frost warmed forms morning dew
drops, and those, flow after,
dropping plop, into this river of no returns,
royal flush. Try to or try et?
Po-et-ry…,
like Whiskey and Rye, why must something
hold the spirit of that thing
to taste a worth of trying again,
and try… in order
Think; I think, commas mean breathe, and ; these
are winks. I betcha, what Jesus would do, were you
to ask him, what is real, as real as any jibril jargon,
he would grammarwise as alwise, use a sign;
like that, quicken,
a wink, a thought cast to ever, after, as the games
expand, who wins, Al ai ai, bet on i-,
ante-up, you work the odds.

You think we think
winning is a numbers game, lots cast to exchange
worth of my time, packeted, as
words, mere breaths we may refine to mean
truth trumps love, as rock breaks scissors,
and we laugh, due to winning
requiring laughing
as the healing begins anew,
we live and breathe this spiring material,
eh, mater
mmma ma material matters of time and chance,
prayers are
living stories, packed in lines. Use of knowing,
learning how, conscientious, with sci use, be knowing
next-ifity acts as if
neti, neti is not an honest answer, it can be honed
to pierce the acting reality,
and leave us blowing in the wind.
To all in the good fight, I offer knowing
reproves instructions in war being wrong, not evil,
only not right.
War does no good, any polity it makes acts as
a destroying wind, with no mind of venging,
only raging, sound and fury,

and at the point of no hope, I think
I am and
still, after all
listing as a warming breeze, I make a joy
mmm and imagine
I enjoy you being, still, receiving grace,
gentle wisdom, nothing hidden, nothing broken
freedom defined as peace, shalom
taken as
bold liberty, no price, for truth, once known
remains
within the bubble we live and breathe in. You know.
When the battle was over,

the thought of war was blown away, we do that,
every day,
in certain conversations, as we pack parts and pieces
------------------------------

Ghost guns, spirit blades, hand to hand hand grenades,
not carnal, these cut and seal the deal.
Mortal being, live for ever, in a word, or many,
as many as survive the womb to die before
death, the second, as they count,
may hap occur once again, missed points,
that pierce the wrong lonely heart
and expose the image
on a single nanoparticle of silver
gleaming golden in the light.
AWS 502 errors, step aside, this is real poet trying to resuscitate
zebra Mar 2017
theres a juncture
a crossroad
ask
Papa Legba
voodoo god
doorway to the loa
and Baudelaire
poet extraordinaire
when youthful passions and eroticism are sullied
and pretty pretty flies away
from years used up
and gravities command
a slow draying
suffocates leaps of consciousness
and leaves in its wake
belly bloats sagging gut
callouses
****** lines
slowing metabolism
and a host of other accumulated degradations

cruel revelations unpeel the chilled soul
as the light of the body is eroded
by time
and the horror of solitude sets in

a conjunction of creeps moon and Venus
show us new enticements
Satan's *** nail
an independent morality
flowers of evil
the eroticism of aesthetic suffering.
like idle hands in something filthy to ******
the glistening buttery *** of youth gone by
and in its place
forbidden undulations of dark dreams
and the beauty of ****** horror

or what then may i ask
the imagine-less drab canvass
of the castrated high minded middle class?
Anmol Tyagi Aug 2016
The Smell  Of The Soil ,
Want us together,
and,the drops of rain make the smell more harder,
The harder smell of soil,
represent my extreme lust,
Don’t worry about smell,  
the drops will maintain it,
Let the hours to be passed,
just hold me like you never before,
Let our lips to be met,
because this great time again we’ll never get,
Oh! As our lips met,
the cloud roars,the rate of rain bloats,
This is the last time,just 1 hour more,
So, gaze me like you’ve never before,
Oh! rain stops times up,  
we can’t hold the time,
leave me now, look sun shines
No more mistakes, go away,
please don’t asking me to stay.
Amatus poet,
Anmol
Skye Blue Sep 2016
My bowl of cereal
Tastes like giving up
Every cheerio hits my stomach
With the finality of death.
When I'm full
I'm not pretty
I'm not thin
My stomach bloats
And I am disgusting.
Laxatives are my best friend
They'll wash everything away.
Stomach acid
Burns my throat
As I empty my stomach
Again and again
But true beauty is pain
And that pain is my beauty
Because I know I'll never be pretty
But maybe I can be
Skinny
Urbaniste Lost Feb 2010
I am a child
Starved for many days and nights
My belly bloats with hunger
It seems it could even swallow up
That beautiful harvest moon
That billowed across the sky
When we first fell
In love

