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statictitanic Nov 2014
I want you
to rip every vein from my skin
pull them out like worms from the ground
touch my blood
and **** in the pure guilt
I have drowned myself in
pull my teeth out
and drag them along my naked body
carve shapes into this dead, papery flesh
don't forget the ruby red lipstick
cake it onto my betraying, seductive lips
let your arms travel everywhere it pleases
yank my hair
grab the strands and brush them over my face
my finger nails, paint them white like purity
wrapped in the ****** Mary
Last, don't forget my
heart
Rip it from the connecting arteries
and let me feel the sting
and watch your hands too, tinted in my beautiful red

I am your canvas
I am your doll
I am your **** that
Nobody will ever know
Because under all this...
I'm dead.
Poet kiri Jan 2016
A letter to my dear,
Sons and daughters
In a foreign language
Not known in my time,
But with hope in yours.
Where they may have fixed the
Imbalance of life.

I wish not to depress you,
But repress your mind
As my first impression is to point
A finger to time
The one whom answers
Questions in installments.

For this man once put me on stage
And my agenda was to impress
Twice to the infinite I could count
But I couldn’t find that one in my life.
Where are you?


Thus the nature I was born in,
Is to interest the world
And not bore it with normality
Not knowing that peace comes in many ways

For this foreign language
Seems to be a new era
Of blank pages that could be
Filled with one word
GREATNESS.

For yesterday I did things of shame
That are great for a story
That would become fame
Just the perfect ice breaker in my time.
Tip for if you ever find\have TIMEtoTRAVEL

Thus my vote belonged to extinction,
Since…



Justice is a commodity
Of the rich
As poverty is beautiful
Beautiful without the eye’s of the lens.

Though I don’t have doesn’t mean
Am not/I can’t
As My sight is set to the sky
Chasing a flower in the clouds as
I am still on the ground investing an idea.


Thus the gap of the market to success
Is the economics of humanities fate
As the scarcity of fear rises
Demand and supply seem to be losing
In a relation of ships
At  bay lacking goods.
On this graphic coordinates

Just may you understand
Humanity has no time to
Find you in the dark
For smoke signals will be put out
Neither translate your existence
If it’s not the curiosity that killed the cat.
Like “Chuck Norris whom speaks French in Russian”.

For they live on a constant
Quote status of
“I am available, but busy
At school watching a movie,
While at work
With a battery about to die
So I can’t talk, Whats App only
In a meeting at the gym
Sleeping on urgent calls only.”

As I myself live knowing
I speak a FOREIGN LANGUAGE ……
What is your translation of my existence???
For it seems your mistaken and troubled.
For generations to come.

Yours sincerely;
Poet Kiri
N. HANNY L.


PS: Life has gone digital
       Thus its STATUS RATED ®.
                                     Yours truly;
                                       Is to be the ONE.


©Hansmind, 2016
Hello again to all.
Thanks a lot for your support each and every day.
MAY YOU READ , ENJOY, LIKE AND SHARE ALL AROUND THE WORLD.
Thank you so much again.
( The ending poem of collection STATUS RATED R.)
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
at this point, i really don't know where to begin, in all earnet;
   this might seem unfathomable, but it's the case...

perhaps i'll begin from the end:
       ć - a shortening of ch -
                            and the case of unimaginative nouns,
say: the noun table, or chair...
       they're dull...
                           inanimate things tend to
have dull indentifications - they're dull nouns,
      they resemble the nature of the thing being named,
they don't move, they don't speak...
        but esp.                       they don't bloom -
and there's no hope for a revival of them...
   that table? that chair? it has no hope in any attempt
to return to its former, original form, i.e. a tree.

            but you already have two perfectly good
examples of a linguistic transgressions, and what's
   truly, nothing more laziness -
           the czech (check) republic...
                     what's the other one?
****... off the top of my head: i can't remember.
  
    we are talking about the second dimension of applied
diacritical marks, aren't we?
   ć     - the acute syllable scalpel is identified
                when the **** of iota enforces itself -
in an e.g. cieć (loosely... a trickle of **** from
                                                  a wound)....
                      what these symbols actually are,
are not necessarily idiosyncrasies, particular to whatever
particular they are designated to...
    look at them as punctuation marks,
             but not between words, instead within words;
sure, the ć example can only be interpreted
                     as sharpening the ch / cz compound...
because single letters are, after all, atomic.
                and there are ways of hiding -
      a č hides the z or the h: depending what
part of europe you're from...
                     but in the west they still know how to
pronounce czech republic... but have a hard time
    pronouncing the car manufacturer's logo:
              škoda - that's sh- / sz-      -koda....
                     that's being ******* rude, you don't
just avoid that sign... what? you think those people put
it up: so that it looks "pretty"?
                     the fact that škoda = szkoda (sh)
    in another langauge, and means oh well is another
matter.

