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Sarah Nov 2013
"I knew this girl once,
she had long hair, so long it whispered tiny kisses along her hips and waist
she had the oddest bluest eyes i'd ever seen, the color of the sky right before it gets completely dark
her thick, long eyelashes framed those eyes, and freckles formed constellations across her cheeks
i could almost draw the big dipper and Orion's belt on her milky white face.
She didn't know i existed but i admired her from afar. I could tell she was educated- She always had some form of poetry in her hand. But of all the things i could have noticed about her i noticed her bookmarks. She would lose them all the time, i would see her chasing after the scraps of paper as they flew through the wind down the street. She'd stick anything in between those pages, wrappers of all sorts, leaves, pennies, shoelaces, once i even saw a page ripped from a different book. It became my favorite game to guess what the next bookmark would be.  After awhile she stopped chasing the various bookmarks across the city and she cut all that long hair off, then awhile after that she started using unoriginal, uninspired plain old bookmarks.Then even awhile that she stopped bringing books altogether, until one day she didn't show up. Nobody knew that beautiful, mysterious, bookmark making girl was locked up inside her own mind. Nobody knew she hated her long hair and her freckles and even those baby blues. Nobody knew that she couldn't stand to live in her skin anymore so much that she swallowed a couple pills one night to ease away the pain. Even worse was she didn't know i watched her for so long and thought she was the most interesting human being i'd ever encountered. That girl committed suicide because she hated herself learn from her mistake, my mistake, everyone who ever noticed her bookmarks mistake, and don't do this, don't off yourself with a .45 before you've even had a chance to live" he's desperate now  
"please please you don't have to do this" he sputters

I answer simply " I never was much of a bookmark girl, i always dog-eared my pages"

*bang
Barker  May 2016
Bookmarks
Barker May 2016
Her heart was full of bookmarks
From those who had once loved her pages,
But not enough to finish what they had started.
Listed bookmarks of old, and baited non-benifit of the doubters.

A kind rewinded word of advice heard, pattern of choices and actions made a bested resounding thunderous sound,
near then , how come the doubters tested and warned to the trap not come, where graced benefit of the doubt be a stated consideration on that very **** day?

To the impact indicators blinking a sudden turn of the coat or is it the tail wagged the dog in the fog of a psychological electronic war that must be raging in the minds of the internet cheerful happy people as not it has in the walk and mind of mine, for i laid bare so as to share the scare i knew to find , and thus almost lost it all , wit correction, but you cast a guilt-ed hazy trash to one more that willing to best you and test you for the proven faith and trust he already gave, oh wait, or was that simply entertainment for the view of you ?  so, um, sit down, you could have listened to me and gave benefit of the doubt, or did you forget what all this is truly all about? saving those whom have and  are being manipulated into utter turmoil and death by these blood sport  games in these windows... remember there "friend"?  or is it ol craig and his lists are totally as bad off as little ol me, for shurly you see, that even she is free to some degree and will as i have walked all through , forgiven, yet my dear friend, do you think such grace for me? considering,most forget why the hell we have been doing all this and i walked you all through such ******* things... oh, sorry, i am sure you were getting around to that human trafficking thing, right? well, at least there are good people doing that as we speak, and for them we are grateful, are you?
Oh and no i am not mad nor upset, just disappointed, i always tell you what is coming and to choose. and still i harm you not even if it harm me.

The Unforgiven I,II and III - Metallica - (LYRICS)
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-HiAEXQP38

Motörhead - Ace of Spades (slow Acoustic version)
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tc-PVTj9UCk

AC DC - Who Made Who lyrics
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuFq3ynnBo8

AC DC Ride On
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugwlIQ8K4Vs
Cedric Jun 2022
Continuous ebbs and flows,
Ongoing transits on the way home,
Nights of burned candles shine,
Gaining new insights all so fine.
Rainy days and espresso on the nose.
Afterglow outlines turned backs.
Trudging through piles of books,
Untangling webs of teachings-
Laughing through triumph,
Answering through ones and twos,
Thundering through the syllabi,
Information would gradually fly!
On nights you sleep distraught,
Nigh morning comes not for naught!
Stand proud in togas and caps!

