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DC raw love  Dec 2014
tion
DC raw love Dec 2014
Rationalization
Participation
Concentration
Manipulation
Devastat­ion
Frustration
Delegation
Completion
Direction
Addiction
Motovation
Contraction­
Perfection
Election
Connection
Commotion
Lotion
Jubilation
Reval­uation
Fibulation
Continuation
Population
Sensation
Complication
­Allegation
Temptation
*******
Proustitution
Execution
Desert­ion
Geno Cattouse Oct 2012
What is the thing in us who love to pluck the strings of our imaginations
and try to create resonance with the words that float to the page. To create something from the
nothingness .
We paint our pictures in tortured hues or opaque clutters of expression. At times the palate will surprise even we who mix and stir and strive to find a unique shade or texture. We trawl and dredge and send up pretty balloons  in hopes they will return with answers. Well I do

I am odd in that regard. I think all who strive to express , to be heard, to hear to see to grasp and
be ambushed by sudden revaluation. To make sense of it all. to look deep within and waft on the wind at once are kin.

What is it for you?
To wash away pain.
To turn your face to the pelting rain and feel the value of your existence.

What is it for you?
To say the things your mouth cannot express, untie your fettered tongue.
Do you dream in color.
Does  your poets voice speak to you in hushed tranquil tones
or rumble and stutter or whisper softly from dank and dusty places.

What is it for You.
A way out of your suppression if not expression.
The rubbing of a soothing salve over the aches and pains endured.
The betrayal acknowledged. The Key finding purchase in the  rusted lock. The key falling from your hands in the pitch dark once again as you wake up and find yet another door to open.

What is it for you. For me it is validation that my mind is unique as the neurons fire and
speak a language spoken not by many. We are seekers. You and I.
I do not fit the profile. I am rough and hard  my facade has bonded with my skin. But look within. I am bookish and brutal.Loving and glacial. Witty but slow. Volatile but pensive . A walking talking conundrum. I do it just to **** withum.

Why do you love poetry.
What leaks out of you mind.
What goes in.
What is it ?


.
Derek Yohn Nov 2013
Cultural diversity isn't
just for ghettos and
trailer parks anymore.
America may have won
the global King of the Hill
game, but the **** and
lava flows from our eruptions
and mines has left us
standing on a mole-hill
instead.
Our discarded techno-babble
is next year's Christmas
gift elsewhere.
More than our currency
needs a revaluation,
and it is surely coming,
stalking us as the
lioness shadows the
antelope, waiting for the
element of surprise,
to put us in shock,
so they can stand in awe.
One man's mansion is
another's doublewide...
accessorize with caution.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Uee_mcxvrw

^^^  i am seriously in love with this ^^^

i guess because, IMO, it is a new form of visual "shock and awe" poetry, like a David Lynch film that you might actually have a chance of understanding...maybe.
Ripe is the apple
Dangling brilliance
I stare lost in its allure
Temptation
But not to tempt
Your own creation
Ironically in your image were made
Hysterically historically played
Blind fold close to the edge we live bold
One mistake and we plummet deep
One sin and your soul is satans to keep
But we were created to sin
In your image we were created weak
Daniel Mar 2013
A revaluation occurred
just the night before
an answer that I could not see
an answer that I could not bore.

It all started
with the simple number 8
at first it did not seem significant
at first it did not seem to translate.

Gradually and gradually
It began to haunt my life
and I began to wonder about it
and it provoked me like a knife.

I watched many flicks
and went to the gym
I did everything I could
I did everything on a whim.

Just to forget
the blinding and boundless pain
that you have brought upon me
that you sought to make me drain.

One movie stood out
and it eased my depression.
I then continued on with my days
I then continued with my aggression.

That movie had a scene
about seeing the solution out of a problem
Could you be the problem I've faced?
Could I live with out them?

Again I thought nothing of it
and week after week went
the number 8 persisted
the number 8 made me vent.