    no, what really got me going to write this piece
begun as a rumour... yet another attack in germany...
football fans, bombs under buses...
         even the sadist in me (if there ever was one)
  thinks real hard about enjoying the amalgam
                        rooted in ethnicity of my nation's
former enemies... i'm really going to cringe on that point;
i cringe at white men dancing the new zealanders'
                                         - haka -
(māori)                            ergo?                      ­háka;
see it's a human decency to put "punctuation" marks
onto words... a bit like putting a kippah in a synagogue...
      so you get to then write:     ha!     ka!
           the phonetic incision in the second syllable
                                   it not necessary;
but hey! they mustered enough ***** to state in
condensed macron form a prolonging:
                             i.e.                        maa'ori.
actually, given the **** of iota, i'd write that as
                                            maa'o'rí -
         like the last letter is throwing something real
akin to a torero's                                    olé!

    what i am lamenting is the indecency of the english
language... in that they don't practice the aesthetic
of diacritical appropriation, and having acquired this
language aged 8, and having synthesised it for, oh 20 odd
years, analysing it has shown me that the english
language is far too peppered with minute idiosyncracies
that are beyond a chance of a diacritical approach being
established... as i already stated,
       czech - that word has no place in the uniform
rules of otherwise english, in matra form true here, true
there, true throroughly
.
                       combine the eastern variant of
the western "sensibility" and all you get is: chech -
                                                             chalk-cheque.
                   you can't apply diacritical indicators to ease
the suffering of dyslexics when timing their syllable
intake... you really hear hardly anything of dyslexia
in poland... maybe because there are clear incisor
                                        "coordinates" in the words?
                      like commas descending from on high?

but as the title indicates, this is but a minor point,
what bugged me today was -
     the east sports birds as emblems of their nationhood
status...
     the west? ******* flowers.

the scots?             a thistle.
   the irish?      a clover.
the english?     a rose.
            the dutch?              a tulip.
   the french?   a ******* lily!

           coming from a people that has an eagle
as its national emblem, i thought:
                         how about we choose a flower for
ourselves, and imitate these former angry colonial *******?
but on an implosive basis, so we bite into the rocks
   and slur out the words:      i'm not moving!

so i asked an older soul...
- given the above examples, what flower could contend
                  to be the naational flower of poland?
- well... there's the malwa (malva - mallow)
                 and there's the dalia (dahlia).

   i actually can remember the scent of a mallow,
the flower as such doesn't smell of anything,
   a bit like a jasmine....
                                              the leaves have the distinct
perfume, just like nettles have the distinct itch
protruding from their stems....
                                  but i was like:
   sure the mallow could be a national emblem of poland...
       but i was like: that doesn't go back to the root
of my curiosity...
                         some nouns sound so much better
in your native tongue...
       i know it's not a flower...
                   but when you're walking in the ancient
heart of your soul, that's a pine forest...
                    and you spot a bush
         and it's a paproć   (ferns!) -
                                i'll choose that as the nation's emblem...
sure, the mallow does have a nostalgic potency
to remember my great-grandmother who survived
           the second world war...
                                      but i kinda like the word
      paproć.... plus, it wouldn't be clever to imitate
western nations, with their....    FLOWER! POWER!
    i really have to make a cryptic joke by now:
   lauren sauthern = leonid brezhnev = gordon brown.
Odd Odyssey Poet Feb 2022
This language of love—

how do I express it without the words...

where do I place it without the touch...

when do I show it without my eyes...  

what do I have without the heart...

who do I love without the reason...

and why do I fall in without the love?

                  My love language...
Jay Jimenez  Jan 2013
Unorganized
Jay Jimenez Jan 2013
twisted like the twistie tie on my bread
I look into your eyes and picture whats going in your head
I grasp your soft little hand
and watch as your lips say words that I'll soon forget.
I'm a stupid boy
that doesnt understand body langauge
forgive me sweetie
forgive me for being so dumb
but as our toes dip into the cold water
our bodies go numb
succumb to my stupidty
put up with my failures and my mistakes
and wait for that golden moment
when you realize
that even though im flawed
im the best you'll ever have
in this wasteland
we will survive
and I'll love you till the day
I die
till the day
I die
Vanessa Gatley  Apr 2019
Langauge
Vanessa Gatley Apr 2019
Learn
Accommodate
Now
Good
A ur
Goals
Every day
Luke R E Webster  Apr 2013
Emoush
Luke R E Webster Apr 2013
Slowly decaying,
under no pressure,
time will pass,
without measure.

In a box,
alone with love,
future fleeting,
for all to see.

By the wayside,
across the bay,
people few,
none can save.

