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 Feb 2018 krm
Virender Pal
Before her Disappearances
My Heart Beat went out of control
As I look in her eyes…
My body went Black out

I felt her love for me… from miles
I Love Her , don’t know why….

Endless Sparkles in my eyes
& joy to meet is still alive

I will meet her soon ..
May be she too think so ….

No conceptual metaphor
She Is Unique
She is My Queen

I dreamed her last night ..
& Then I fell in LOVE …..
 Jan 2018 krm
Kate Lion
We are afraid of tying knots.
Now, my brothers weren't fond of Boy Scouts, but those aren't the kinds of knots I'm talking about.
Our parents got us velcro shoes growing up (something about not wanting us to be overwhelmed with tennis shoes)
And that, perhaps, was the moment that started everything.
We could no longer trip on loose laces as we ran our races,
Our parents couldn't see our disappointed faces as we fumbled getting ready for school.
It was the perfect contribution to the flawed illusion that the human institution should be prevented from failing.
Oh, yes.
In my lifetime, cordless telephones were placed in every house because we did not want to untangle our own messes anymore.
Failure doesn't hurt as much when it is invisible.
We wanted wireless, no-strings-attached luxuries with no side effects.
But there were effects that couldn't be seen
(how could they until we were older than teens)
Because the end effect was this:
a generation that shirks responsibility
we have anxiety
because our parents didn't let us face our fears when we were young
we are jobless, loveless, purposeless
because we still haven't realized that everything has its opposite
love - lust
success - failure
happiness - sadness
peace - anger and commotion
you see?
there are full-grown adults living in the basements of their parents
watching **** from an illuminated screen
a no-strings-attached commitment to a video that will never require a vow or a promise;
so many see the term "settling down" as "kicking up dust" of a dull life "confined to a four-inch screen."

we've seen our own parents cut the ties
now living separate lives
better that way, but millennials can't fight
for love or for kids or for dreams
because their caretakers' examples couldn't teach
the right way to do a marriage
the right way to commit
we are shirking responsibility--

because we don't want to fail.

still as afraid of tying knots
as we were in kindergarten.
 Jan 2018 krm
Kelly Bitangcol
Doctors say that babies learn to talk during the first two years of their lives, they’re learning the rules of language and how adults use it to communicate. They’ll begin by using their tongue, lips and any growing teeth to be able to make sounds. And soon, these unknown sounds that your baby uttered will become real words, such as ‘mama’ or ‘papa’, that will bring tears to your eyes as early as six months. From then on, your baby will pick up more words from you and everyone else around. And sometime between 18 months and 2 years, your baby will begin to form two- to four-word sentences. As babies make mental, emotional, and behavioral leaps, they are increasingly able to use words to describe what they see, hear, feel, think, and want. In this world, age is not just a number. It’s the basis of everything. The right age to study, the right age to watch films, the right age to fall in love, the right age to do everything, because there will always be a proper age for something. However, there are times in your life when you don’t know if you truly are in the right age, and when does your age become proper or improper to something. Many people don’t believe that I’m only 15 because of the reasons I write “deep” poetry and that I speak of certain issues that a 15 year old shouldn’t mind. So sometimes, I also wonder the things they do, am I really just 15? Now whenever someone asks me how old I am, I will just say I-don’t-know years old.

People will celebrate and rejoice the time a baby speaks for the first time, but right now, when young people speak, everybody will do the opposite. I’ve preached so much about equality and one of the responses I got was “You’re too young.” A group of millennials went to a rally to achieve justice and fight against history revisionism but apparently they don’t have the rights to speak because how could they know about it when they haven’t even experienced it? Oh and of course, the famous reason that they’re too young, they can’t do anything. When young people speak about something, everybody will shame them and throw them numbers while saying “Check your ages first before you begin talking.” But we did already, we checked our ages, we checked history, we checked facts, things which you clearly didn’t do. So the millennials explained, told them about history and why they don’t want it to happen again, told them they don’t need to experience something first before showing empathy, and that apathy isn’t a very good trait. But the people covered their ears, and told them, “Shut up. you know too much, you temperamental brats.” So that will leave us, the youth, confused. That a couple of months ago they’re complaining that we don’t know about anything and now they’re complaining because we do. Why do people shame us for not doing something and doing something at the same time? Why do people feel like they are entitled to when we should speak up? Like their jobs are putting tapes to our mouths and shut us up whenever they want to. But it’s not our fault that reality opened our eyes too early, but it will be ours if we shut them. So we were the ones who chose not to, we were the ones who chose to fight, to speak and to do something about it. And as they shame us for speaking up and knowing too much, we fight and rise to have the thing the world always wanted. My voice, my single voice, will make a difference that no one absolutely expected, and when we have our voices combined, think of the things we could change, or possibly, think of the things we could save. We will speak, shout, chant and fight together and they will realise the power of the people, they will realise we are unconquerable. You know what they say, when a fire starts to arise, people will do everything to put it out. But if you’re using your flames in a right way, do not let them end yours. Use them to light the darkness in the world, use them to warm up the cold things, use your fire to ignite.

