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Alliesaurus Mar 2010
Ready.
An ancient mix
of connection plus
classic individuality.
Steady.

Heart and soul pull
together to form sweet
jams of melodious rewrite.

First draft,
Pah! No more than
scribbled lines of quick snap,
The sound of an idea. Crackle!
Electric pop.

Second screening;
This time with a chord
on blues and lyricise.

Word choice, bass drum
Action verb, guitar solo.
Stage left, practice practice
Perfect is only in front of a mirror.
Blue in the face,
Expertise of spit out syllables and rosy pink word fire.

Freeform poetry {jazz},
Filled with line
b
    R
        E
              A
                     K
                            S
that shimmy and shake.

Get up!
The finale is now
Adoring fans
Closed eyes bring
fantastic images
of repressed nights
Howling to be free.

Stage fight
Charming souls
with solid words
and wisdom of the wah wah
TR Saucier Nov 2012
So much on my mind
What will happen?
Hopes of it going in my favor
Fear runs through my body
Marijuana in the system
Treated like a murderer
They prescribe **** to children
Why are they not in jail?
Head pounding
Cant sleep
I dont want to go there
To the place where I have nothing
No freedom
No health
No friends
You cant make friends there
Some say they have
I must not get it
I cant go there
Spent a night there once
Started boxing a wall out of boredom
My life would be hell
Maybe thats where they should send me
Hell
I cant imagine day upon day in a cell
Thats where they might send me
A cell
You dont have to read me my rights?
******* commonwealths
I truly did nothing wrong
But still, im treated like a murderer
I smoke a little grass
So what?
My tail lights out?
Sorry officer, I didnt know
My headlights insufficient?
I can see in front of me
On-comers can see me
I need insurance?
Thanks for telling me when I filed an accident report months before
They treat me like a murderer
I did nothing wrong
Wheres the **** makers?
The crack dealers?
The abusive husbands?
Still out there
Harming others
I did nothing wrong
Especially compared to them
Dont ruin a young mans life over these petty things
Hope is lacking these days
The system just wants the money
Id rather wipe my *** with a hundred
Flush it
And never see it again
Than to pay for your ******* charges
So, let me be
Set me free
Cuz judge,
I truly did nothing wrong
Sade LK Feb 2014
She ripped the stitches out of
Rotting skin and sinked in to
Seeping sin, dripping crimson
Crashing to the ground.
That same hole in the earth
With a cold to call home-
Not alone down there, she lets
The worms observe her every move.
Wriggling in dirt
Her thirst pulsed hard and black;
Can't take it back,
Too late to save that day
So let yourself unravel with the sutures
There's no future when you're dead.
Written sometime in October, 2013
Julia Leung Feb 2011
i wake up
to blinking messages
that i managed to ignore
because my lids were fastened shut.
i have a tendency to fall asleep
during conversations.

but i love tuesday mornings,
(this semester, at least)
because that extra hour
and a half
of sleep
keeps me going through the day.

i spent most of the morning
browsing through
missed connections
on craigslist.

i wonder,
maybe one of these are for me.
maybe i’ll find my soul mate.
or maybe i’ll get kidnapped.

three hour lectures
are the least favorite part of my tuesdays.
that
and math.
i don’t understand matrices.
but i’m too proud to ask for help.

i slept, though.
in art
because i couldn’t
seem to focus
on industrial design
or my
professor’s racist
and sexist remarks.

but at least the day’s over.
and i managed to get
home
right before it started
to rain.

law and order
is on.
maybe i want to be
a police officer.
just like
when i watch house,
i want to be a
doctor.
TR Saucier Nov 2012
My heart
Will be yours
The day i can hold you
Thats what i tell myself
I fear it will be before
I love that it may be before
You are so perfect
You are so sweet
You are so...
Undescribable
My feelings i can not fight
You are so amazing
I never know what to expect from you
Every day a new thing learned
As it should be
So many messages between us
So many more to come
The smile upon my face
As i see it is you messaging
Knowing you smile when you see its me
Could this be?
Can this be?
One day we will know
One day
Rob Sandman Mar 2016
Bolero

Roll….slowly,let me rope your soul solely,
As you feel the Sandmans touch take control see,
Theres a whole lotta atmospheric pressure involved,
Rhymes gamed, flames flamed- new riddles to be solved,
Dissolve yourself in my dissolution,
Sudoku rhymer-kabuki solution,
My approach comes over the crowd like a wave-

Hypnotic suggestions -  your psyche’s enslaved,
Sway,stay,pray - I prey on your grey matter,
Thoughts dreams and scenes flee all become scattered…
A battered suit of plate armour that STILL holds firm,
Come with me as I whisk you away into the firmament,
See stars born and die in mere millisecs,
Come get drawn further every parsec,
Away from Earth a mere ball of dirt,
Some try to escape their fate the truth can hurt...

