Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I see the bandwagon trail,
ablaze once again,
Head hunters patrolling,
for blood stained skin,
Weapons in hand,
torches lit with flames of fury,
As they gather the masses,
to portray, judge and jury,
A Public execution is on display in the courtyard,
Sinners suspended from the hanging tree,
Barking freshly marred retribution,
Sought by bound shackles and wrists,
To appease the famished ego's,
of raging hypocrites !
You reap what you sow. To many are concerned with what others are doing, rather than just getting on with it. It grates on me.
 Aug 2018 Levi Johnson
MicMag
.
              (  (  growing gray cloud of smoke and ash  ) )
              (  (  expanding mass of poisonous gas  ) )
                         (  ( billowing upwards into the air ) )           a
                            (  (    dark    omen    of    )  ) ­                   s
                                 (  (      despair      )   )                         h
      (    \           //    )  
                                       (   \        //   )                                 g
                                           (  \     //  )                                     e
                                              \\\  /////                                        n
                       ­                         \\\/////                                           t
                                         the                                                     l
                                    peak's        top           ­                         y
exploding     right off
                       glacial snows melting down                       f
                     lava flows heading for the town                     a
                   terror! destruction! fright erupting out                   l
               extinct beast awakens, roaring primal shout                  l
           mountain trembling, earth shaking, people quaking           s
       in fear and wonder, transfixed by summit torn asunder       
fire and fury blend with the sky as we flee and ponder why
we await this rage from the earth but the beauty makes it worth
all the deadly risks we know we face in living at this volcano's base
I recently visited some stunning towns
sitting at the base of active volcanoes.

I was left contemplating this tension
between the beauty and potential carnage.

(This one doesn't seem to look quite right on a phone.
Try it with a rotated screen.)
 Aug 2018 Levi Johnson
MicMag
Viral
 Aug 2018 Levi Johnson
MicMag
What's it take
These days

To write a poem

That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest

Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?

Is it perhaps...
     the "creativity"
               of      varied      spacing
  or...    could it be..... the lack
                              of capitalization
               the loathsome little letters
               screaming out
                         hey, look at us!
         ... or maybe it's
               the punctuation marks,
     littered, haphazardly
          through the text
                    (whether used correctly)
               or, theyre not?!
     despite worrds mispeled
          and a grammar might is broken
   can these gimmicks increase interest
        though miswritten or misspoken?

Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
     unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
   (or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
                  Praise for which we
                  Privately, desperately
                  Pray

Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism

Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes

Well, maybe not...
     those gems are often ignored
     cast-aside, unread, even abhorred

Why?

Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
   of "the right way"
   to write
   to speak
   to act
   to live
   to (fill in the blank)

No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!

And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way

Line
After line
Of synonyms
          over
               and
                    over
                         and
                              over
                                   again

-----

What's it take
These days

To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?

But more importantly:
What's it take

To make my poem go viral?
Only halfway cynically written, I swear!
Amongst the silly humans
fumbling about
these parts
is

this heap
this leap
this unfairly fashioned
female sweet

who's presence
Burns like the
certain sun








Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis
Take this *******
Out of your head

Into the Woods
Drive a stake through its heart

Pour on
some gasoline

Yes throw
A grenade on it

This question
A depression worm

Ask instead
How can I?

Live There



Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis
I am always leaving now
skittering in place
I am convinced
by my effort

that I am not
now anymore

a kid
closing his eyes
to not be seen

peeking out
**** now

skittering bolstered chemically
closed eyes
opened unseeing

now without me
unfound

i am only lessened
cursed now
remains unleft

Copyright @2018 Dennis Willis
He loves me, he loves me not
We're meant to be, or so I thought
My heart is broken, the pain is real
I long for peace, from all I feel

I fake a smile, so no one knows
I mimic strength, lest weakness shows
I refuse surrender, I stand and fight
I must succeed, and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart, and I can breathe again

Minutes into hours, hours into days
The love I held so tightly, starts to fade away
The pain begins to lessen, the tears no longer fall
Seemed misery was forever but it's not that way at all

Those nights you haunt my dreams
Are now few and far between
When memories overtake me, I know I'll be alright
I know now what to do....and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart and I can breathe again
Yes, I can breathe again.
Slowly, slowly,
It is seeping.
Losing life,
Softly beeping.

Glowing fainter,
Every flash,
Slightly dimmer,
Than the last.

All I need,
Is a minute more.
Just sixty seconds,
I implore.

It has taken too long,
Life is ending.
Reaching the limit,
No relenting.

The screen goes dark,
Realize my dread.
The line goes flat,  
My phone is dead.
 Jul 2018 Levi Johnson
Anya
Before I realized it
I began writing for the readers
Not completely
But
Through little things
I avoided long
Too much rambling
Uninteresting
I subconsciously
Diverged towards
Topics I believed would catch my readers attention
Still involving my emotions
Yet
With bias
Which begs the question
Who am I writing for
Truly?
Next page