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 Nov 2015
MS Lim
PRISONERS
Men are born free
but everywhere are in chains
thus wrote Rousseau--I take the point further-
upon themselves they inflict pains

in being prisoners of time
which with a sword of Damocles hangs
over every head and herds them into closed barns
where they sigh and lament in silent pangs

of anguish with no hope to be free
they have lost the will to fight
to regain that which was once their heritage
and fundamental right

men are born free
but by the loss of freedom they are condemned
time is the slayer--would they wake up
some day and look upon time with contempt?
nil
 Sep 2015
brandon nagley
i.

Arrayed she is
In yellow daisy
Dress.

ii.

Anon we shalt rest
In castle view
solitude.

iii.

I'm costumed
In coal-black
Wear.

iv.

We romance in
Candlelight awe
Midnight pair.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication
 Nov 2014
ryn
)              
.   )          (                          )      (
      (              )         )            (          )   
               )      (        (        )        )             
              (          )        )     (       (    (           
                     )               (                       )              
there you are...sitting right across •
and here i am...fidgeting in my seat
•searching for words...but seeming-
ly at a loss•only the eloquence of
my racing, thumping heartbeat•
trading only in silent words and
coy gazes•mingling within the
tendrils of  wafting steam•
divine  moment  as the
heart rapidly races•

over our hot cuppas, soaring into caffeine
fueled dreams•
Inspired by a topic in a chat earlier today.
 Nov 2014
rachel
Your soul
has found its home
it is not trapped
in your shell of a body
like so many others

I can tell
because when I look deep into
your eyes
they aren't so dead as mine,
I don't see my reflection
staring back at me

I see
a world of wonders,
bright, vivid, dreamesque

I hope one day you let me visit
where ever it is
that your soul has gone.
 Nov 2014
abby
they tell me to go to school and get good grades
so i get into a good college
to get a good job
to make good money
to get a house in the suburbs
and tell my kids the same thing
but maybe i want to be a starving artist
with nowhere to go but everywhere
to meet new people and see new places
a heart, soul and mind free from the captivity of society
because after all, life is too short to spend it in a neighborhood where every house looks the same and all the people think alike.
 Sep 2014
Muggle Ginger
If you are uncomfortable when you look in the mirror,
keep in mind:
We spent thousands of years
trying to convince the earth
she was flat.

We wrote her maps as evidence of the things we saw;
and she believed them.
She cried tsunamis, and had earthquake breakdowns.

Keep in mind: the Sun never gave up hope.
The earth will keep spinning and breathing
the star-dusty space void of encouragement.

Next time you look in the mirror
and second-guess your potential divinity,
remember you will keep shining and living.

Because the Sun is out there
believing in you,
compensating for lack of the human capacity
to treat each other empathically.

You don’t need proof or approval
to be exactly what you are;
Eventually everyone will see
your infinite beauty.
 Mar 2014
Tom Leveille
you are inches
measured by miles away
bulldozing oriental food
you don't intend on eating
around your plate
and i am imagining
the translation of asking
for a broom in a foreign language
for when you shatter over small talk
or the first sentence to start with "so"
breaks you into shaking
that i can feel from across the table
and i am thinking now
about tectonics and how you must be daydreaming of being submerged in a book
back home or gripping tightly
to bedsheets begging for familiar warmth
i can tell by the way you are looking at me
that you are feigning our salutation embrace
seconds drowned in ankle deep water and i wonder if you see my hands
as jackhammers and if the reason
why you hug so hard
but only for a moment
is to be as sharp as possible
so that i do not smell your perfume
or notice that you aren't wearing any and why
there are few suprises
in the safe you claim is a mouth
where shades of plush pink
hide a sickly pallor
and i continue to look over
brick & mortar borders
and think how maybe
she is thinking of kissing
but certainly not me
not these apologies nailed to my face
i give myself a moment
of benefitted doubt that you sometimes
picture your frame under mine
and if your clavicles would crack
if i were to touch them
i am sorry that i am a victim of imagination
but i swear i chalk it up
as the forgotten feeling
for when you look up
and the person you are looking
at is gazing directly at you
you have painted yourself
as a mosaic in my mind
as a mess of dust & incoherent words
that all sound like please in my ears
but that doesn't explain why
my hands are the ones that are shaking
when i imagine you
imagining me
in the spaces of yourself
where you've forgotten
you could put someone
 Mar 2014
Ryan Galloway
Suffocation
The walls of culture are closing in
Ready to stifle the flame of imagination
They can't control it so it scares them
In that flicker is the possibility for a bonfire
That could burn down their fragile empire
It could illuminate the darkness
they have tried so hard to create
By surrounding us with the weight
Of daily monotony
They've instilled in us
A desire to fit into the social norm
A fear of any tangible form
Of creativity
They have made it foreign to us
To question
The boundaries formed to bind us
This is my rebellion
 Mar 2014
Theia Gwen
She used to kneel before her bed every night
Praying to God
Make me beautiful,
Make me skinny

He didn't make her beautiful,
Or skinny
But he graced her with depression and anxiety
So she took matters into her own hands
And she now kneels in front of her porcelain throne
Hair in a messy bun, trying to keep quiet
And she prays
*Make me disappear,
Make me die
Inspired by This Is LA by the fabulous Marina & The Diamonds
 Mar 2014
Theia Gwen
Her
15
Minutes
Of
Fame
Came
Only
After
She
Was
6
Feet
Under
 Mar 2014
Elaenor Aisling
My hands,
Flightless birds with parchment skin,
marked with scars, glowing white.
They turn blue when the weather is cold.
The old wives say to look for men
with hard-working scars on their palms.
But what of a woman with marked hands?
 Mar 2014
amt
You and I are parallel,
So alike that we could never come to a point of intersection.
We shall continue,
Infinitely,
Side by side,
And never cross paths.
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