Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
we,
as potentially conscious beings,
do incur such fantastic Purgatory
and yet we seem
indeed so very keen
to choose to wallow in
vain and irksome squalor-
a comfortable yet blind stupor
when it comes to
the very real causality
wrought of our intention:

yes, you read right:
i said "potentially conscious."
 Jan 2016
Campbell Pennington
Find me praying to the trees
Find me talking with the leaves
Find me with my head in the ground
and my feet stuck in the clouds

I'll tell you its easier this way -
to walk along the air's byways
if I keep my eyes shut tight
and shy away from the light
 Jan 2016
Third Eye Candy
the wind was swinging from the trees
and mute gulls overhead, slipped in the blue above
swarming the beachfront... gulping salt and silver glints
flapping in their gullets with black eyes
and no dreams.
i walked the causeway and the off road
juggling the change in my pocket with an absent mind.
i turned corners that were never there
and came to a halt as the sun bleached the horizon.
I thought that Beauty was a thing.
and simply forgot to move,

and the world forgave me.
 Jan 2016
SG Holter
Winter introduced itself like a
Sudden death in the family.
A -28 degrees celsius day has fingers
Thin enough to reach through glass,
Leaving its ice on the inside of
Windows.

I find candles and carry firewood,
Preparing for a cold one.
Out here, blackouts can last for a day.
My iPad and portable modem have
Battery enough for one
Poem.

Such are my priorities.
I empty my fridge into the snow,
Thanking the gods
For my beer.
Don't try to reach me. I'm remembering
Life from centuries ago.
People
who hold to be sacred
different Values
may indeed be
of comparable Worth.

In-groups
and out-groups
are lousy and petty excuses by which
humans seem to like to justify
inhumane injustice.

Yet, I dare to argue
that, as conscious beings,
Consciousness itself
is the only true in-group;
all other schisms are artificial;
artificial lines drawn
upon beaches of our Godselves
by fingers of our own Devilselves.

All things;
potential and manifest,
named and unnamed;
are equal in the dynamic, flowing balance of the Tao.
Talk about idealism! Jeez.
If you disagree, *******. ;)

.
 Jan 2016
nivek
Somewhat invisible, on purpose, and just as well
the mind mystically resides in its castle
- with the drawbridge up
most of the time.
 Jan 2016
Poetic T
Aching bones arch in movement soaking in
Salty thrashings. too old to travel as once did.

Like a child in a paddling pool only dipping
Her bow in enough to splash around.

Content that she is still in the ocean,She ebbs with
The tide. Her bones ache, rope frayed tied to shore.
 Jan 2016
Emma Elisabeth Wood
I can taste
the metal
of the sky,
steel stars and
aluminium moons,
iron gates,
shielding hearts like
a rib cage, but ribs
break
and the iodine smell
of broken skin
seeps into the
floor, like a blood
stain
bright red at first,
but dulling to
a ***** brown
I am Eve
before the apple,
my snake
merely butter-
fly and I can
see Adam, reach
his hand towards
me, lips smirking
as he feels me
twist, like tin
foil, away
from his
waist
"My daughter,
when you grow up (enough)
to be able to brandish self-sovereignty
tempered by self-discipline
I only hope that if and when you may choose
to try whatever drugs may appeal to you
you are least fortunate enough
to have access to clean ones
and a safe enough and comfortable enough environment
in which to study your interrelationship with them,
intellectually, physiologically, psychologically, spiritually, and socially,
but not necessarily in that order.

I won't tell you what to do,
but my advice is this:

Don't eat yellow snow:
don't snort yellow coke.

If you're gonna poison yourself,
poison yourself with the good ****.

If you want to see whats up with something,
be certain your sample size is representative.
That's just good Science.
No one likes a false statistic
except those in power
who wish to remain in power
so maintain thy power
to wield thy freedom of choice
armed with an arsenal of personal experiences
sailing with an armada of accurate information
upon the high seas of this uncertain but certainly beautiful Life,
but be prepared to accept the consequences.

That's just responsibility.

That alone oughtta put you well ahead of the curve."
Fictitious, but that doesn't warrant dismissal, I think.
 Jan 2016
Third Eye Candy
the eerie brick of the eye
smarts at the sun, blasting a bank of fog
and sour dross from the furnace
of insight, keeps the weather pale
as thin blood on a dreaming knife.
no greed is fair or sweet.
we may only crave what a soul may purchase.
and the hours wane and swell and nod
where we swing our hammers best
before we plot to build
cold houses.

none of us are the other
but we flock in ale and clouds, together.
we tuck our wings into our coats
and endure the clap of thunder
from some dark.... dark
clank.

and the honey from the salt
is a stone.
 Jan 2016
Third Eye Candy
i'm a scrap yard magnified.
some sort of throat you choke
but not now.
we are plenty weak but we
love it.
we come from a last place
that has no reason,
we go from the last last place
that had any reason to be real.
and some some folks
wanna live forever
but not you and I....
we
wanna die for good
and that's the "Whatever"
however we love Us
now.
 Jan 2016
Third Eye Candy
Shouldn't I have
loved you
more ?
you seem less dreamy
and the night is fast
like a bird
heart.
But i've been numb.
Remote is a form
of music
but fragile.

it's not cheap
to be real
but slavery has a way of sexing the fool
and no one knows
how much
you hate
till you look
at You.
 Jan 2016
Third Eye Candy
i keep nothing in my keepsakes,
how wonky the uncool love we have for nothing.
we are unjoined and the peace of it is
at war.
we are no other than ourselves
and yet we lack the spine to amoeba from the sumptuous opinion
of a silent evolution.

love is rude and brilliant.
it curls it's toes and slumbers in the roost
of Oblivion.
it's more real than your declarations
but has no rain
that a desert hasn't scoffed.

Memories are dust with flesh.
we fudge the true glum of our footage
but edit the puke of our uneven perspective
to see better the void of our relentless
being...
For Thine is The Kingdom
of some Reflection
and Mine is The Word
of a Mute

and no
Joy .
Next page