But we’re all stardust,so return to your beginnings,
Still spinning,no sinning hear the Multiverse singing,
my Bolero whips you tight in triple time,
dance with me hold tight to my rhyme…
Just started this today,
listening to the Bolero's unusual sound pattern
and wondering would it be possible to Rhyme over...
fell out of me so far!,
more to come...
The evanescence of a light beam constructed inside Emilia's longing, desolate eyes as she searched her room for the pounding rhythm of a distance drum. The succinct stirring shot a severe ache into her eardrums, and she cradled her head inside her lanky forearms, comfortable in their cataclysm.

She had been stolen, and her arms were her only comfort. As she watched onward in the tiny, centipede-infested room she had been thrown into, the beating drums continued, and she could hear the unclear voices of large Ukrainian men prattling about "the beginning."

The beginning, she felt, had begun, whatever it was, and as she listened, the only thing she could think about was cutting those ropes loose and taking control again over these infuriating defectors as her birthright had dictated.
Julia Leung Feb 2011
my stomach has never hurt
so hard
from laughing because i’ve met
some of the best people
to share it
with.
it’s two in the morning
and we decide
perhaps it is time to start
the work that we should’ve
done ahead of time.
and in the morning,
we promise we’ll finish
but instead
we sit and laugh, again.
this time, inappropriately.
the professor’s watching,
and we aren’t getting our work done.

the mexican restaurant
ironically run by asians
is closed.
again.
i’m craving enchiladas.
so i make do with second tier
ones from gramercy.
they’re not bad.
but i prefer
the ones from the mexican restaurant
run by asians.

i sit bundled up,
half free-writing, half asleep,
and i take the person sitting in front of me
and use them to my advantage.
perhaps if i move my head
just a little to the left,
the professor won’t see me
nodding off to sleep.

(i just wanted a little nap).

but i resist
and we present
half-heartedly.
i don’t think we really cared
about the new chancellor
about bloomberg
and about joe torre.

the library brings a welcome change,
and i see a familiar face.
and we sit together
and we laugh
and before we know it,
it’s time for class.
again.

this time,
i make haste
to allow my eyelids to flutter
until they are cemented shut
as Descartes is explained to us
by our passionate
but flighty
professor.

i wake up in time
to be assigned into a group.
(what are we arguing again?)
something about the senses
and how to use them.
and whether we are certain.

i dislike debates like this.
i feel uncertain already.
and philosophy
makes me even more uncertain.
uncertainer. uncertainest.

the train ride home is a haze.
and i am glad to be home.
even though the living room
is missing
its lively chatter
half
from my parents
and half
from the television.

but they’ll be home soon,
and all will be right.
just my day in free form. nothing special.
The intraveneous needles pumped their black liquids, and I could feel my eyeballs bulging completely, pathetically to their limits as I extrapolated from the tantalum-covered machine the lifeforce I knew I needed.

"You can not breathe here," they always told me before I took my journal past the archway, and I was as good as dead if...

It was always if. If the machine broke down, if the communications were broken, if the moon didn't turn half-way just right at the given time.

There was a solid thought, though, a recurring idea.

"If you make it to Otherside, they're going to call you by name and recognize you. If you make it to Otherside, your cover will be blown," I kept hearing a voice call to me.
Sven Stears Aug 2013
I wanted to eat you alive with my heart,
Disseminate my love for you,
soul coughing a Heimlich dance routine
that struggled to keep us one.

You were to busy ignoring the coward
that kept me alive
to see the bravery fighting chance
and drawing curtains against fate

There was feeling in these young bones
where the medicine was make believe,
all sugar coated fiery tales to drive us to the well,
wishers of hope forgot that love is an effort.

