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the waiting in hallways
lined up on the wall
with eyes following the chatterbox and her
flowing train of rabid listeners
who hang themselves ritualisticly on her
shallow water illustrations
swimming on this thin tide of unpublished lip candy
her bubblegum words are commentary
upon which her followers build temples
to the unfit mothers of televangelists
the chatterbox spills her loud thoughts
on the sun warmed concrete
as the summer lawnmower navigates
around santa and his late december reindeer
and the children's labyrinth of christams morning plans
while i sunbath nearby
she gathers her spilled thoughts
and races away proudly proclaiming that'
my poems are too short for the pulitzer
so she is ready for her laurels
and a fast road to academia
with a neatly packaged version of her inner perversions
spread like *** and lip candy
on the local coffee shop bookshelf's
for the pretty college girl with glasses to drink from
its about my ex...who laughed when she read it.
in the dim light
her smile is implied
but its warmth is genuine and clear
a talented soul is never marred by the worlds lack of vision
i think if i could sum it all up
all the hopes all the dreams
all the things iv fought so hard to build
  thouse wonderful things as a child i dreamt of
all the magical things that i felt were waiting for me as a young man
i would not be bending the phrase
to say she is perfection
in dreadlocks and patchouli
for thouse who have never had the privilege
real hippie chicks are
all the beauties of summers day
and all joys loving warmth of summers eve
she is wonderful
i love you woman
joy is transient
but its brief journey is golden to the
hearts eyes
in this place that must suffice for a reason
to remain
some come to bind themselves
to some inglorious fate
so that they may have that one moment
in free fall where they may open up golden wings
held quietly since childhood in hopes one day to shine once again
may once more soar among the clouds
light and free
they come here to sing with the angels of a better nature
or battle with the demons of a dark past
she walks with slow care
placing each step tenderly gathers her voice
and mutters the words in guttural whispers
to the soundtrack of her mad mind
where the ashes of burned cities settle like snow
on the image of a broken landscape she painted in dark watercolours
i came to build temples
out of the streets driftwood faces
the nameless who wash up on distant mystery shores
and leave intricate carvings in the minds scrapbook
that show like a roadmap to one souls journey
my coming to this tropical Christmas
and cardboard cut-out hero sortie into your world
if i could rescue you
i would be there on a sterling english steed
with a loud proclamation
that only the prettiest damsels get fine young dandies
she smiles for my soft approach
as i glide in under her eyes
joy is transient
but its brief journey is golden to the
hearts eyes
Early.
I became the bottom of a shoe. Worthless, unwarranted, but there, needed.
Rubber and worn, worn away to the thinnest part, and still used.
Hands became words, and hugs became extinct, tears became invisible, the 'childhood' was erased.
Diabetes became my mother, known as rejection, and depression, her twin, known as rage.
Insulin and Fluoxetine became my equally demanding toddlers; I was feeding a family of 6 at the age of 8.
Later.
I watched my brother become a tortured child, in his sleep - the sound of his waterproof sheets would keep me awake, as i lay worried that his screams were words he could not utter at his age.
I watched my sister grow cold as she watch her house burning down around her, and crying tears at the loss of her childhood, her eyes burned at me.
As i looked in the mirror, when i cried,  i would flush the toilet just to hear what it feels like to be washed away.
Disappeared down the drain.
I shrunk 4 inches in 4 years, one inch for each bottle of poison, that said 'drink me'.
I shrunk 4 inches in another 4 years for every word that said 'eat me'.
I shrunk so that I could not grow, up.
Later still.
I became broken, hard to 'fix'.
I became lost, without a cause.
I became the rebel, odd-one-out.
Family grew fractured, broken mirrors lay on all our floors, that we skirted around, lest we should bled it all out, what had happened.
Relationships broke, one after another, after, another, after, another, after....
Faces lost feeling, words became laws, feelings became problems, love became, raw and unused.
We dissipated, dissolved, into a million pieces of broken, into the world, held together by very thin words of 'family'
Now.
I am not a child anymore.
It's time to be heard.
 Dec 2013 Niveda Nahta
Marian
Lilacs are blooming
In the sunshine watch them sway
In the blowing breeze

**~Marian~
I'm back again!!! :) ~~~~~~<3
Enjoy the Haiku!!! :) ~~~~<3
Christmas Has A Meaning

Christmas has a meaning
That we must not forget to see
For a gift of love called Jesus
Was born for you and me