Pressed flowers make for good bookmarks.
Riddled with nostalgic scents of days gone by.
Intrepid you stand as you close this chapter.
Marching onto the next page of your life,
Onto the edges of this pen shall leave a mark.
An acrostic poem for my friends, the primo batch of our university, graduates ready to tackle the world. Only through words can I express such pride for my peers, congratulations.
Pearson Bolt  Aug 2015
bookmarks
Pearson Bolt Aug 2015
i stick the plaintive letters
of friends and family amidst
the pages of my favorite books
they mark choice passages
concerning our species and the
fate of this ancient universe

one desperate plea for me to
return to the hypocrisy of Christianity rests in my copy of Camus's essay "the Rebel"
tucked nearby Dawkins'
"god Delusion" and Bakunin's
"god and the State" which share
a space with unholy texts on science
art and philosophy on the top row
of my overflowing
alphabetized bookshelf

on a silent Sunday drive home from
church some years ago i
once asked why it was such
a crime to believe in myself
my father imparted it was
an insult to my 
invisible creator
well here’s a ******* to 

my mythological maker
i don’t need you
i’ve got two feet 

planted firmly 
beneath me
i stand strong beside the ones
who resist a culture of misanthropy

i am what i am
a wanderer waylaid in the chasm
of gray matters
i no longer see the world in
shades of black pitch and white snow
your absolute truth is sharp
and out of tune with the
empirical realities of nature
i am not a zealot inculcated
on the drug of elitist predestination
i refute the elixir of everlasting life
heaven is a dream that keeps
us numb to the hellscapes around us

i face the unknown sobered by a
measurable cosmos which wasn't
made just for me to see
but spawned all we call
reality in the throes of a fourteen billion
year old eruption that flung planets
and stars into existence

we are amiss upon a floating rock
adrift in outer-space and instead of
utilizing our capacity for ingenuity to
cultivate a sustainable community
we looked towards the skies
and fashioned gods in our own image
we made god compassionate—a benevolent  
creator who breathed life into nothingness
we made god hideous—a malevolent
dictator deciding the destinies of the unfortunate
we engineered division where once was
sanctity and instigated violence on the
premise that one faith was better
than the other but
they all ring hollow
if you ask me

i am not a sheep and your Christ
is not my shepherd
i am not a timid and pitiable creature
stumbling along after some imaginary master
Jesus of Nazareth was a revolutionary
executed for instigating rebellion
against the Empire of Rome
he said nothing about waging endless war
in fact he urged his followers
to turn the other cheek
i imagine he'd be rolling in his grave
if he could see them know—provided
of course
he hadn't so famously vacated it

riddle me this
why do you hate two men who cherish
each other when your savior said
the greatest commandment was just
to love and be loved by one another
if the etymology of Christian is
Christ follower why not cherish the
lines of red in your holy book
your god bled and died for

even the most progressive of faiths
pale in comparison to the certainty of
evolution or the terror of global climate change
why mythologize that which we don't
understand when history shows that
we only learn more and grow with time
when we question everyone and everything
why dwell in circumstantial metaphysics
when we can just as easily admit
we don't have the faintest clue

i arraign myself against any warped faith
that privileges bigotry and arrogance
i reject the religion of atheism and
buddhism and Christianity
i stand apart from the ethos of
Hindus and edicts of Islam
i have no gods and no masters
my conscience is my only authority
i'm the only one who can
save me from me

in my father's latest letter
packed safely away in Carl
Sagan's "the Demon-Haunted World"
he informs me that i'm
the prodigal son that some
doting deity awaits me
at the gates of heaven
to put a ring on my finger and
slaughter a fattened calf for my
welcome home dinner but
how did an omnipresent god
not deign to ascertain
i'm a vegetarian
In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart

a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
                         breathlessly released
                              unrestrained,..

         ­                          evident
                    as the pressed and dried flowers
          cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
                         bookmarks of the heart

                         traces of the wild bouquets
                         that often soothingly caress’d
                         the energizing tingles  
                         inflaming a tantalizing touch

                         the yearning  empty voids
                         feverishly undressed,
                         traced in the hidden sands
                         of unexplored oceans..
                        
                         though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
  
                         as gentle feather’d touch
                         the evanescent sunset afterglow
                         where the earth and sky align
                         the dimming of the day

         loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―

                         the perennial dawning of an
                         unpromised new day
                         will someday come again

        bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
              flourishing in the meadow of my heart