Liars will tell you that there is just one,
and that one and one is one, and I too,
will lie to you but only to keep the placebos
sweet jesus if you knew the truth.

There's a colourful cobweb
I tangled round us
And yeah, I'd take the floor away,
if it would keep you falling for me.

There is not a thing I wouldn't do
to keep the demons from your door
And the wolves in docile dream states
Nodding yes to your every request.

But Memory lane is no place to build a future,
Lets move past all the haunted houses
and build the home from more than cards
glued together with coffee stains.

Fits of laughter and pits of passion
litter landscapes of love in foreign places
where speaking in tongues
becomes common language.

Blissfully aware of our ignorance
We turned a blind eye to status chorus,
breathing freeform jazz into
independent harmonies,

Shards of Shotgun Showers
Add bass to blissful dreams,
A sense of the real, reeling us in,
A foundation shaken in eternal sin,

As the sax plays us out,
its a standing ovulation,
that keeps us on course,
encores are for failures, and things that... stop.
Graff1980 Dec 2014
Love lets children play
Fly away
In imaginary planes
Or soar in space
With alien races

It replaces fear
with compassion
Cares little
For what’s in fashion

Freeform, whimsical delight
No order or structure
No constancy
No normalcy
Freedom unrestrained

Our world might be improved
If more adults learned to play
In a childish way
Skogen Feb 2011
Science is governed by theorems and laws, but I think its more important to learn, live, and love from nature’s flaws.  Ideal reactions exist on paper created by pencils, but really its nothing more than a flawed man’s stencil.  Something unable to exist in freeform untempered by the creative storm and unblemished by the perfect mistakes that prove its not fake.  Thats not of what I partake.  

You make my world spin and keep my gravity down.  It’s just the physics of our situation, is this our mind or the worlds creation?  Einstein was the founder of relativity but I’m sure of our brevity.  A whirlwind thats almost out of control, the dance of days that composes our souls.  Linked rhythmically together no longer singularly apart joined at the heart never to depart and so we start.  I’m not sure how this equation functions but its a positive conjunction.  I want to linearly progress without regress never to suppress or obsess but to travel and caress but I digress with my interest to express.  

I haven’t done the math but I’m almost positive one heart plus one heart equals one heart.  Thats real arithmetic, a force surely kinetic.  Attracted and reacted to form a singular product of an environment construct.  You make my world spin and keep my gravity down.  It’s just the physics of our situation.
TR Saucier Nov 2012
Lying awake
Eyes glazed
High
Music playing
Vision blurring
High
Hunger strikes
Fighting it
I am high
Zani Jun 2017
Welcome to the feast
We all come here for the hunger
Come and take a seat a while
Lets talk of friends
Lets talk of style


Elizabeth Squires
She is one to admire
Connecting the dots
So that love may transpire

Kim Johanna Baker
By God’s blessings and grace
Makes this portal
A magical welcoming place

Then there’s Temporal Fugue
Who’s magic awakens
With his humour
Much of my time he has taken

TSPoetry is a royalty
With his noble voice honours me
How much sense that I make
From the words that you’ve choiced

Donna Jones
The three line queen
Pure joy through her literature
Now I’m forever dreaming Haikus

Ouise Godsent Abode
He knows
With five lines he unravels
Then tickles your bones

z-blossom your stanzas
Are so pleasing to the eye
How the vivid words ring
To my ears as sublime

CGY Your haikus
They have blown my mind
To collide with Benji’s
Beautifully long, flowing write

Ghostwriter and Mykayla shea
Even though I rarely see ye
I’ve read through most your poetry
And hope that there’s loads more to read!

As for Clark Dave Hitchens
I just read him in my kitchen
This way I found a witty rhyme
But not to undermine his brilliance

Janae you are on it
Red Flag, Daydream,
Magic Kiss, Invisibility,
Brain *****

Vlassis I will quote you
When I need to charm a woman
Otherwordly Wanderer
When some hope I need to summon

God bless to Tyler Mathews
He is posting every day
I hope the universe conspires
For us to carry on that way!

To learn of freeform prose I can
Take a scroll to SR Millan
And if I want a treat dessert
Ellie Graves has tonnes and tonnes of work!