When they tell you you’re too young to be able to change something, prove to them that courage and persistence have no age. Speak up, remove the tight grip in your mouth that has been keeping it shut for too long, fight for what’s right. The moment they hush you and ask for your age, tell them. Tell them how young you are and your desire to make a difference, tell them your passion to strive and tell them you’re never going to stop. **And from now on, never let them silence you.
 Jan 2018 krm
B Young
millennials
 Jan 2018 krm
B Young
All us children of the Millennial
awaiting an omen,
seeking out the last augury,
weaving among the boomers
who present us with a forgery.

Stay strong, my children!
We are the last missionaries,
the last lost lovers,
are the rarest breed indeed,
above us a genuine gospel hovers.

Stay authentic, my friends!
Set out with unmatched veracity,
imperfection glistens these days but,
we see through the deceiving fog with rectitude,
we refuse to be mislead.

Steer the course, my children!
These maps made for us yield no
sensible shape or design when traced,
we forge our own compass.
Forgetting north south east west,
undulating inwards with a steady pace.

"We are the lovers, we are the last of our kind, so hold my hand and keep your chin up and I swear we'll be just fine."

We desire no recompense, only truth.
On sour soiled presidential soliloquies we muster strength again and again to chew, repeatedly breaking a tooth.

With roots above and branches below,
we capture our affections in nature's photo booth
but,
furrow our brows in a sordid mirror reflection.

Stay clean, my sweet princes!
Dart ahead to meet me and my words I will not mince.

Hold steadfast to the healing hope hovering above our masts,
steer this ship with steady hands,
fear not the undertow.

A voyage which is long and treacherous,
but this is no ship of floating fools.

Be proud, my children!
We have sailed successfully into the millennium,
leaving in our wake the outdated value systems of the past.

We are the strong
We are the brave
We are the lovers
The last of our kind
 Jan 2018 krm
Cody Haag
The deterioration of society,
Commonly serves as writing material;
Hell, even I could write about changes
That have lessened our souls.

But I also appreciate the changes
That have bettered us as a collective people;
I dream of collaboration between church-goers,
And those that turn from the steeple.

We've evolved to a new level of acceptance,
And equality that was unknown;
Yes, the "isms" still exist,
But in a much softer tone.

Gender roles wreak havoc,
And some feel elite.
But we've inched closer to equality,
And those roles we will defeat.

I have so much hope for this generation,
The kids that have been raised with new eyes;
We possess views that our ancestors
Would abhor and despise.

Unity and inclusion,
Love and tolerance;
I will preach these things,
Until there is a balance.
 Jan 2018 krm
Lawrence Hall
Millennials at Work and War

Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us

Now thrown into the existential struggle
Surrendering their youth and taking up life
They muster in the fields and factories
And in their elders’ undeclared, shadowy wars
Uniformed in an unappreciated sense
Of duty and dignity while scorned by those
Who take their ease upon the couches of sloth
And fling cheap mockery at millennials
Who take up tools and work and love of life
Sometimes to die in deserts still unmapped
While generals dismiss their casualties as light
Despised as snowflakes by keyboard commandos
Who never got closer to any war
Than a John Wayne ketchup-****** movie.
Some work long double shifts through university
In a sawmill, shop, or fast foodery
Only to be dismissed as slacker layabouts,
But expected to trust those who condemn them
For not being the greatest generation
As defined by those who never served at all
And while being criticized they will grab
A quick cup of coffee for the night shift
Staffing the hospitals and police patrols
That keep their sneering critics alive and safe
They drive the trucks, they man the ships, they work
They drill for oil, these useless millennials
While idlers lounge long in the coffee shops
And YooToob computered jokes about them
Millennials have no time for coloring books
Or comfort animals or revolution
For they are weary with study and work
The best of them make no demands, but, sure
A little respect, hard-earned, would be nice
If only the scripted singer-songwriters
Would pack up the tired old stereotypes
And see millennials as they truly are
But darkness falls – they must go back to work
On the eleven-seven, the graveyard shift
They do not burn draft cards or Medicare cards
Instead through work they illuminate this world
And build it up with continued sacrifice

Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
 Jan 2018 krm
Mia Lee
Gen Z
 Jan 2018 krm
Mia Lee
Spy Kids (the original)
A 5 dollar matinee with your mom
A box of Bunch A Crunch
Or a plastic sack of
Dip N Dots

Ninja Turtle walkie talkies
Flare denim cargo pants
Bobby Jack zip up hoodies
With blue Fla-Vor-Ice stains
And hide and seek