I am the upper half of an hour-glass
Shrieking, shrieking
In silence
As the seconds of sand
Slide away
Abandoning my naked curves
As you did
I wish to take it back
Alas I have no hands
No arms to hold it
To hold you
To stop the flow
Of time

I am the sea
So vast is my emotion
So great is my desire
My hunger
My need
Is a foaming roar
Or an ocean storm
Black as hate
Terrifying
It crashes and smashes
The shore
In all its’ fury

But for all the food in the world
And the sands of time, of empires
Lost
Crumbled by the elements
I will not be appeased
My roars do crash
They fall
On deaf ears

The shore is cold
The shore is silent
The unforgiving rush
As the waters draw back
Tells me the tide will never end
JP Goss Nov 2014
This early winter has already slipped from the macadam,
Bloats the creek I see
From the perch of rusted manhole covers
Their tunnels rush with concrete.

It falls over the v-shaped Two-Log dam,
It whispers to me
I’ve come close to
Nothing, to nothing, to nothingness,

I’ve heard the babbling, the incomprehensible echo
Of my own voice
In the abyss of being, that, if I spoke
It taunted back, in a voice
Rife
With truth.

Redemption of solidity has me now,
This is where I grew up:
Along the same creek, along the flow and course of man
Crossing the winter’s water has proven
Test, trial, and victory
Every time. I never noticed it.

Apathy is a vague blur in the saccade of the last few years,
Self-destructed by the fault of feeling.
I am more human now, returning to the shores of limitation,
Of the piercing history
Still young, but wizened, hard, a court
At which I stood and begged for my head.

I have but my name now, and nothing to return to
But the temporary homes with temporary people.

If I said I don’t care, I was wrong. They were my temple,
But the god of me, the god of them, the god of sheer youthful joy
Has been overtaken by grapevines, by ivy

And I still proclaim victory, still proclaim
I won the fight of isolation.

From the frozen bed of silt and winter
I pull concrete chips from the bridge
They destroyed ten years prior, where once I stood
And added my sorrows to the ebon stream, carrying it
To the end of it, where end met end,
And continued on end-to-end.

But I have seen nothing and no end it quite like it,
For every shore has its mirror,
And beyond it is my voice, I cast out,
Calling back,
As it was.
Brent Kincaid May 2018
He’s an evil despot, tall and stout.
Call him a liar, watch him pout.
We want an impeachment to throw him out
Then we can line up and punch his snout.

He’s a changing despot, not much brains
He’d look better all trussed in chains
Then we could put Hillary in what remains
As she pulls all of us out of the drain.

Lying despot told us that he would make
Changes to drain the political lake.
Like most of his promises, it was fake
All he does is cheat and lie and take.

Lying pudgy despot claims he’s slim.
Not the last of the lies from him.
Feels he’s entitled to every greedy whim.
Every day in office it gets more grim.

Dizzy dippy teapot, lives for applause,
Just like a fat cat, he licks his paws.
Gobbling McDonalds bloats his jaws.
Millions of his minions support his cause.

Dumping Donnie Teapot a good solution
For a dangerous hater of the Constitution.
Let’s all get make a mid-year resolution
To run him off before there’s revolution.
Holly Salvatore Feb 2013
The nation's midsection bloats like a Mississippi fish in the sun.
Pauline Morris Sep 2017
Wanting feelings of warmth, but only ice instead
Done with the sorrow, I just want to be dead
Serious voices of suicide are singing through my head


Should I swing from a tree, in childhood they constantly saved me
Snuggly wrapped up in their limbs, a million books I'd read
Years were spent up above reality, the safest spot to be

Should I slice my wrist my throat, with my favorite knife
Many times I've felt it's bite, the lines on my body it's made rife
The smell of iron will be strong as red becomes black, an end of life

Should I drown, heavy blocks tied with the strongest rope
Water filled lungs, fish nibbling on my corpse when it bloats
Flower in an underwater garden, not sprawled in a dead man's float

Should I take a gun, get a good taste of cold hard steel
Shattering my cranium, my brains it will no longer conceal
Ending it all in the deep dark woods, has a strange appeal