Zhanuary Arielle
So much passion your words tell
I feel I understand them
Natural imagery does us well!

Marie James Alexander
I pandered to the thought of you
When I put Ramen in my soup
I chuckle at some words you choose

Daniel Steven Moskowitz
Your poetry endless
Your writing is phenomenal
Your arguments relentless

Camiliamhd I wish that I
Could read what you are saying
When I read your pretty poetry
I feel like I am praying!

Vanessa Gonzales
She has got the attitude
With Fredrick Njoroge block style
They push onto higher altitudes!

Kesha You have peirced me
With your double barrel stanzas
I had to go read SoulSurvivor
To practice on my Mantras

Now that the round is over
It is time for us to feast
I thought that I'd invite you
So that we'd have a chance to meet

Thank you all for being
Thank you all for caring
Thank you all for sharing
Thank you all for reading

<3
Bon Apetit!
Bryce Jan 2018
Your energy seems a little blue.
Anything off your mind?

You have mud on your jeans
Aren't you concerned?

Where were you today?


Drain the cerebral dionysian fluid
Place sulfur cannabidoil on no body
Let it intoxicate the air in an enclosed space

Shhhhhh please let me communicate
Off putting soul you, where are you off to
today
Spirit me on a journey away from shattered hearts
Broken pavement
Indigo dying

Wild boar screams its kami
A reverberating cry of echoed soul
I hear myself in it

Parking lot hears only wind and dim buzz of street lamp purposeless in the middle of the day
Let the light alight and be absolutely *****
The sun takes no prisoner of shadows on its shift and that includes your silly ornamental lamp
And your silly streetsigns
Placing order on a celestial marble surrounded
Chris Aug 2015
~

Vibrations loosen
 the dust on my piano,
  releasing tiny particles
   into a rectangle sunbeam
    dancing about the glass,
     as I play compositions
      upon freeform keys,
       fingered imagination
        frantically moving
         levers in never before
          heard melodies
           with a locked
            sustain pedal
             holding each note
              to gradually
               evanesce
                into silence
                 as the dust
                  once
                        again
                                se­ttles
#9
Take me, Satan, for I have sinned.
I fell down on the job, fell down on my sword
but with no real purpose or cause. A martyr
for the sake of martyrdom is as useful as a
parka in Mexico.

Slit my wrists with a freeform kiss.
Cracked teeth, cracked skull, saltine crackers.
Counting calories, skipping meals.  
Did it hurt to ascend from hell, and
how did you wash away
the grime?

I want to believe that you love me
but the world is unkind.
I need a shot of reassurance like a shot of
eighteen year old scotch, neat.

Rapid fire rejection, thunderstorms
of doubt. **** me with a smile. Rebuild
my psyche, brick by brick. Mortar me,
babe, and I'll adore you for it.

Melt into my mind and live there,
the mice who currently occupy
the quarters are hungry for
touch.

Ride my metaphor like
a throbbing **** longing for
release; please, release me.
Experimental piece I wrote before I had my first cup of coffee.
Zio Reyes Mar 2017
When I am laid in Earth, I pray that I may not trouble any innocent heart. For when my heart is weighed, I know that I shall be found wanting, withered, without and weary.

A life of evil I have left in my wake, for even with my years of atonement, it is still much more difficult to create that which is so easily destroyed. Forget me, Earth.

Forget this ******, raw nerve on your beautiful face and let the Sun purge my sins.

Remember, though...

...remember to always smile.

I love you.
Alan McClure Jan 2012
Briefly entranced
by a swish of hips
as they sashay past a doorman,
he takes a breath, approaches
and asks to get through.

"Sorry sir," the tall man says,
"your purchasing record suggests
"that you dislike jazz.
"I think you'd better move along."

Of course, of course,
what was he thinking?
A narrow escape, that.
And on home through the empty streets he goes,
Untroubled by the wide wild sounds,
the horns and pianos,
the reckless freeform blast and chatter
that might ruthlessly have smashed through
his carefully constructed identity.

Safe at home,
his television allows him to watch
a comedy he has seen thirteen times before
and so must really love.
Zio Reyes Mar 2017
I may have had too much loneliness to drink. I think that I have become drunk.

