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 Jun 2014
Poetic T
I wish to cry but I don't
know why, the feelings
are building to the point
of eyes watering like a
dam that holds them back.

My emotions are letting me
down, I know the flood is
coming, but I don't wish to cry.

I keep the emotion in, I will
not give in. I wish to cry to
let my emotions be free, but
I am a man and men don't
cry in front of others or privately.
 Jun 2014
Poetic T
I travel the road that is my mind many
stops taken to places I remember, but
some are fading could it have been that
long.

I see my self as I was before, young and
restless but the picture is scartched it
wasn't like I remember it before.
  
I look around the road it was smooth
in my past, but roads are closed. No
light does shine the lamp post of my
memories have faded and gone.
  
Other roads I see *** holes in my
thoughts, not full memories some
worn away, not smooth this road
soon never to be traveled as  
memories muddled to many holes
have there become.
  
My mind once a place to visit the
roads to my past were many, but
over the years they have closed or
gone.
  
My mind is slowly closing soon I
will not remember myself and on
that day my mind will be closed,
never again to be travelled upon.
Memory is all we have
 Jun 2014
Poetic T
I woke up suddenly from
what was a dream, the motion
was like a tremor, I had never felt like
this before, had I fallen from a nightmare
a dream not remembered but the chill
I still felt in me.

I walked to the stairs a step...
was all what I took, but my foot stood on air
as I fell feeling edges as my neck snapped
a crumpled mess, life leaking with the last
breath I take out of me.

I woke up suddenly from
what was a dream, the motion
felt like Deja vu, what was
this am I awake, a nightmare
it seems like, a breath taken in real
breath expelled out of me.

I walk to the hall to take a
fated step, but remember that which
happened in the dream, so to the bathroom
instead.

I walk to the sink I take a first step,
then my feet I see in the air before I
felt the crunch, as my head connected
with the bath, a flash of light as I breath
my last breath.

I woke up suddenly from
what was a dream, a nightmare of deja vu.
What was really real, as I no twice I have
taken my last breath. Do I leave my room do
I even get out of bed, the horror of deja vu.

Moments pass I'm still breathing is
this life or am I still in this repeating
dream. A thought I think as I settle my
head to sleep and hopefully I'll wake,
be out this nightmare repeating
dream and in real life instead.
 Jun 2014
Camellia-Japonica
She
She must be able to see what I see
Feel what I feel
Hear what I hear.
Does she blind herself?
Does she deafen herself?
Does she deaden the pain somehow?
I scream inside that this is not you,
you are worth more.
Love is not a slap
Love is not staying
Love is not hearing over and over words such as *****.
But, she is not me anymore, she has chosen a path.
A path I cannot follow, but follow I must,
for she is me I am her.
the physical me switches me off, just before
the blow, just before the scream.
© JLB
12/06/2014
 Jun 2014
Camellia-Japonica
To use a quote that encapsulates my feelings right now,
“I'm tired of this back-slappin' "isn't humanity neat" *******. We're a virus with shoes.”
― Bill Hicks

The Poem

Originally I thought I suffered from irritability,
irritability of the human race.
Then I realised whilst looking at my face, it was hate.
I told the Doctor I'd thought of suicide, then realised
I wanted to commit mass homicide.
Become a hermit.
Mankind, womankind I hate you, people think me nice, fair,
and kind, I know the truth, I am a *******, so you must be too.
We as a race need a cull.
Do I like the human race? No. What's to like?
I even dislike people that purport to be friends.
I intricately step my way through this world of vermin.
We defile what is beautiful and true, hate because we
are taught to. Ruin, start wars, cause pain, then moan about the rain!
We as a race are quite crudely put, a pile of ****,
but even **** has purpose, a role.
What role do we have? To hate one another?
If so please make it equal and adhere to political correctness,
by that I mean, Hate Everyone equally.
© JLB 07/06/2014
“You ever get the feeling the world's filling up with *******? I do. What I want to know is what happens when all the ******* run out of people to crap on? What happens when all that's left in the world is *******? . . . The golden rule. ***** unto others before they ***** unto you.”
― William Hoffman, A Place For My Head
 Jun 2014
Camellia-Japonica
Emotion, is like a ship caught in a squall.
Battling the elements, one minute up, one minute down.
Quick, sudden changes crash through you, like wind in a sail.
Pity, is an emotion perceived of misfortune,
Rage, like the tempestuous thunderstorm has it's calm moments.
Tenderness, that rocking motion of a boat on the ocean
The rocking of a babe in arms.
Joy versus sadness.
Anger versus fear.