                 *Someone you used to know
© March 2017
Thank you for reading
.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
it was bound to happen, after all my fascination with
the complications he was writing about
became incubated in a hibernation for some time,
but i already said, once before, you get the zest,
you get this unending hunger like a vampire
should you come across philosophy last, esp. after
being unable to blossom in chemistry's affairs
to a suitable self-satisfying level of expertise,
then all those migrating electron diagrams in organic
chemistry give you enough to read philosophy without
cringing or finding it too difficult - counter reading
it with major literary works and you're part of
the circus frenzy; so yesterday's afternoon and
apart from all he mentioned to a dichotomy rather
than a dialectic about empiricism and transcendental
idealism - the expansive topic of regression...
i just had to spot regressive bookmarks, or
bookmarks of regression that people unearth as if
from the dead; such is the nature of these bookmarks,
people do resurrect them, in as least number of
examples as possible:
a. i've met a Greek who was still bemoaning
    that Istanbul is still "actually" Constantinople
    (the local turk has stopped selling
     black market cigarettes in his shop
     imported from eastern europe, so now i'm
     resorted to smoking the portable shēsha pipe,
     that lovely creamy extra-thick smoke
     of pure jasmine, which cigarette smoke
     anorexic and blueish-grey can't compete with),
b. actually i don't have an example at this point
     because i digressed about not being able to
     buy cheap cigarettes, but there are plenty others...
oh! right, the atypical American example
with the constitution and gun laws and how
it is rarely argued that the government is turning
bonkers and someone might get a thrill from a second
"French" revolution, or some other horrific affair.
c. ah forget about it.
so within his abstracts, from one per se to another,
a simpler Kantian conceptualisation is
a Matryoshka doll, he purposively defined things
as in-themselves, and to him a noumenon (thing-in-itself)
was far better understood than a phenomenon,
because phenomena i'm guessing he too thought
were discriminatory, unfair, bewildering,
for example: why did the Beatles matter? it's bewildering,
you can't juggle such a question on your own
terms, you can't play the Rubik cube with such a question,
fair enough if you want to play the clarinet,
but it's like that, best epitomised in the film Amadeus
where Antonio Salieri bemoans the phenomenon that
Mozart is... the sophisma figurae dicta (sophism
figures out statements) to no advantage - for example
the liberté, égalité, fraternité all men are born equal
*******, i.e. can i run a 100 metres in under 10 seconds?
NO! of course Antonio is persuasive, in that he himself
is persuaded to talk, because he cannot fathom
the phenomenon that Mozart is, and he isn't - as such
phenomena are hard to grasp, you can't put in anything
into them other than envy, respect, jealousy, joy
or whatever you wish akin to the central character of
Steppenwolf who wants to walk with the giants,
thinking the giants are waiting for him... are they?
the noumenon is oddly enough more fathomable,
it doesn't necessarily attract, it neither necessarily repel,
in its abstract formulation it can never be a phenomenon
at best it can be a sub-phenomenon, it can work below
the surface of things, but there will never be any
glitter or princely yawns surrounding it.
You get the know it alls
Their noses stuck rigidly in books like bookmarks
You get the geeks
Gamers with eyes shrunk; shiny braces flashing
You get the quiet ones
Assessing everything going on; owlish blinks
You get the cheeky ones
Hilarious antics all around; always surprising
You get the nosy ones
With obnoxious questions and averting eyes
You get the prissy neat freaks
Panicking religiously over messes; loud moaner
You get the bossy buck tooth's
Spit spraying whilst barking out orders; drone-like
You get the wannabes
Prepping up as the popular chicks; total **** ups
And you get me
With
total judgement and disdain *evident
Making me a classic ***** ; *plastic