I'm looking at all the pretty, pretty colors on the birds that fly by and it makes my heart ache something fierce.

"My, my, aren't you a special thing! Right fit to make my heart burst with sickness." My hand jolts in rythmic patterns as I hold the blade and fight tthe urge to drive it into my eye.

I"m just finding outlets and sticking paperclips into them. My teeth clench and my tongue hurts from the strain. Where is my brain?
Aerien Nov 2020
not even good enough to be classed a hack
try poetaster
but making more money than me
and more people reblog all their
juvenile word *****
than they do anyone else’s--
ah, legitimacy has been declared!
shots have been fired!
there it is, ladies and gents
the ultimate arbiter of quality:
the approval of social media!

do please excuse me,
let me go and burn my wings in penance.

may every poet you meet
stab you in the heart with their pen
and if they do not,
send them back in shame and disdain.
RAGE AGAINST THE PALE AND BEIGE.
“Look at me, I’m honest and I’m free, I was born to underachieve” -- Manic Street Preachers
july hearne Jun 2017
names for no one
named by no one

poems about nothing
poems about everything

aren't they the same thing?

no function, no form
but now is the hour
it's how i get through
to the next one

two packs of cigarettes a day
it is getting expensive

old heartaches aren't forgotten
when nothing takes there place
and cigarettes don't pay the rent
freeform makes people stop listening
agoraphobics don't have much to write about
but need to say something
to someone

i wish i'de never met you.
all you did was hurt me in a way
that keeps on coming back, no matter how much times go by.
it was the way you looked at me,
like i was the ugliest thing that you had ever ******
and it made you feel good to let me know.
and it got worse from there, because you threw me away
and then would sporadically write to let me know
you were gone for good.
you were a total ramsay bolton type.
some days i have a memory and can't breathe or function.
i still have nightmares of you

trying to beat me to death, calling me to list off all the things that are wrong with me.

if i can't forget you, it would be great if someone would cut off your ****. sometimes i fantasize about hiring someone to do that to you in your sleep. you could wake up dickless and i could be free of you. but back to the poem:

10 and a half years haven't gotten me anywhere
i've been too old for too long

Bob Dylan
Neil Young
Rolling Stones
Leonard Cohen
Paul Westerberg

everyone is too good for them now,
especially you,
i read that in vice

they made a list of the worst musicians of all time
and all those names were on it.

Johnny Cash was on the list too.
i'm assuming everyone knows the title isn't mine
Kevin May 2017
so typically expressed
so brilliantly bluebird blue
eight a.m. shadows drape
disguising delicate dew

veil of lifting light
expose her in due time
my Mexican petunia
my early morning bride

seamstress of the meadow
freeform drifting silk
dress of netting beauty
be gentle with your ****

wrap her with good measure
fix your eightfold eyes
dress her with your endless gift
your spindle, thread of ending life

pendulum of day
thine endless forceful swing
forget not my morning meadow
whence bluebird days do sing
Promoting well-being
Salubrious Health habits
Food heals, body, soul





Bonus word
Cura te ipsum means
Physician heal thy self
BLT   Webster’s Word of the Day
Salubrious
formal word, meaning favorable to or promoting health and well-being
Modern, contemporary, freeform haiku, capturing every day, experience, love, loss, social issues, observations of human nature
FYI, there are seven types of Haiku
Dave Hardin Oct 2016
Work History

I lucked into my first job
building four-letter radio station
call signs from tangled bins
of consonants and vowels.  

In those days it was
all done by hand.

Sharp corners on the F’s kept you
on your toes, O’s easy to bobble
when you got careless, “slot four,
out the door!”, a newbie mnemonic

forever lodged in my brain.  
I bided my time on the K line

until a spot opened on the W,
the graveyard shift.  It paid
a little more, the hours going
toward my Creative License.