Should I take some pills, lie upon the side of a mossy hill
Watching the birds in flight, till I feel deaths darkened chill
Suicide seems the only way out, stuck in my head, mentally ill


To my knees I drop
This rain never stops
Watching lightning from my rooftop

Wish I wasn't this way
Wish I had bright days
Wish in the sun I could play

Guess I'll see what comes my way
Guess I'll see how my life will sway
Guess I'll give this life one more day


But just in case I decide to jump instead of slide
Please believe me, I really tried

©Pauline Russell
gmb Feb 2021
something is turning, turning. it unfurls and bloats before me; unrecognizable, aside from the eyes. they were always the same. she looks healthier, i say. healthier half beat to death. i let myself grieve.

quiet, as always.
there’s never anything to
worry about, seriously.

(the dog inside me growls, thrashes and whips his chain, splits his maw on his confines.)


Anyway, it wasn’t that dark out yet. The moist, hot breeze licked at their shoulders as they walked home. They oozed in through the back door like smoke, sweating and cursing, I appeared in the living room like an apparition. The curtains were drawn. The TV was just static. It all happened in slow-motion—I see five skeleton fingers clutching cigarette butts, someone scuttles on the porch, the screaming door bursts open

And, yeah. That’s all I can really remember. Looking back, I feel like I should’ve remembered something like that, right? Yeah. That’s the type of thing someone remembers.
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Eaten Alive by Nothing

Surrounded yet alone,
Wasteland of desperation and despair,
Reaping rotting fruit, bloats, gnats, flyblown,
Longing, loneliness is never fair,

Lanterns and candle light to keep you warm,
Dancing shadows morph to devils,
Slitting despair bleeding, breeding ticks that swarm,
They feed and breed into hungry weevils,

Burrowing through chest to feed on carrion of rotting heart,
Also feeding on air from lung,
Heart along in solitude from ventricles shredded apart,
Alienating through truth, be still my lashing tongue,

Friends are always around,
Right until you need,
A lost letter of emotion sent outbound,
Lost but never found, devils take the lead,

Numb, in slowly boiling water like a frog,
Past scars of trauma a curse,
Can only feel so much before a clog,
Until you become cold, psychotic, or worse.

Break out the old smokescreen mask,
Smoke, laugh and smile,
Survivals your only task,
Foot in front of foot until your first mile,

Decaying down to skin and bone,
Each mile a greater distance,
Always harder when you’re alone,
Exhausted, running from the devils persistence,

Until a day you want to be alone
Quarantining spread this plagues fate of hate,
Feeling like happiness is just a loan,
Someone finally listens, too little, too late,

You hug your dark cloud,
With a thirst water doesn’t sate,
Ears covered, anxiety so, so loud,
Take a shot, a smoke, anything to placate,

An infested body no one wants close,
Insect army of traumas and abuses,
Each growing into a lethal dose,
At least for now, I still have my uses,
Lexander J Sep 2016
God look upon me, I so need you right now,
reveal your love, oh please please show me how,
I can't fight past this festering wall of decay
I'm tired, aching and lonely, I won't make it any other way

this heart you gave me is desperately ill
without your strength I'll wake in the morn to it still,
never have I had such luck with love, oh why,
do I find myself falling asleep begging to fade away, to die

you can't stop the tears that will no longer come
cupid's fell from grace, swapping his bow for a gun
and now here I stand as the moon lights up the callous skies
surrounded by deceit and pathetic lies

seeking reverence within cigarette smoke, my ignorance deadly to some
caring less and less, I think my time has come
to either forget the past and look to the future ahead
or to wallow in the self-pity that bloats my head

I'm so sorry for everything I've done wrong
I'm selfish, I'm self-loathing, I don't deserve it but for forgiveness I long -
my sanity is twisting, my honesty it crucifies and bends
for it seems any happiness I ever find goes away in the end

I'm not stupid, I know this is my last dance

oh Lord I'm begging you, please, give me another chance
Mark Penfold Jul 2016
What wondrous sights are these?
As yawning fauna wake from peaceful sleep and greet the morning breeze.
To fleeting birdsong rising up, which floats and bloats the air with ease,
Then escapes the canopies of ancient trees so tender, into rising Verdigris of splendour.
Upon a lazy English meadow scene, in summer time.
neth jones Aug 2020
all of this
    is addled
all of this is tamed
    behind clothed eyes...