Now That’s What I Call Music
Volume 17
Playing from a 10in x 10in
Silver box TV
And high frequency noise
To accompany
Akon’s latest bass line

A razor scooter
The foot powered kind
When the Preacher’s Daughter
Has a shiny blue one with a motor

Weeping to Secondhand Serenade
Because your mom won’t let you have
A Wii
And your crush checked “no” on the
Note you gave them last week

Detention after pre algebra
From shooting a girl two seats over
At “close range”
With a hornet
And she was unfamiliar with the school wide
NO SNITCHIN’
policy

The words
Beastly
And epic
Used to describe what your
8th grade field trip is gonna be like

A phone call from your best friend
About finally finding Ben Franklin
In Tony Hawk’s Underground 2

Now
The OK symbol is your most used emoji
There are too many guys with long hair
And beards
White girls all have a weird obsession
With house plants
We’re all at least 50 thousand dollars  in debt
And I think we all
Just really hope Donald Trump
Isn’t our next president
 Jan 2018 krm
Irate Watcher
My mom offers me a bowl of oatmeal she cooked at seven.
It is eight.
Sitting on the stove, it looks clumpy and cold —
a mash drowning raisins.
I pretend like I don’t see it.
But it calls my name as I start my day,
even though it looks repulsive
and I have avoided oatmeal since college.
I toast some bread.

She glances over the counter to see if I am paying attention  —
a reflex from my childhood.

Because as a child, 
my parents said I had selective attention. —
sometimes I listened and other times I didn’t.
When they got divorced, it got worse.
I was distracted by the bristle of my dad's 5 o’clock shadow
and the sigh in my mom's voice when they asked me
separately,

What time I needed to leave?
and
If all my stuff was packed?

But all  I kept thinking was:

Is that all there is?

You get married, get divorced, and cart around your kids.

The thought of swallowing this is repulsive.
like leftover oatmeal,  it stares me in the face.
I don't want it.
Most girls I know are raisins —
They already have their whole
wedding planned on Pinterest,
and their kids names picked out.
Everytime, I  see engagements on FB,
I can't help but forsee divorce
and I wonder why people run for a
partner, kids, and a mortgage,
when in college their
ambitions were more.
I wonder when their
mid-life crisis will be,
or when they'll wake up
and want more than
9 to 5 to fulfill a lie
patriarchy put forth.

So I spread peanut butter on  toast and
murmur, “I put the oatmeal in the fridge — someone will eat it.”
My mom puts her head down and finishes her coffee.
I eat my peanut butter sandwich.
I am stuck trying to answer an impossible question,
as she begins sentences like
"Once you get settled,
you'll want to look for someone..."
I tune out.
I don't have selective attention,
just the perception that
everyone is ignoring
this important question:

*Is that all there is?
Confessions of a jaded millennial
 Jan 2018 krm
Tim Knight
I sit and try and be a lotus
after killing the third fly of the evening
with a pocket book of recipes and a
thirty centimetre ruler stolen
from bathroom **** measuring contests to our knees.

Young professionals tread these boards
and I watch, trying to paint them lotus.

I listen and learn like I was told to do
then clock watch, mop, cycle home to you;
I am still trying to be a lotus
even in wet shoes and no socks.

With less than five-hundred pounds to my various names,
an office-chair-***-clothes-horse, eight USB charging ports
and a future that stretches to Sunday’s last reluctant second,
I am sitting, trying to be lotus figuring out the professional path
David Attenborough heard in his gentleman’s class: that son of a-

- I walked into an army recruitment vault with dreams of being Gulliver,
though was asked to leave out the cat flap cathedral door back into war
as they’d got their laugh and didn’t applaud.

Perhaps I should’ve been better at maths
where apparently a career can be predicted on a scatter graph,
and the pigeons of today were the pigeons of next year and the months that’ll follow the century after that.

I am still trying to figure out the hoo-ha of *******
and ring fingers and collar sizes and the inner circles
of hyenas when the winter solstice splits the seasons.

There is no reason for this lotus procrastination
when what’s there to live for but a crooked world
and one bandage left.
timcsp
 Jan 2018 krm
Irate Watcher
Eddie takes care of me.

Our heads laid neath
street lights, a wild sky,
turned wrong, then right
across the bend
we haven't seen —
just experienced.

Forgotten flock
with no stake,
who solopsize only
while hugging and kissing.
Getting old.
Craving more.

The harmony
of shucked
clothes guising
vulnerabilities
to someone
who will listen.


With peeled eyes,
and closed lips,
his hands ride my hips,
soft flesh meets tough skin,
collapsing in.

We look at the other.
Please the other.
Stroke the other
with cupped hands,
dead before bloom,
fallen,
uprooted.
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