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 Jan 2014 Culpoetry
Jonny Angel
Someone once said,
kids say the darnedest things.
People say we're teaching kids,
but the reality is,
they're teaching us.

I overheard a young child
in the grocery store yesterday.
It was in the check out line.
The young one was tugging
on his mother's sweater & out of
the mouth of that babe I heard,
"Mommy are all people butting in line *******?"
Everyone turned to look.
"Shhhhhh", she said,
"honey, they might hear you!"
I thought, what the hell,
those kind of people should know better
than to set that kind of example
with small children around!

Someone once said,
kids say the darnedest things.
People say we're teaching kids,
but the reality is,
they're teaching us.
Dear last meaningful kiss,

It's hard to start this,
because long ago I was in such a bliss,
I dont know what to write,
but this cigarette in my sight,
is counting down the end of our night
The guitar is playing its final thoughts
and I reflect on the what to do and not's,
as I start to write the script again.
People stare at me as I write this aloud,
for I want everyone to know, I am not proud,
that this even exists,
but it does.

Your face is what haunts me the most.
When I stare at the coast,
fantasies of memories arise,
but vanish as I feel the falseness of lies,
creep upon me,
like a villain in a play,
but these thoughts I must put away.
They won't get me anywhere.

Except a lonely stare,
into peoples hearts that I seem to try and confide,
but in this rule book I'm writing I must abide,
and leave your side.

I dont think you get what this hurts like,
to ride a bike,
into nothingness of blank words,
that I reflect upon in past writing.
But back to the script I keep fighting,
there is no shading or lighting,
just another poem that I follow.



Dear the love that was never true,

I wonder if your writing too,
or if you even know you,
cause you like to dance around this heartbreak,
like an old soul tries to avoid youth, just for the sake,
sake of wondering what to do next.

As I write this script on my invisible paper,
I have to remember too add the hooded caper,
that's nestled in the shadows, that I frankly never see,
and add reluctantly.
I will look back and think that part wasnt necessary,
but my heart and eyes are wary,
of knowing when to put down my pen.

This will be a sad thing to write,
because night,
is sadly ending,
with the stars starting to fade,
I must abide,
with the fears that reside,
that I must tap onto this screen,
and make sure in this last hurrah, you dont seem mean.




Dear the one who use to be the spark in my nod,

I hear many applaud,
but I wont let myself smile, for this love story shouldn't have ended,
or maybe it hasnt just yet, and just has bended.
Mind is amended,
the wrong doings of past fames,
I can remember the actors I write, but not their names.
As I put my script into print,
and watch the masses on their screen,

"I must say I hate the ending myself,
but it started with an alright scene."


From the heartbroken kid,
with love.
So I wrote this when I was a wee teenager going through heartache...I always really liked tthe title and some of the lines *straightens tie* are most badass....If I ever do a compilation book, I'd split it up into sections, and my heartbreak/ache poems would be called...you guessed it, "the heartbreak letters"...I hope you enjoyed it :]
 Jan 2014 Culpoetry
Ellie May
Hello sadness my old foe
An unwelcome face I’ve come to know
Walking through walls I built so high
With bricks of feathers, but the will to try
You crush my caged bird of steely resolve
And with it’s flightless wings does my hope dissolve
A haunting shadow present day and night
Whispering Give up the fight, give up the fight
But you come and go; a regrettable guest
Soon, I will degrade you to a whimsical test.
My body is my temple, and my mind shall rule-
Only those guests who never leave,
-dreams, memories, friends as thick as thieves
Will have a final say in the way of my life-
I will never let you win this wretched strife.
 Jan 2014 Culpoetry
Jonny Angel
You imbibed like no tomorrow,
frolicked like a madwoman possessed,
jumped up on the bar strumming the air-guitar.
Your **** moves stunned the loud crowd
who undressed you with their eyes
while the tender simulated
doing you from behind.
The tempo began to quicken,
it began to sicken my stomach,
I had to intervene.

In a flash between songs,  
I lept to your side, took your hands
& pulled you from disgrace.
For the first time ever, I noticed
how pretty your sparkly-face truly was.
Despite the spirits, you seemed so full of grace.
It surely was the beginning of the end for me,
I was hypnotized by a drunken angel
& have never felt the same since.
I feel perpetually hungover.
 Dec 2013 Culpoetry
The Noose
I am the poison ivy coiled around her feet
Rendering her motionless and helpless
With lesions covering her body

She loves me violently and without limitation
Offers herself as sacrifice
In the hope of seeking my emancipation

Succumbed to the disorder, once again
My area of expertise
Mutterings of my meaningless sorries evaporate in the air
My head stays bowed
Just a relapse away from my demise

Immersed in water
Caught in the cruel unrelenting undertow
The weight of my burdens dragging me down
Sinking now
Suffocating
Suffoca……
This has no direction, will edit it when I'm feeling inspired.
 Dec 2013 Culpoetry
Bilal Kaci
He’s sweeping the driveway again
Dead leaves and twigs in the snow
Every man has someplace to be
But no real home

The silhouette of a woman
Locked up in a brick wall hell
With real nice hardwood flooring
The kind you could smell

She stands in the window
Behind dark red curtains

Everybody needs a hero
But is it really worth it?
© 2013 Bilal Kaci
 Dec 2013 Culpoetry
Reece
What steps he took, after losing his edge
Cocky **** running wild in days, never slept
Took drugs, took women, took men
Never slept again

What cliffs she admired, after seeing the edge
Tormented in fuzzy daydream childhood afternoons
She came down and stayed for days
An obsession with time to the point of stasis

I think I'm losing my edge
He thinks he's dead again
She lost the bed again

A faceless man was sat on a bench by the seafront
Hood high, said goodbye
Told me his missed the old style, wants more
Told him I was tired and this is whorish
What vines are these, that bound my ankles
and I was screaming into vacuums, grand clocks, strange houses
Safe houses that become embers
Magic men, shaman, shaggy hair, danced there

To use words in multiple places, placing clues
A whole story, absolute, read it backwards, forewords
iTunes shuffle function, on the poetry of the soul
(if it exists)
But he lost his edge again

Yes he went to Africa, saw the face of God and the Devil, unification
Iboga, uneasy stomach, vomited and killed them all
Watched the world burn, and children dance
Bluebell Lucy on arrival, back home
Taunted the skies, saved the proletariat
Grew wild roots and sang, some seraph

Admittedly not an architect, or a poet or *******
How many people have made these allusions
Sold drugs, killed men, ran home, all there, ghost of government
Hedgerows grew wild, were noticed and cut down
Still praise beatitude, Ginsberg, love-made, Kerouac, still plays

She was Hannah and she was Malcolm, also Marvin
He was them too, all the same, transcendental self-infatuation
Peach trees, coloured blinds, ashy scattered floorboards
Burnt home, music playing, popular culture
All free-form even with formality
A stream of conscious way of life
Outlook unsure

He thought he lost his edge
Turns out s/he never had it
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