With her typical high school *stereotypes
//A mean girls inspiration//
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
i was going to fold the sunday newspaper many times...
just to get a postcard sized output...
or whatever you'd like to call it...
   i was taught that creasing pages of books
or folding edges of pages in book
was very much a blasphemy...
     call that weird, i call living to reach
atheism and vomitting scientific facts
   a bit like creating a Frankenstein monster...
  to be honest, i feel like a frankenstein monster...
    i have absolutely no care for allegiance...
i'm in free-fall mode...
     i feel nor care to feed some patriotic
adventure into a war...
  i was folding a sunday newspaper
remembering that fetish i had for
three newspapers being opulent and about
men imitating women by folding them
akin to knitting... the guardian,
the daily telegraph and the times...
   only one of the three remained true to its roots...
i loved watching people fiddle with these
titans... folding them like taking a scrap
of a toilet-paper bite and folding it several
times before taking another fold...
and wiping for the **** that could just as well
be a mouth...
        we also call it playing cards...
that game where your *** speaks more reason
than your mouth, and how
     the three top layers of cards, king queen
and jack are doubled to have a mouth
either side of the mouth-**** copernicus...
    so you can't tell the two apart...
**** or talk? dunno... it sounds very much alike.
  but these co-op people are bothering me....
they're asking me about my age
every time i buy a beer...
   is that some sort of pick-up line?
          ok ok, i get the acne and it's not comfortable
for me either, i guess my *** could make it
into a fashion magazine quicker than my face...
   what's this?
             i get the acne, i have a beard...
do babies have beards?
       it's a beer... it's not a bomb...
    this has to be some sort of fetish...
                       it's a bit like finding your second
loss of virginity... apparently it's called 25...
  it's not even murky waters of 16 / 18...
do i look over 25?
    ha ha... yeah mate... 30...
     i feel like chewing on some chicken bones,
or biting into a human cheek, to bite past the cheek
and eat the tongue in cheek...
     why do people become so annoying that
you retaliate thinking about cannibalism?
   what's with them being so primmed into
the role of supermarket cashiers?
     they're gagging for violence, aren't they?
they are... they must be...
           oh right... oscar night...
  this sunday times magazine... kept folding it
and folding it... until it was comfortable to read,
hardly a reason to do the same with a hardback book....
oh wait... the heresy, and the need to respect the book
as if every book was a koran,
bookmarks... but no no to folding
the edges of pages having arrived at...
you want to know a secret?
  Poles have a tendency to mummify flowers
  by putting them in books... true story...
Poles mummify flowers by storing them in books...
if you really want to understand the true
bibliophiles... as the Poles what they do with them...
   i mean, it would be hard to mummify a cactus in a book,
or that glutton that's the autumn thistle...
      they really do mummify flowers in books,
the Poles... which is why they come up with
the need to use bookmarks, and the religion
of never folding edges of books to replace bookmarks,
or what a suit has, and the cravat suddenly missing...
     now i kinda get why there has been no
islamic attack in poland, this etiquette of
respecting books, translated into how i
might treat a newspaper... folding it...
     jaw for jaw... manidble, cheap, cheap and
everyday... about to be deemed fake...
      i get that, like i know you take off the sleeve
of a hardback edition and then put it back
on once you handled the didlo fabric...
                and some women might
call charming the limp phallus like man might
charm a white rabbit from a top-hat...
    or what the madonna-***** complex explains...
had it been better approved for the care to
explain today... or vhy whittle kaiser wilhelm
was the  original oedipus prototype / the freudian muse...
what was my original concern to fill
the void of defeat that's: making war using a blank canvas?
oh right... la la land... the actress...
    emma stone... it's like i almost recognised her face...
i was thinking ethan hawke...
but i was thinking of a different red-head...
i was thinking the film predestination...
and... she almost looks like both a shadow and a face
thief at the same time, to define the case of
doppelganger...
   but it really wasn't her... it was sarah snook...
another redhead...
or maybe it was this private conversation that
had me started... or how: predestination
can be replaced by a concept that's even more
shock-awe... coincidence?
    i make history happen in the private
sphere of counter ego-tripping
by making newspapers into origami,
        folding them to make digesting them more
realistic, and also opportunist...
                 sometimes i do make the odd punctuation error,
but then again... look at all this space









                                                  ­                 .
just one of the reasons people write poetry,
or at least what later becomes non-orthodox
avoiding of rhyme...
  rhyme used to be the original punctuation
in poetry, people used to
   eat and
                 sleep...
   but then writing poetry became an uncertainity
concerning the paragraph,
it was eaiser to punctuate a paragraph
knowing if; or: and esp., to say something more...
   which is one of the reasons for the "improvement"
of punctuation, the dot dot dot of poets
and the ditto enclosure of existentialist philosophers.
poetry to me is a deviation from punctuation,
it requires the cascade mechanism to allow it
expression with bravado, and the zenith of
arrogance...
                         to me poets are
punctuation-phobes....
                                  here me... imitating the two
figures in the Salmaan Rushdie novel, d i.e.,
  what was it? two people falling off a plane...
one drops like a tombstone stiff...
                the other is all panicky pretending to
invoke the capacity of being a pigeon...
what was that book?
              still.... i was just buying a beer and i get
asked for my age...
                i sometimes love when people
can be as annoying as that...
                        if i were a woman i'd be saying
that it was a compliment;
so i am... writing this "poem".
"What? When?!"
"Yesterday," he said, deleting
another bookmarked engagement ring.
Derrick Feinman Feb 2015
You are the guy with the unkempt room and a cluttered used car. You have many things in your head, from ideas to plans to the latest book you’ve read. You are a dreamer, and that means that if the girl you date isn’t like you, it’s unlikely to work out.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel. She is the girl who wants to travel in theory, but has never made the time. She is the girl with the medicine cabinet filled with cosmetics, hair products, and perfume, but a passport filled with blank pages. She does her hair in memorized strokes every morning as she has been doing this for years now. She is a creature of habit. She is impressed by wealth, nice cars, and titles, but she knows nothing about the world.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel because she will drive you crazy at how she tries to “tame” you. She will regard your life as chaotic and will not be able to understand your many nuances. She will try to make you feel like you need her. With good intentions, she will cling to you and manipulate your life into becoming like hers. You see, she will look at you and treat you as though you are a lost puppy, and regard herself as the kind-hearted woman that will put you in the right path. She will talk to you about security, and you will wonder at her ignorance.