Persists a sable seascape
            flotsam is cerebrum
   vast
a featureless osmotic cathedral
  distant of all
a sense deposed vault
        of the heavens muggy other

I am formation
   the information
         and I am blip within

a wink
Attention!
   notice from the euphoria
a gloss eye like obsidian
   perched
   alter praised pedestal
   lustcheivous spire
   with a height for a sky burial
   limpetted with devilish bloats

fractured
then it actions
                 lighthouse blinks ;
warm claps of welcome dishonesty
drum pats
              of a restorative oblivion
                                             escalate

in the other place
my bodies face
                   plates a smile
my body
      a slack slap of meat
         on a ***** clothes heap
my bodies head
                the vices lapsed child

back in the gourdular cavern the bloats loosen
and slip down spire into the sable conducting liquid
Odonko-ba Aug 2016
I can hear the sound of your heart
Beating viciously
Against my chest
Hard fast rhythmic beats

I can sense the blood
Pulsating your beautiful vein
Ah so sweet
The fear in your eyes
Submits to fatal flaws conceit

Escape futile
As the thought
That escapes your putrid little mind
Dissipates upon air unseen

You scream
One last attempt at independence
But you belong to me now

Drink of my vanity
Eat of my contempt
Until your belly bloats
Of my seed bursting at the seams
Expelling a magnificence
Never before seen

And they
My seed
Shall feast upon your flesh
Until dawn
Manifest itself
And consummates
The last remaining memory of you

For surely the sun shines bright
Upon a new day

I can still hear
The sound of your heart
Beating
Viciously

As it fades
An ode to Anne Rice The V. Lestat
THE CHALLENGE
(Day 3)
For many years I've fought to numb this pain
Each time I see you I break down again
Since that day you vowed you must know me, nothing has been the same...

Today I ran into you again
It's glaring nothing has changed

You are yet to be cured of the selective amnesia you only have when it comes to the sordid story of You & I
Still you can't look me for a micro second in the eye

You still tell that story so well, you must have found a pearl of your version of truth in your haystack of a lie,

Now you even got a daughter and a wife?
Have you really turned a new leaf, started a good life?
Or maybe you're just as good at this as your truthful lies.
I hate myself for letting you leave alive
How I turned a coward at the dying minute
Why I dropped that knife. I should have dropped it in you just above your last rib.

Could it have ended this rife?

Today when I was greeted by your wife
With a cheerful smile and a warm embrace
I wanted to tell her you are a disgrace
Tell her all you'd done but I couldn't, who was I to touch His anointed, a child of grace
I was the unsaved and angry, always allowing the devil to use me as a source of strife.

No one would believe me anyway
Every one I tried to tell in the past shut me up with a stern look as they wished me away.

Why didn't I turn on the light when you said I shouldn't
Maybe the size of that humongous sin that tore and filled me within would have scared me screaming into the night until someone came and told me it was alright but I was tonguetied all through the night

You said it was cause you loved me and I knew love was right
This one time love felt wrong worse than these words I'm fighting hard to write

You robbed me at six,
Of a cradle I was only familiar with yet so much I miss

I still cringe when they talk about ***
Remember, the last time you visited and took my number saying you'd call?
Never again did I imagine for your wiles I'd fall
But I fell for your lies again in desperate hope praying you'd call or text
Saying you're sorry cause you were a mess
But you really are a mess and lies are your emblem, deceit your crest
Do you really have peace? Do you ever find rest?

Look how you walked in today!
Your aunt's favorite nephew whom she had called to pray, unknown to her on her daughter you'd preyed.

Tirelessly for this one she'd waited upon and toiled
And that's the one you chose to soil?
Her essence, your spoil?

Oh Saul! How do you pretend to be a saint like Paul
All you've done is taint that pulpit you climb when you ought to be sent back to the pit from whence you came so maybe your cold heart might get warm from it's heat

I see how protective you are of that daughter you dote
How much this I loathe
The raging anger bloats

And some days I pray that like me someone right before your eyes will rob you and tear her up like you did me
The thought of it fills me with glee

Other days I wanna be there while I wish this dread upon you and watch you plea like I did for him to set her free...