Love, comes on a beautiful calm blue sea.
Comes from you to me.
Hate, comes on a storm far out to sea.
Slowly gathering pressure, like a weather front, imploding,
destroying, corroding landscapes and souls.
Love versus hate.
The story of time immemorial.
Humankind, 60/65% water, tied forevermore with the tides.
Compassion, comes at the price of surviving all other emotions.
And let's not forget, both humans and the weather suffer depressions.
© JLB
10/06/2014
 Jun 2014
Camellia-Japonica
Cheeriness left me Monday.
Emotionless, I staggered at the news that,
the self proclaimed "The People's Poet" was dead.
In a crashing flood of emotion the 80's flooded back,
"Post Punk" Rick was no more.
Lord Flashheart was no more.
Alan Beresford B'stard was no more.
Drop Dead Fred had died.
Rik Mayall the comedian, actor, genius was no more.
No more catchphrases such as 'Hoorah' or 'Neeeeeiiiiillll'
No more, smashing frying pans into people 's faces,
No more ***** margarine, no more 'Bottom'
No more British anarchic, anti-establishment, alternative comedy.
My youth had died.
Getting old is quite simply a *******.
56 was too young.
But, never fear I do believe, that
"She has a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a man's tonsils"
Will be engraved upon my heart, just for M'Lord! Woof!
© JLB
11/06/2014
On hearing of Rik Mayall's death.
 Jun 2014
Poetic T
I will follow you down the rabbit hole,
To see what can be found, but it wasn't
The fairy tale we were told, it was the
Dark side never seen light under the ground.

The rabbit was late for his execution,
They chopped off his head, it did roll
Across the ground. But the people and
Animals, they did hunger for more, so
A stew was made and his watch was
Sold for gold.

The mad hatter did hide in shadows,
Offering tea to those unsuspecting few,
And once they were in a sleep, he did
Bury them alive under the ground. He
Did a jig, when it was near there last
Breath and did whisper to the earth do
Not worry you are not alone there are
Many flowers buried around.

I walked on shaking you see for I had
Witnessed a serial killer, spiked tea
Handed out.

I meet a queen dressed in red, she smiled
And said do not worry girl your not my
Type, as she showed me around, then a
Room opened jars were neatly displayed
All around. In each I did see a beating
Heart, she said to me these are those that
Betrayed my trust all that is left is there
Beating hearts.

I ran through the court yard I ran across
The bridge, what twisted nightmare had I
Fallen in. I saw a caterpillar smoking a pipe,
What's up little lady fancy a ****, I asked
What it was that had him chilled out so much,
He spoke that he smoked the mushrooms
Scattered about.

I asked what were the bones scattered about,
Some on other mushrooms, others scattered
On the floor around. He said the mushroom
Is good, but to relaxed to care about eating
And things, and with that he blew in my face
As my head hit the floor I was in outer space.

I woke with a fright as my dress was up, and
Breath I could feel as I looked under, nothing
I could see. Then a grin appeared, then a mouth,
Then this knotted looking cat appeared looking
Up my dress trying to lick me out. What are you
Doing I screamed out why fish I could smile as
It licked its lips I was damp and grossed out.

I booted it once and twice in the mouth, this
Is the last ***** you'll lick as my heel crushed
Its skull not smiling now.