So then, So then
On a drive, in the night
to the city, with my best music
playing to my minds sight.
The answer hit me right when recalling the movie Patch Adams.
How Arthur Mendelson tought Patch
about seeing the good in every day.
How to get out of the depth of drought
Out of fear, conformity or laziness.
and then I thought:

Annie was my problem
I've sought out for a solution
but I was too focused on the problem
and could not look beyond.

In Patch Adams the answer was 8
To see what nobody else sees
To see what everybody chooses NOT to see.
See the world anew each day.

That's when it hit me like a punch to the gut.
The combination of "Big Fish" finale music,
"Patch Adams",
Annie,
8,
I worked it out in my brain.
Was no longer driving me insane.

That this divine message
of constantly seeing number 8,
was not a lucky number,
nor  a date.
Nor a month,
or a time frame.
Just a reminder
to not be lame.

If I died tomorrow
what would I leave behind?
Cannot be this willowing self-pity.
What would people say of me?
That my last few months were ******?

So whether it was God, Allah, or a cosmic sign
Annie is the problem, and my solution I must see past.
The 8 was telling me to move on, no more should I whine.
I should no longer look to the past.

Infinitely this sign fed itself
and made complete utter sense.
I am strong, and full of love.
None of which to you I give.
No more, No more.

No no, not any more...
Half a million dollars moved
by political giants
say our chimera hearts
are lion about some parts
look about my parts, see fur
see teeth, see claws
Lions? that's right,
We are.

Pounce on scorn
for these gender norms
we're pressing eulogies in binary's
for transcribing our identities
to hetero70's minded
heredity enemies.
fixated on tellin' me
my parts are prescribed
like sedatives, sleepin' on it
'till I'm good and dead,
like the rest of them.

I love a lion
Son of a lion
daughter of a lion
daddy was a liar
mommy was a fighter

but I'm not lyin'
I've been rhymin' since third grade.
back than I said I was a lesbian
to try and get laid
nobody knows who they are that young
Our personalities grey
and unsung
media does an oli-oop
propaganda elected a spoof.
a Caricature opposite from any revaluation
Who was it
that wanted to watch Disney villains
start performing Macbeth
wrapped in a flag, carrying a privileged crest
white owls, burning bathroom signs on crosses
Tinder deleted her account
For the wrong parts,
used the wrong Lions stall.
They viewed her as lyin'
Aren't we all?
Aren't we fake for six months?
Jack-o-lantern carving out
new masks to try on?
The tea lights stay the same
keeps flickering sin
and shout.
If the wind blows just right,
I watch them sometimes,
burn out.
Breaking news

Back to our existence a Big bang theory was a comic story,
the only big bang that happens every day brings distruction
it was the sound of a bullet escaping a gun to find home in a spinal cord

in other news
cracks were discovered in a happly married man.
we are all broken after all.
till death bring us together, for another funeral called revaluation.
It's crazy how we still argue about the formation of the Universe just to deflect the big issue which is"After life". But we die everyday.
Jamie Treavish  Aug 2014
Sharp
Jamie Treavish Aug 2014
Their hatred sharper
Than the blade of my knife
Yet still they chose to ignore
The fact that they’re destroying me,
Situating me into oblivion.

Yet they expect forgiveness,
Whilst they reminisce
In the tragedy
They created for me.

I try to erase the events,
But blood is not lead
So I continue to scribe
Bold statements of pain,
Yet still they ignore.

They ignore
But do they adore
Seeing me shatter,
Breaking me into desolation
With no hope of revaluation,
No longer - can I be saved.