Others days I pray for you
I pray when I say I forgive you it really will be true

But right now
I wanna be your guillotine
I wanna slice you thin
Watch you bleed
Bleed to death as to the vultures your carcass I leave to feed.

For your remains the earth will reject
And maybe even maybe your carcass the vultures and crow might neglect

r3d
17:27
27/10/17

#roadtorecovery
#everythingipretendtobe
#realrawandaimple
#we­learnasweteach
#writingright
#firesofr3d
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
The sun played its usual tricks on the leaves
putting colour and composition into autumns grandeur
but winter lurked just underneath this cosmetic skin
waiting to burst starflung into every crevice
where the ice remains as cold as a frozen temperament.

Deep within the earth the heart
of the seed will rest embraced by the long wait
to be ****** out of the earths womb into spring
where the soft sun and wind and rain
will reach out and grab the arms of the emerging shoot
claw it above ground and set it free into
the wide world of evolution.

Welcome the rain, remnants of noahs ark
that bloats the soil and sand and pulls the roots back
into the ground while coursing through the veins
of the resplendent tree reaching for the sky
and wind and wonder of life
and dressed in foliage and flowers
the kingdom of believers will arrive
to set foot under shade and succulent tube
to nourish themselves in bounty and beauty

Autumn will return from its journey
to touch a clock and take the baton
of beauty back again. A year gone.
Older. Wiser. Smarter.
Author Notes

A journey through the four seasons. It summer in New Zealand and sizzling. Its not the best summer to write about. Soon it will fall into the next cycle and all that I write about will repeat.

I took my dog, Petals for a walk yesterday. She always stops at one particular flowering bed and ferrets out-whatever. That's when the poem came to me.
Hope you enjoy the poem. To those caught in blizzards and ice and snow wherever, remember, there is beauty in that too! Just gotta love it-which ever way. Its nice to be alive.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Third Eye Candy Feb 2017
I can't go where you go and be there at the same time.
I can only ***** for Angels that cannot sing
and even then, I must tell them lies
to keep them from my sin,

the fox and the hound go merrily to their graves.
but the hunt continues...
the sun bloats the blue like an untamed thing
and all I got is a worry stone
to pitch at you.

II

long gone are the days of easy peace and rapture.
but the love in my veins is no cancer... more like a smooth raven
pricking my thumbs as I try to grasp
your haven. chiding my spiral into dementia
as my eggs break from my efforts
to save them.

you nest in my always, like forever in my ' not now'.

I can't overcome what I cannot refuse.
you're my heart's loss... and something else
I have to lose.

And I will always lose it
Somehow.

Somehow.
VKBoy Feb 2020
Like every *** has a limit
So does every existing heart
As to the weight of emotions
It can carelessly contain.
So let not the *** overflow
Or the heart over bloats.
Do often share sums of it
With the hearts that lack it
Or you’ll fail to handle
The hurdles God throws.
neth jones Nov 2018
All Worlds are Made Up Worlds
Herring gulls and tourist boards
and the pleats of portrayal
All things are treats to the senses
communication in bleats and bloats
and we make scientific entries
We soak out each other
uncreating the darkness
webbing out fractures
with our blue markers
All for the idea of sharing
A shared world
but don't forget
that it is just an idea
All worlds are made up worlds
caring tides and caddisfly
and the teats of the new revival
the breaking of bread
the friction in bed
and meat for our survival
it's been cold out for days
but brighter than an eyeful
care of what's underfoot
crawl to prevent the sky fall
a witch reaches us and we do as we are scolded
we believe now
in gossip told and not in what we hold
All worlds are made up worlds
and that's all that we have time for...
Heather Valvano May 2018
Those who have it
Don’t always flaunt it
Those who want it
Don’t always need it
The greed seeps in
And bloats the head
It all turns to dust
When you’re dead
Memories
Are what you need
Power
Is a trip you leave
Your actions bleed
a deep scarlet red
It all turns to dust
When you’re dead
Katie Jan 2020
Woolen caps and puffy coats
The crowd yet further bloats
On and on and another one yet
Totaling an ever higher net
No room to breathe here
Claustrophobia
Rising
Rising
A thousand thousand men
A ***** glare too often
A single crimson strand
Hidden in the most common brand
Alone
Alone
Forever

— The End —