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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2013
so it is, so it be.

life granted me a boon, come to me, the honey.

not the merest of coating, but a power enrichened,
capable of driving out the slow acting, daily killing,
poisonous venom.

makeover, coverup of tears of ancient marriage-madness,
black swan hate disguise, her lies, venom injection of
coffee blood staining love pretense, now just scar tracks  for a
new boulevard.

the slow pour,  the golden russian amber intertwined tones,
tongue tasted, inside me now, revealed in slow exiting, beauteous,
mellifluous tears.

you dance with the stars, I watch you watching,
clueless that my thee-flavored tears, dance and pour down
my face.

destitute, nearer my God than thee, god blessed this child's life,
love gifted from sweet bees, late in life, flew from my computer screen and sonnet-stung me with antidotes of
love n' honey...
Writ Oct. 12th, 2012
Tinkered with just now, at the bus stop, on the bus, and missed my stop.

New stanza:

"Honey,"
Not the daily address of my man-erred woman,
Babe or Sweetie, I think are in my employ,
But having read this dusty poem,
It will be Honey, tho hackneyed and corny,
Of that, She will inform me most hastily.
But I will know, but never tell, the resonating joy
Unleashed when I think of this poem instantly

gives
is it like a feather
is it now or never
our faces are neglected
our souls are introspective
gravity collected
space and time dissected
water is our mother
the earth is our shelter
a blessed sacred elder
lilikoi is my favorite fragrance
tastes like innocence
and you must respect her
amazing feelings to select
the headwaters call collect
protect our sacred mother
dance upon the other
call upon the winds
feel them on your skin
remove the falling stones
that cover up your bones
rest in love unknown
concentrate until it is shown
phone calls steal our happiness
accidents dent our marriages
darkness is our daughter
streaks of light and color
falling stars kept captive
we plant them in our yards
keepers of the spark
sisters of the sparrow
made of light and yarrow
feathers flicker softly
all our woven glory
givers of the heart
singers of the dark
if you wish to hear them
make yourself a part
of the symphony
lifetimes of abandonment
oh so quick to fill you in
on all the tragic stories
what if we ignored them
and stayed present in this moment
filling up our cups
simple days spent with simple eyes
kindness supplies our alibis
respect is valued
like a stream in our hearts
we are dipped clean
threads of beauty
borrowed from the scarecrow
next lifetime you’ll become
another source of hope
ports of pleasure in our seas
forever we are feeling these
hopeless ropes tying up our antidotes
confounded sounds mounds of hope
stereoscopes and isotopes
poets freely speak
seek islands of wisdom
on stormy seas of chatter
The wind rushes past meand the sun is so bright that I can’t see.What is this madness before me? Have I gone blind? Why can’t I see?The sounds of spring and the smell of rain,the poisons of technology permeate my brain.Have I gone insane in the membrane? Or it this a dream? I am a fiend for caffeine.You are the cure I need, the antidotes to the poisonous seed that infects me constantly. Sleep consumes me, this world I soon must leave.I am stronger than the leaves in a stiff summer breezeor in a hurricane, I am the roots that remain, to be reborn constantly.Like the phoenix I will rise towards the sky tonight.Up into the atmosphere I will rise up highpiercing through the starless night, flying like a butterflyfloating upon the breeze, with weightless eases I lay atop the trees.Why do the clouds fly by as if they are on a highway in the sky?Could they stop for a while, so I might bring one downto take a nap upon its bed of feathers made of air.I’ll climb the tallest tree, and jump out upon the sea,of cotton ***** of gas that float like a tumbling massof constantly moving poetry.I’ll nap atop the trees.2oo5-
A H Butler  Jul 2018
Pure
A H Butler Jul 2018
The urge to do nothing is overwhelming,
compelling.

I am motionless
I find myself halted.
Based upon a worry
a waiting
dominated by uncertainty.

I cannot go on
I stretch the mind
wander
wonder of antidotes
remedies delicious
in the knowledge
of their reduced life
span.
But not a cure.

Openings brighten despite me,
the ephemera of the street untouched,
lilting on its arbor
in its impetuous parade.

​(I think)
I should not allow myself this dysania
in the spaces between moments,
lapses into stillness unforeseen.

In the warm response of wire
I ask for forgiveness.
Trapped in my own gaze,
it’s all I have.
(the purity of sorrow)
The floor pushes me skyward,

I run my finger’s tip around the edge of the afternoon,
Hope to god it rings out in response.
© A H Butler
JAATC Oct 2020
Im tryna
Build a house of gold
But its a straw world, where dey
Freely give diseases and sell antidotes
World, INC.
Commercialised population control
No sovereign man, no sovereign state
Big Bank make the rules
The police are corporate agents
And prisons are big business
Under a government
That's been bankrupt for a century
My straw man is a Trust,
"MY NAME" in all caps on a certificate
As a Citizen
My assets, labour, and energy
Was promised as commerce to back this fictional entity
The fight is perpetual as long as we concede with this system
Really,
Is suicide escape or submission?
Wana vow to my people
To be there when they awake but its hopeless
*** in the near and distant future
I can see no changes
Fake smiles as a hypocrite
And all I can do is injustice
As long as I accept it
Is Man the peak of expression,
And is samsara his polarity?
In a non-meta way I aint happy
saige  Apr 2018
an anecdote
saige Apr 2018
should she have
thrown her wish at the stars
or down a well?