It was the seventies. We chewed
betel to stay awake during long

classical station runs then punched
out woozy, blind in morning sun,
fingers bleeding, teeth stained red.  
Top forty, we popped ‘em out

like biscuits and squirrelled
away X’s to slip onto the ends

of freeform formats, small acts
of defiance.  I quit to avoid prosecution,
nabbed sneaking parts out
in my pants, one letter at a time,

building words, paragraphs, whole
stories in my basement.
Anais Vionet Feb 2023
There are opportunities, from time to time, to see and meet influential people here at Yale - leaders in their fields. I write a little, so I started going to see the writers when they did readings and interviews. The writers I’ve seen so far are Ada Limón, Vijay Seshadri, Terrance Hayes, Alison Bechdel, Roxanne Gaye, Sheila Heady, Natasha Trethewey, Dasha Nekrasova and more.

Before I kick this rat's nest let me say that I’m not an English Literature major. I haven’t done “close readings” of these authors' works or performed any literary analysis. What follows are just my opinions or what I’ve overheard (and much of that I disagree with).

After the readings and greetings, I hang back in the crowd to hear reactions. Many of the Yale students attending these events want to seem intellectual and subversive - at the same time, they don’t want to be polarizing or say things that their peers will disagree with. I’m appalled at how little credit is given to writers for their earlier, groundbreaking work.

Some crowd reactions included: Roxanne Gaye “is so 2016,” Ada Limón’s presentation seemed “sanitized and censored.” Jia Tolentino, “no longer staking out controversial spaces.” Much of the criticism was that these authors were freer, as nobodies in their basements, to rage against the system but they’ve since been corrupted, tamed and rendered vapid, as it were, by the financial ties of fame.

At a reading by Terrance Hayes, he discussed the criticism that the “classics” represent the “white cannon” and don’t include alternative perspectives. Terrance Hayes argued that the “classics” are such because they present universal truths and that, like science, you don’t have to erase things to include new things.

I’ll cut to the chase - here are the three authors whose events impressed me the most:

Sheila Heady
Sheila Heady did a talk on her creative process. Which normally I’m pretty skeptical of because I’ve seen some vague, wishy-washy answers - but Sheila shared it all. She had spreadsheets detailing the time she spent writing, graphs on time spent researching, and even pictures of her desktop arrangement (which says a lot about someone). She was so open and vulnerable - almost indifferent to judgment - it was refreshing, honest and endearing.

Some days she would write for 2 minutes and on others for 10 hours. I think it showed that the creative process can be messy and we’re not failures if we don’t set out writing time every day.

Natasha Trethewey
I have a complicated response when listening to people read aloud about terrible things that happened to them - I question their motives, purposes and intentions. Natasha Trethewey however, used it as background for a discussion of her relationship to poetry and writing. It was beautiful to be in that room, it was inspiring rather than being provocative.

Dasha Nekrasova
On the flipside I absolutely loved Dasha Nekrasova who’s all about being a provocateur. Her event was chaotic and crazy. It was a Yale Political Union (YPU) event, and I don’t know what those people are on, but there was yelling, objections, people getting up, she was skipping around the stage. At first, I didn’t realize it was a debate because it had a freeform look and I came in a minute late, from chemistry class - but I liked her a lot in the debate format. I plan to attend more YPU events in the future.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Vapid: dull or boring.
Alyssa Yu Oct 2014
everyday starts at
273.16 Kelvin, 611 Pascals
my body still unsure what it wants to be
-no, scratch that-
still unsure what other people want it to be

1. with my parents
the temperature drops and the pressure rises
while they yellcriticizedemand
and suddenly i am ice
solidfrigidhard
stubborn as hell but ten thousand times colder

2. my best friend is the fire
sparking excitement in dark parts of my soul
and as we heat up together
i become free as air
the earth no longer able to keep me together
or hold me down

3. i am fluid around everyone else
freeform
shapeshifting until all they see is their own reflection staring back at them
intangible
slipping through hands like an eel that will shock anyone who gets close
and quietly destructive
slowly eroding the paperthin walls of their hearts and leaving behind nothing but canyons in my wake

solid liquid gas
common science says that it ends there
but you
you always remind me that there is a fourth state of matter
because when we touch it is like i can feel the electrons of negativity jumping off my skin
and when you kiss me
i could swear we are the plasma that the universe and stars are made of
(20 minute poetry)

Stand clear Monday's here and no prisoners will be taken.

I'm running scared
in third class
because the system
Is still in place,

all along the platform lined up instead of in freeform
are today's commuters,
baristas, solicitors, chancers and sharp operators,
they wait the same as I
under the weeping willow sky.

