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s-immele-1
s-immele-1
American Poetry: Where less is often more, and stress goes to be eradicated. / Don't we all think we're poets and one point or another? This is certainly not that point for me, but I keep writing anyways. / I hope you are having a shiny sort of day. / Cheers
I want to dance, to this music This music you can’t hear I want to writhe in ecstasy With this beat you just ignore I feel it pound through my veins It’s the thrum, the hum The rhythm of our world That mysterious chime Just past your thoughts Floating deep inside Down where it’s dark Down where you and I We’re just animals It’s the primitive clash Of survival versus intellect It’s a cacophony of power Natural and produced It’s the heartbeat of humanity And I revel in its song. Come dance with me?
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Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Dance
We’ve never touched But god how I feel Your hands all over my skin The smooth glide of your kiss Along the column of my throat Feel your body Pressed tightly to mine Your very presence Scalds me It’s palpable, pleasurable Painful Like everyone else is a whimper And you’re the gale force wind It’s a mania, an obsession Thoughts of you spiraling Up and around, in and out Caressing my every moment Like the lover I need you to be
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Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Unrequite Me
Did we just become The faces of another lost generation Caught between the crumbling walls Of an economy built from the top down And a rising tsunami in the ever expanding Sea of technology, of the now, the hip, The “must haves” ignorant of the unsustainable Broken nature of our very souls We drift like paper boats Doomed to be capsized by the very waters That keep us buoyant, floating free We are the information junkies Plugged in and tuned out Of the real, the tangible Riding high on the fruits of a digital age Run rampant Like addicts the world around We will crash, we have to Because eventually there isn’t A fix big enough to keep us up And from there we have no place to go No place to go but down Free fall Plummeting straight to the hell We built ourselves, stick by brick Because through our inaction Our distraction Evil men, greed subsumed Stripped our world, our land, our skies and seas And what was left but hell on earth So what now? Do we take the plunge? Sink our ships and rend our wings Fall back to earth, wash up on shore Open our eyes to see what’s left What might be salvaged? Or do we fly higher, reach further And hope to heaven We can fix our wings before they melt Which is right? Which is illusion? Which can save us in the end? God, I wish I knew.
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Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
Remnants of Ruination Ruminations
The words as the blend As they bend As they move through each other Producing sounds almost soporific And saying everything Without saying anything in particular Strokes on a page That give way to the death of ideas And the birth of infinities We are their chess pieces Moving, dancing the patterns Never aware of the plan Of the greater game at hand Flies in the webs We weaved ourselves Caught by our own humanity In the lies we tell To get through the day To save those we loved From the burdens we think We must bear alone The simple burden of being alive Of taking every breath into our lungs And continuing the cycle The wheel turns.
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Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
Des Mots
You say “The rain is not my friend” But how do you figure that? It falls on your head and mine alike. It does not judge or pretend To laugh at your jokes. It is both cruel and kind, Giving and devastating, But it’s not personal, I promise. It doesn’t see class or color Or the number in your bank account It won’t worry you about Fitting into those new pants Or finding the perrrrr-fect shoes It will be there when you are happy And dancing Also when you are broken And crying In fact I think... The rain may be the very best of friends A human like us could have.
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Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
The Rain is Not
Home’s this feeling I carry in my chest It’s warm and kind, it’s my sisters’ smiles It’s my mother laughing till she cries The smell of pipe smoke and brown dirt And the roots of the ivy clinging there It’s feeling the rain’s kiss on skin And the crinkle of a book page It’s screaming and dreaming with friends New and old alike It’s searching and finding And sometimes never knowing why It’s heart break and grace under fire It’s tinged yellow and blue It’s broken and fixed anew Home is an embrace from the universe Letting me know I can make it through That I can make it okay One way or another It’s finally understanding I am good Good enough for this world That’s what home is for me.
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Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
Home?
Sitting here Listening to the poetry Of your inhale Dreaming up possibilities And improbabilities Looking beyond horizons And the skies of reasons Your eyes like the fires That burn in the hearts Of all the children The poets, the players, the actors And every day dreamer Wondering at the wandering We all seem to engage in What are we looking for And where do we find it? How do we define it? What’s in a reality? Who decides it? Is it you, is it me Is it that shadow clad they Who loom over every second Policing our every blink Our every ******* thought. Never a moment without them Can’t we just find peace And the beauty of time Ideas and ideals racing, Flashing like demented disco lights On and off, on and off Chaos and the whirlwind of feelings And then You exhale.
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Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
Inhale/Exhale
Dreams of flying, softly chasing Round my head ever pacing Voices lifted, if only screaming For redemption never given Hearts that hide behind blue eyes Weep for wrongs, they’ll never do In a world where black and white Are used to hide the luminescence Of every color ever given To every rainbow cried by heaven The transcendental meditations On human kind’s every notion To learn what makes greatness fall And whispered secrets come alive When lies are right instead wrong And forever only lasts so long When justice served, serves no purpose Save to fuel sick schadenfreude Can three words make a difference Be they “I love you” …Or “Leave me be”
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Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:11 AM UTC
Dreams of Flying
I’m handing you a precious thing It may have a few dents or dings I apologize for its damaged state It’s been through a lot as of late With a gentle kiss or two I’m sure it’ll be good as new Can you see the way it shines This precious, little thing of mine I’d thought the fire’d all gone out That was until you came about You made me soar into the sky Gave my bubbly flutterbys So here I am, once again to start Here I am handing you my heart
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May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
Precious Thing
We rode on the air then Freer than birds, and lighter than feathers We hadn’t a care in the whole of the night The world was a playground, a storyteller’s delight As the embers burned low we remained by their side Too many words to leave as our fire died It was then we made magic, together our voices Danced among stars, ships, and rare choices We caught lightening with our paper planes And did the impossible, we did the insane As night turned to day and sunlight flew down We lay there together, hushed, not a sound The moment too precious to squander away There would be time for our words to play In the blue morning light together we stayed Hoping, wishing, praying never to fade We found perfection there in the dew You and me, me and you
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May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 1:18 AM UTC
...or How to Make Magic