her hair in cigar smoke ringlets
her eyes were the guinness
the journey, her passion
the boy, her poison
the liffey winked with antidotes

black glass with white lights
why do rivers mock the sky?

her hair in her vision
her voice in a bird cage
a swan on a sailboat
not a soul on the ferry

on another coast
amid the day before
and the one that followed
seafoam clashed with clouds
came full circle
as her favorite dead end

she raised
then rolled
her eyes

blue waves with gray wisps
why do skies mock the river?

she didn't go over
nor to the end
she just went against the grain
of the rainbow
only she could spot

and then
she stuffed her hands into her pockets
and
she threw her wish
away
Poetry is surely the finest wine
Its words most lavish *****
You get drunk with every line
By the end all sense you lose!

There’s no wine to cast more spell
Whiskey ***** gin or ***
So long in it your thoughts dwell
Soul suffers blessed delirium!

Ecstatic is the poetry’s fizz
The froth at the mouth of nib
Gushing out of passion unleashed
The kick with each falling drip!

Poetry is among the best antidotes
When I crave a drink or two
I inject its overwhelming shots
Pains melt to moistened dew!
Bob B  Oct 2016
Three Poisons
Bob B Oct 2016
Greed, hatred, and delusion:
The three unwholesome roots.
They are responsible for so much suffering:
Pain, sadness, disputes…

"I want, I want, I want…":
Such is the urge that drives us.
And we, poor fools, are unable to see
The goodness of which it deprives us.

Hatred buttresses the ego
With vengeance, distrust, and despair.
We end up being inextricably
Caught in its captious snare!

Delusion poisons us all
And obscures wrong and right.
We flounder about in blind confusion,
Unable to see the light.

But, hark! All is not lost.
Three antidotes exist:
Generosity, loving-kindness,
And wisdom--just a short list.

Generosity quenches
Our constant, greedy craving.
A truly magnanimous spirit leaves
No room for misbehaving.

With loving-kindness we see
The good that comes from caring.
Ugly hatred can't survive
When it's kindness that we're sharing.

Delusion is maybe the hardest
Unwholesome root to destroy.
But just imagine conquering ignorance
And bathing in radiant joy!

If we applied to the poisons
The antidotes listed above,
What a world we could ALL live in!--
A world full of peace and love.

- by Bob B
XVII

My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated music, answering for
Mankind’s forlornest uses, thou canst pour
From thence into their ears. God’s will devotes
Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?
A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?
A shade, in which to sing—of palm or pine?
A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose.
E Townsend Nov 2016
The poison of my expectations
immunized my body systems

creeping in the veins a shot
of disappointments, frustrations

I cannot keep setting myself up this way

Antidotes are not the cure. Nothing can remedy
the syrup of downfalls encroaching my liver

the gates are closed.
You can’t hurt me anymore.
Michael W Noland Apr 2013
Intrepidly neglected, of my lessened reasoning, I am dissected, of my insurrection, from the blessed beens of yesteryear's glints, dancing, parading, and burning, in layers, stages, and fazes, fading, and melting, the plastic faces into the smelting heap, that has come so far, just to inspire me.

Always.

Always you unto me, spiraling, indefinitely into the deep, where ceased is the times, with bloodied hands, and laugh lines, laughing one last time, while glancing toward my watch, under setting suns, and rising stars, smiling faces, and in tearful goodbyes, i realise

The sky's limitlessness

And in all the glory, and all the bliss, the eloquent stories, and the gentle drifts, my imagination uplifts, in wisps of gentleness, where i submit to reason.

Bless-ed be, the one who garners to my support, from a vortex of euphoric antidotes, of mindless quotes, and animated emotes, pulsed, from straight faces, and lost hope.

Ill tell the truth, you can go with nope, in whispered breaths of gun smoke, lathered in lith-dope.

Just trying to cope with the flow, until i crash upon the shores of nevermore, and, explore these holes in my soul intent, ascending from the contempt of bent perspectives, and twisted concepts, letting the blood of the peasant from my arms of harmony, trembling blankly to sleep.

To you a *****, to me tranquility, as i sink, into the world i knew, so that it may be seen, casing the well being, of all the things, and pixelated dreams, from a thieves keep.

Deep, down, below me, in obscurity, i seep, through the soil of my turmoil, until my hand reaches out, from beyond my doubts, and clambers from the shadows, outside of myself.

I am born, of mud, of muck, of the stuff, you're afraid of, and all i bare is love, love to shrug the shams astray, vacating the placation, and dichotomies, unifying light, into one me, shining in the rainy streets, of my deletion

Until my completion
Completely
Erases me.

— The End —