If this is the 'last chance saloon'
and the tube train's arriving soon
I'll have a double.

Monday's still here or it was,
not sure now because my eyes
are shut
but I think that it might be
still
able to see me.

For a brief moment
I thought
the screeching I could hear was
my brain jumping a gear
but it's the brakes on the train,
listen,
it's doing it again.

and again it's almost done,
I've used up my tiny portion
if such fun is dealt that way

Darling, Monday
is still here like a
milk bottle on the window sill
dear,
waiting for my corn flakes.
Stephan Sep 2016
.
Vibrations loosen
the dust on my piano,
releasing tiny particles
into a rectangle sunbeam
dancing about the glass,
while I play sad love songs
on freeform keys,
fingered imagination
frantically moving
levers in never before
heard melodies
with a locked
sustain pedal
holding each note
to gradually
evanesce
into silence,
as the dust
once again
settles
Just a poem, not a state of mind.  :)
Sam Ciel Feb 2019
On a fleeting February morning
Seconds pass like icicles
And as I stop to listen to their steady drip
Those seconds seem to slowly slip
Away

Immeasurable, finite mornings full of
Infinite calculated risks.

Life weaving 'round my fingertips
Electricity, in my hands and my heart
Feeble panics and anxious starts

What, exactly, is love?

A painter's elegant brushstrokes, as tender and careful as
Or
A passionate song, the percussion mirroring the rapid heartbeat of
Or
Something as simple as a question
Sent to two phones.

There's a comfort in being alone.
You don't have to worry about breaking hearts
No nervous texts
Or ginger starts.

But
Everyone can hear the song.
Everyone can see the painting.
Anyone could read this poem.
Blank verse, freeform, enigmatic.
Confused.
Exploring love is the most terrifying / most reassuring thing I have ever done. Nice to know I'm not alone.

Sorry for my absence all. I lost my voice for a while. I'll try to be more active.

As always,
Keep Writing
-S.C.
Umarani Jayaraj Oct 2017
today, you seem

to swim consciously
in the blurry happenings

absorptive
of both their chaotic canopies
and their knotted stilts
in substantial intertwining


your recent form, you
effervescing lightness, as i deep-delve
into your freeform spectacle
in scribes and silence

is

a contemplated combobulation
in almost a hidden haziness: there's  
but a fiery flame within
in boundless lucidity  


of the flaring galactical suns
and the sacred smoking eyeblack
smears around from cores, the blackwhole scripts

that you realized
and still in the go as you grow
full and null  and full and null
and so.     verse traverse

your phasal swings
unto that yielding amplitude

that one unreturning


singularity


.
abstractions within ...syncs with the elements ..the moons and the suns and the skies in you and around . this consciousness, the subconscious heartmindsoul as it arts...
Beauakuma Yonko Feb 2016
O.G
I let my flesh bathe in the calm newborn sun rays,
While I listen to the gossiping topics presented to me by the waves, consumed.
Outside looking in, I'm just a naked man standing aimlessly in natures womb yet,
Through my eyes, I'm standing on a million acres of emerald dust, with my skin reflecting the surface of the Sun, my eyes incarcerating nebulas watching diamonds dancing in all sorts of blue.
And then there's this crown growing out of my skull....lovely.
Welcome to the land of a thousand drums residing in my chest,
Roaring with the cascades of energy my soul has possessed many of lifetimes before I became its host.
Welcome to the mind of primal instinct, where its shrouded by the freeform jungle like crown spawning out my my skull.
Welcome to the love I've had pleasures and pains of watching; wrong but felt right & right but felt wrong......
- Beau
Started in the sense of being the only man on earth just wandering what has happened to his world (absent woman) then it takes that left feild turn into his mind.
Poetemkin May 2021
Awakened and
Awash with life, a soul
Abandoned amid artificial
Sophistication;

Blinded by beauty best beheld
Beneath bold bastions of
Blazing silence. Craze
Rules;

Cacophonies collide and
Congeal, coagulate and
Cluster—melting, not unlike
Neapolitan ice cream.

Durst the dwindling
Darkness dance its
Deathly defenstration? Ought it
To belay its night?

Evening ekes ever closer,
Edging; even seeking most to
Elevate eternity to its
End. Out with it. Time
Is not your pet!