On a night so filled with darkness
A star did shine so bright
To guide the way for all to see
The savior born that night

The King of Kings they would proclaim
Kneeling faithful by his side
In the manger lay the son of God
The Messiah had arrived

The glory of this childs birth
We celebrate in many lands
He unites the world with love and hope
Peace on earth good will to man

Christmas has a meaning
We must not forget to see
For a gift of love called Jesus
Was born for you and me

Carl Joseph Roberts
December 2013
knowledge awaits is the ticket
they sell you as you pass through
the pearly gates of higher learning
with textbook in hand you pray
that the dream you have isn't as much of
a work of fiction as the history they teach
with your college bound girl
her vanity lay in her turtle frame glasses
she hides behind the foggy lenses of her
casual drugs and meaningful ****** episodes
she grasps the back of your letterman jacket
hoping that you are as surefooted as your propaganda speaks
as you follow the blinding path
of confusions principal and you think to yourself repeatedly
that the truth in the simplest explanation is the actually the most complex
because you make it that with
realizations and rationalizations
through the day to day whittling away
of what you really are
through lying to yourself that
if you stick it out with this false life
one more day it will all be better
that the relationship you are trapped in
will work with you
instead of making every day
an uphill battle to be heard
and loved without tears
sometimes look into her eyes and
see the endless road of escaping her past
and i think that i just want to stop running away
settle down
and be
just simply be
a father, a husband, a lover
happy
at least ginsburg got to be happy before he died
 Dec 2013 Niveda Nahta
Marian
Clouds are floating by,
In the beautiful evening sky,
There is a faint sunset in the west;
And seagulls are flying home to rest.
The moon's rays fall gracefully to the ground,
Such beauty doth here abound,
The lighthouse is standing stately on the rocky coast;
I shall always love this place the most.
The waves are crashing in motion,
The moonlight reflects in the ocean,
Three palm trees are dancing on the rocky coast;
This place I love the most.
The full moon is shining from way up high,
It is so beautiful I'm ready to cry,
And as the moonlight hits the shore;
I shall hold this place dear forevermore.

*~Marian~
I hope this sounds okay!!! :) ~~~<3
Enjoy!!! :) ~~~<3
his unwashed clothes retain
their vibrant colours
'neath the streaks of dirt
he stands facing the rising sun
soaking in with rabid hunger its warm glow
pieces of sunlight through broken cloud
his fingers loose their frail grip
on his bag which tumbles to the soft earth
without a sound
it lay gathering its shadow like desperation
he utters a soft sweet single thought
into the breaking sunlight
heal that which you have left broken far too long
he cannot know if the silence greeting
his words is a denial or affirmation
bear the unbearable
speaking to the wind
he awaits answer
please
please
heal that which you have left broken for far too long
even the lowest creature
from time to time must shine
within the graces of
she walks up to him quietly as to not disturb
and begins to sing in a voice soft and low as whispered wind
to sooth his heart upon his sleeve wounded appearance
she had never seen one so close at hand
and studied his form and nature with care to detail
caressing the nature of what she beheld with her clear mind
this is the grace
this is the secret knowledge from ancient text
invisible incantation of old lore
this is the grace he seeks
heal that which...
i seek a fresh page
on which i may be written
a new palate upon which the landscape
of this soul may be inked
         i dreamt
i stand here on the edge of night
looking out over the vast empty parking lot
of some nameless something-mart
a single piece of paper walks with a slow wind across
the desert of pavement
i turn and leave
walking down a tree lined street
only streetlights and silent empty cars
only the night noise of suburbia
a television sound of gunfire and laughter
a dog whispering loudly of his intents to be free
of whatever chain that binds him to his unfriendly fate
i walk for hours it seems
marvelling at the stillness of suburbia's intense isolations
walking from pool of streetlight to pool of streetlight
i finally come to a stop benith one
silence
nothing beyond this place is real
i ask aloud of the meanings of these things
and a friends voice from a long ago conversation
says "one of these things are not like the others..."
and he fades away back into the past
and he takes the dream with him
i wake slowly
to the sounds of a empty apartment
i walked out on my lover
i am alone
it is not a dream
and one of these things is just like all the rest
of the things that don't fit in round holes
revised version, removed the last few lines...now its ok
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