She won’t go to any of the adventures you planned out, because she thinks they are bereft of value and a waste of time. While you have a plethora of foreign currencies in your wallet, she’ll only desire to go to those “foreign” resorts that accept US Dollar. She will not take chances. Her whole life has been inside her comfort zone. Her childhood revolved around a home-to-school-to-home routine. She might never have been allowed to play outside, or she might never have wanted to. She thinks she is better than you because of her stable, 9 to 5 job, which makes you want to gag because you will never want a life like that.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel. Her world is nothing to envy. Her world where the only people he knows are her co-workers and high school classmates who she drinks with at the clubs on the weekends. In her world, net worth is the metric of success. There is no room for making a difference, changing the world, and working for ideals that are bigger than her. Don’t even try to have a conversation about the environment or social issues, she couldn’t care less. Her adventures are about the argument with the co-worker she hates and the other driver that almost hit her when he failed to give way to her SUV on her commute.

She will want to eat in overrated chain restaurants with you, and will frown at you when you ask to try out that food truck down the street. She will cringe at the thought of eating at food stalls at a busy Southeast Asian market or elote from a street cart in Mexico. She will try to lure you into her world, but you are not even tempted by such a dull and dreary alternative. She is oblivious to how unappealing the bait she offers is.

That girl who doesn’t travel has chosen the unexamined and robotic life. You can only watch in despair as she runs on the rat-wheel of her mental cage. She will never understand that, while her wealth is measured by the number of zero’s in her bank account, your wealth is measured on the places you’ve been to and the people you’ve met and whose lives you’ve touched.

She will never understand why you have so many random keepsakes from your travels, like a small soiled napkin from a Moroccan café or the train tickets that you use as bookmarks. She will never opt for the slower and more scenic route. She will not be content to see the world through a window or television. While you are watching the sunset, she is checking her phone.

When you do travel, she will want to rent a car, when in fact you would rather take public transport and meet people with amazing stories. She will get jealous and insecure when you talk to strangers, even those you meet at the bus. You see, she doesn’t talk to anyone she doesn’t know and frequently ignores those she does.

She will ask you not to travel anymore, to settle down. And you consider it. Then you realize that your passion and dreams will end the moment you give in. You have always wanted to travel around the world, to meet people from all walks of life, and to life live to the fullest. There is still so much to be done! There are so many things to see and experience! You imagine yourself two decades from now and you see yourself happy; passport filled with stamps and a refrigerator filled with magnets from different countries. A woman is there with you in that dream, reminiscing about the adventures y’all had.

Unless the girl you’re dating is like you; a free-spirited, adventurous traveler, you don’t deserve each other. Whether by fear or complacency, she is going nowhere. She can keep that dream of a suburban house and a manicured front yard, not let her weigh you down!
This is a variation of a response to the tongue in cheek  Don't Date a Girl Who Travels. I read several responses, both good and bad, online. The problem is that there were none addressed to the men out there who travel. Indeed, a non-traveling partner can be just as burdensome and trapping for us.

I borrowed from and tracked "TO THE GIRLS WHO TRAVEL: DON’T DATE A GUY WHO DOESN’T TRAVEL" from the Bronzed Backpacker blog at https://bronzedbackpacker.wordpress.com/2014/01/30/to-the-girls-who-travel-dont-date-a-guy-who-doesnt-travel/ Her version was one of my favourites.
bluevelvet  Nov 2017
Roses
bluevelvet Nov 2017
My father kept a rose in his bible
To symbolize him and my mother
I remmeber when he pulled it out
When I was little at churce,
I asked him what it was and
I forgot the whole story but I remember
It involved him and my mother
I can still smell the aftertones of rose
But it was brown and decade,
Withered from years of protection
Between pages as a bookmark
I realized I am the same for the ones I loved,
As little to none would admit it
I am that rose,
I am the withered bookmark you keep
I am the reminder of when you were human,
When you first started,
When you thought you knew everything,
When the simple things were enough.
I am the reminder of who you are.
I don't have a bible filled with bookmarks
I have a body colored with the reminder that
I am in fact human.
I will continue to add to it until I decide,
When I meet the one.
I will no longer need to print myself with bookmarks
But rather take photographs with my eyes
And feel with my hands and lips.
Taste and feel and experience why
Those other bookmarks are not here
But a reminder of how far I have come

— The End —