Forward, faithful fowls of
Fancy: feast on flesh
For which you came!
Find a farewell fully
Sanctioned.

Get a grip on grime
Galore! Go, you gawdy
Grateful gyre; gone is all
Glory and rhyme. Now to
Exculpate a *****:

He's the hero herewith, and
Helping hide his horrid
Histr'y is the hill you have to
Climb.

I, interloping idiot, I
Itch to irk some innocent
Ilk. I, the

**** ****** jankly onward
Just to justify juiced minds.
Jury, you must spew a verdict!
Judge you must sentence
This crime.

Klaxons blare that kegs are
Key to this
Kiss, but not to fool
Keen kind of
Folk

Limitations let me
Lie here looking like
Life left me lame.
Lots of lazy lack of
Praising

Made my music
Mainly maim. Most
Men motion more for
Glory:

No one needs to
Name their cause;
Nothing will. Notice now,
What is northward,

Only our obliging airs
Often offered on the
Order of the oligarchic
Thains.

Prosper we, politely posting?
Positing our prescient claim?
Passing not the prophet's muster,
Put we not ourselves to
Shame?

Quickly! Question who is
Questing quietly beyond the pale:
Quoth the raven quixotic chaos
Quite outside the
normal

Range? Really, rouse the
Raspy rooster, rising sun a
Ruse too rare:
Rafting in on rising
Currents

Stallions stride the earth
So bare. Sing the song,
Six pence so-called,
Still the cost of
Love riebald.

Touch the tangled
Truths which dangle
Tantalizingly close to there;
Take the taudry lesson
Home.

Unleash hell upon the masses,
Unsuspecting users will delight,
Until all the unlit gases
Usher forth into our
sight.

Valor vests its
Vanquished victims with
Vociferous applause. Asking
Very little of them—just a life for a
Just cause!

War will wake the
wasting weapons wildly
Whet with wonderous
Rage.

X, the spot is marked e-
xactly where was this
X-human
unmade.

Yesterday young warriors
Yelled out yearning for
Years they have lost
Yeeting sinners into
Their graves.

Zoom! At Zion
Zealot's rage is launching—
Zero zest for living love—
Zoo-like, all the world is watching; all the world,
And that above.
mark john junor Apr 2015
she laid a mean line down
but her heart was too kind
and seemed like she was always getting burned
after all what can you do
more of the real you you give up
the less you got when the chips are thrown down
fight back at encroaching darkness
only to be accused
aint nobody nicer than you
you know you are the apple of my eye
but babydoll something got to change
sick of seeing the world chip away at you
you got to find your peace of mind
got to remember that we all may be sinners
but you only got one price to pay
cant let the darkness catch you
have to let your joy shine
let it loose in a freeform dance when the music plays
let it loose when your in my arms
got to find your way home
to all those summer roads where we
smiled with brothers and sisters
all those dreams that we lived
Daniel Falvey May 2015
I sit here silently listen to music and think is my thoughts while they float around allowed I see myself as a different person I hear the sounds around me take the lyrics in makes no difference music's just freeform expression of ones and just and demons I go to school and go to college I gained knowledge there is no difference in the way I walk around these holes the emptiness I walk I see the darkness the tide ebbs and flows the ocean goes home seem to float away faces in the crowd I talk but no solace is found allowed I read my soul as if it were a blank page I see nothing nothing but pain disdain and discord I put the record on that block I see nothing shock of pain there's no freedom in this world left is there nobody here that actually cares the hear someone share their words my feelings written down on paper is there no one that can come take you away from here do you weigh your mind body and soul I wear my heart on the sleeve setting in cold or nothing to behold I read this poem aloud and then I walk through a desolate crowd if there is no one watching sitting there and watch ruins of cities wants forgotten I look at prep yet and I look at different cities around the world that look at Ohio Troy I love you get Connecticut and I look at the town I live in Norwich all the Forgotten buildings once burned unseen I mean all these towns are we forgotten all these places around the world the Berlin Wall USSR Soviet Union's all the time nothing to see nothing I am too young to know this but for what our society does to are young lead them astray to lead their pain away for nothing good can stay everything gold is nothing to hold for we are all better left unseen forever

— The End —