I had entered a mad land, not a fairy tale but
A twisted version so true, as I had to find a
Way out, then the white queen did come to
My rescue, to her palace I hid out, sniff this
My dear, don't worry its just to relax you out,
A needle she pulled and injected her self, then
Blood  dripped from her nose and her mouth.

I screamed, she looked up and said I am the
white which, ******* is my power then
her heart gave out. needle in her arm blood
dripping on her gown of white, I ran out but
ran in to a wall and knocked my self out.

I woke again to find my self in my bed, was this
All a dream that world I thought about, then the
Friend I did follow came in to my room, I shouted
Out where were you when I feel In the hole, and
Then a knife did appear though his chest, as the
Mad hatter said you thought you could escape
No one is truly safe when they fall down into
The dark place deep under ground...
 Jun 2014
Poetic T
Inside of me I'm hollow,
There is nothing to see,
I'm full of emptiness
Pain has taken it away
From me.

I want to fill this hollow
Emptiness  With what
is real, to let others in
To help heal this pain
Within me.

I have tried to let that
Void be filled with
Something other than
Distrust, I am putting
My self out to let you
In.
 Jun 2014
Ryan Jakes
I do enjoy your poems
but his I cannot stand
and now I find, to my surprise
you might be the same man

Although the names are different,
the scathing natures strong
and now I read that others here
have thought it all along!

Though yours have some intelligence
and his are total *****
There's something so familiar
In the way both of you write

So I'll sit back and ponder this a while
a mystery its true
then maybe get the nerve to ask
is Loghain Carvo you?
I've read some pretty interesting comments over the last few days regarding our resident ******, many of them coming to the same conclusion. So I ask myself......who is this masked ****.
He left with the passing time
no farewells offered
no heartfelt backward glance
his footfalls ticking seconds
echoing in the Sunday parlours of the righteous he despised

He left with the passing time
no one mourned,no tears were shed
His sacred, bleeding heart
now but a tattooed image
on the chests of the dejected

He left with the passing time
on whispers of myths
and suspected tall tales
doubting his own truth
despising the lie of his creation

He left with the passing time
while pious mice sang of his glory
behind the battlements of faith
as the wars of the wicked raged in his name

He left with the passing time
while mothers wailed at shaken babes
and the disappeared sang from **** choked graves

He left with the passing time
as society shunned his brand
and drunken feet  danced lasciviously on his moral high ground

He left, with the passing time...
My rather drunken write from last night, not sure if I'll edit it, remove it or bin it all together. Not sure I like it at all. Please leave feedback if you will, it would be greatly appreciated.
 Jun 2014
Poetic T
The land bleeds red, as soldiers
Of man have fallen,
For now the wet mud their graves,
Their helmets there grave stone for the
Skull
Kept
Whole.
Death walks on this battlefield
Of man, its pages long,
The reapers take those
Whom death has touched.
Gone to a better place where no
Pain is felt, as their agony of the
Battlefield sent
Sane
Men
Mad.
There is a place on the battlefield
Where a flower does bloom,
A place that is of peace in a field of death.
For where death falls,
Life
Will
Blossom
When the ground heals, and man has
Left this place.
This was once a place of death
And now a single flower grows
Where so many did fall.
 Jun 2014
Chalsey Wilder
Dying and breaking
Left in the desert sand
Left to bleed out and die for the vultures
No one
No savior
Is coming
Breath comes fast and dry
Is this what it feels like to be forsaken?
Left so alone that there is no one, no savior?

At least I'm good for one thing
Food
Food for the vultures
Thoughts of my old suicide attempts come to mind again
Maybe this is my time. Please please let it be.
My body I want to forsake
My heartbeat I want to escape
Eyes slowly drifting closed
Forsake forsake forsake my body
Leave it for the vultures that eat forsaken and deception any and everyday
This might be the last poem I post in a while. I hope you enjoy
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