No need for a burial
Because I already weep
A watery grave.
But I ask,
Who is the weaker man?
Is it he who dies by his own hand,
Or they who abolish
The little hope that man had left.
Jay Bryant  Dec 2012
Elevate Me
Jay Bryant Dec 2012
Elevate to the 9th Degree
Thoughts fill the cloud
Then it rains out me
I fall through the air
Then drip down the leaf
Hits mother earth
Then bring life to a seed
Seeds of Revaluation
Seeds of Solution
In this day and age
These seeds are a nuisance
Words hit deaf ears and I fear
That death is near
Words of safety
Are words that plague me
I open my mouth
But they doubt
So they turn the other cheek
When I shout the truth
Wisdom is my sin
And if I lived it again
I would have did it again
I can't be what I want to be
Cause to fail is easier
Then to fail to succeed
My generation is a new breed
Ready for a revaluation
But tripping over our own two feet
PTSD, ADD, ADHD
VHS , DVD,  MP3
I'm sick of these mental anomalies
Drug dealers with doctorates
Pushing band aids
For a brain aneurism
That may not even occurred yet
But your diagnosis
Is their proctosis
To line their pockets
With decaying presidents
So they don't feel a need
To take that SSRI
that to you they so desperately feed
Welcome to America
Home of the crave
And land of the greed
Hope you have enough stolen
Souls in your pocket
So that you may succeed
Bor ehgit Mar 2023
It’s been another cold night, the once plentiful  firewood is becoming more scarce. The walk is getting so far, that I got lost again today. I almost didn’t find my way back. I moved out here to clear my head, but something tells me that revaluation may come too late. The crackling of the ice and water from the creek, are a welcomed symphony. The sounds calm my thoughts but the silence helps me focus. Each night I feel you clawing your way out, but I’m still not ready to part ways. Lagavulin, accompanied by a single shot glass. Sit positioned slightly to the left of the table, leaving the fire in full view. When the bottle is finished I will place this page into the flames, just as I did the day before. Una cicatrice d'amore, è la prova che hai amato.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
first came the h'american
Bolognese acronym roulette -
which i never
turned my light-bulb
moment on...  
       then came the Emoji
hieroglyphics...
after that?
  BLURP...
        SANK...
SINKING THE U-BOAT...
PG13:
     not R-rated...
not aged 15, or 18...
    fine with the ******* ****...
oh **** me...
you seen Latex Lucy without
the ****** mask?
   but you know what 's
wrong with
watching your neighbors
doing it in the bedroom window?
****... so just my eyes?
whatever...
  whiskey flows and flows...
and flows...
oh sure...
   you could attack identity politics,
i can be less and less
of me...
  but when *******
politics of para-grammar?
if these people didn't apply their
"rules"
  on the orthodoxy of grammar...
i'd be happy...
        but you can't be a *******
****... on the ground
   of having a western front
of identity politics,
and an eastern front of
grammatical "revaluation" -
     can't have both...
if globalization allowed itself
to strip me away from ******,
from a Brit citizenship...
   but attacks grammatical
orthodoxy?
         you can't have one and
the other...
you can play journalistic politics
with nouns...
  but attack pronouns
and, like the word:
****, can also imply a grammatical
conjunction?
    i'd agree with the former
cloister of censorship...
but attack grammatical structuring?
no... sorry...
**** of:
you english speaking anglophobe!
natives... b'ah!
**** me... i'm drunk.
Tyler  Apr 2022
dance:
Tyler Apr 2022
my sister's marital love defined dance to me.
a young child putting every ounce of all his frustrated confusing pain into an astonishing life full groove,
channelling loss into beauty.

my failed love, i gifted you
a part of that soulful movement,
hooked by my confidence and
the love we were to give and understand together.
and together we did until
we stepped too ******* eachother's toes.
all his hurt from his grown heart, her sweetness from her, that now switched to her sour, and the power she pressed on the cracks shall be how i break dance.

my best friend, you added boats to that monument.
i fell into your dream
textbook revaluation
of reality.
all his complicated feelings
held so tender, in stillness
like they were heaven-sent
accomplishments to only overcome.

my best friend, hold her tight.
she deserves it just as much as me, our broken hearts had reel from the same grief. the sad truth i know, i can take this alone.
we danced until we couldn't.
in time, i'd gladly take your hands for any last dance, if you are in looking for a partner.

— The End —