Time to end,
as false life beckons,
Poets lone,
langauge lessens.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
it's less, well,    less agonising to think in
german, than it it is speaking in
english:                                    only when
  ς = ß, or when it doesn't...
only as it sounds,  ingested by the eyes...
and one says schtein! and zechtm nein sein!
only because you won't treat
it as a grapheme, and interchange the s mit z...
or volk, the people, and cloud, wolke...
   fascinating papa German and mother
                                    englischsprechen,
and coming from eine slawin, hein! ein! hein!
ha ha ha ha!
        marsch! die deutche marsch!
laufschritt! marsch rückwärts.... eine eine eine!
       schnell! schnell! schnell!
    commandant achtung: ja?
       nein nein... counter nein, ja? nein!
                beifall... beh-e-fall...
nein akut ah, neine arnst ah...
the one under the halo of a zeppelin:
pin-point one... like counter bay-fall,
or rather beh-e-fall... like: ***** and not
askew...
   fallen schmellen...
                             lauf rekindle...
        kinder blut...
                      la la giggly: towed by
a radio transmission.
                         deutsche, natürlich
compoundierung zung...
                 englisch alle sparen binderstrich...
so no wonder:
    i spreschen quasi deutsch,
and then there's dutch,... and Goethe
and the myth of chemistry by humanities
   and herr Faust...
              kinderfeld tanz.... where mein
piglet sour soul was sentenced to an aria?
some also say: neuter.
or soft german N, niu-ter... or new... ta ta per.
beginning with syllables...
            ending with syllables...
    ß ≠ ś ≠ š = ς ≠ σ, i.e. ß = ς ≠ σ...
or as the suggestion plainly states:
   said sound is in the eye of the one
about to say it, unravel the encoding.
i can't help, but not be, what writing in this
language might suggest...
  i just can't... or that's how you exploit
bilingualism strata... you entrench with two tongues,
and then leave one of them
  very much adequate to become a plumber (e.g.),
you actually construct one of the sides
to a very refined architecture,
you even get to experience god...
and then your psyche debases it...
  deconstructs it...
        while at the same time debasing
your language of origin as:
some sort of counter-genesis,
or an exodus with a beginning that needs to be
returned to...
   both langauge fail...
   you're playing with a cat with a shoelace
and after the "magic hand" moving the shoelace
about is "missing", the cat seems bewildered,
so much so, that his usual circumstance of
eyeing up solipsism seems, quiet frankly,
usurped...
             it's such a shame that i learned this
language to this state of affairs,
and i have nothing to give it, other than the hope
that i unlearn it...
         and given that i wasn't given a chance
to explore a psyche in my native gadać....
that i might return to stating a universe in
a cat's eye, with a woof or a meow...
in the beginning was the word,
and the word was with god...
secondant!
in the end was the word onomatopoeia,
and onomatopoeia was with the zenith:
woman's ******... but the mountain crumbled
into dust, and all that was worth, was only
worth a manly grunt and later a snore.
so yeah... cat's meow...
   or a dog's bark...
    or a fox's dry "laugh"...
                                           awoooooooooo!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
the zeitgeist,
                                    occuring in canada...
gender neutral pronouns...
and how they're not an organic
appropriation / invention / whatever...
given that gender is
not biological (organic) -
its language as its bias is
inorganic...
                   meaning?
        the pronoun debate?
or how new langauge is introduced
into the common, urban sprechen?
well... it's not exactly slang, is it?
         now, slang can overcome this
debate, any time of the week...
         slang allows language to evolve...
what we're seeing, being, erm... "seriously"
debated in canada?
          it's a stagnation point,
               a plateau...
            a dam...
                            perhaps it's the last
resort of western civilisation to have debates...
you have to create alice in woonderland
words, to just keep on talking...
      i'm betting on this being the prime reason...
talk dried up... ****! let's create
           made up pronouns! but ignore
all the other categories of words.
    well... with the made-up pronouns
of the trans-gender community,
   i guess they are all in noun-sigma, just, plainly
it...
                      which is handy, since
in orthodox sprechen it, is a pronoun...
oh look! **** me!
       we allowed a pronoun to transcend
grammatical categories... and become a noun!
i shouldn't be so vehement in my
ridicule, given this language, isn't the language
i was originally born with, to speak
to my great-grandmother (rest in peace).
in summary: well, if they want their
trans-gender pronouns,
i'll just invite meta- / ortho-gender people
to elevate the orthodox pronoun it,
      to a noun status...
                                 and pontius pilate
  becoming o.c.d. washing his hands...
                                      and the benzene ring
positioning of affixes (e.g. CH3).
lionheartlion Sep 2015
Drunken thoughts.
Not too late at night but just when the party starts.
I'm reminded of how much I used to be in love.
But this saddens me.
I know now that it was partially a sham.
False hopes and dreams were hidden in the silence you never spoke of.
Fantasies of what this future would be like with you by my side, but all I see is the ghost of you in my memories.
You guys don't understand how longingly wrenching it is to realize you never had the same intentions and dreams as I.
That you never spoke of your dreams because you knew they would break my heart.
Here we are, me wondering if things were as passionate for you as they were for me.
If all those sayings, words, and feelings, were just spoken to give you something before you actually left.
If I was kept around to be strung out until the end giving you everything you knew I would have.
I was so in love with you.
You knew it too.
You knew I would have stayed by your side until you told me to leave.
That even if I had known the truth of your unwanting, I still would have loved you with the darkened heart I owned.
Turned dark for you.
Left as the one who was emotionally attached by love for you.
You left as the one physically attached to me, body langauge proving to be the only thing you miss.
Maybe you miss my smile, maybe you miss my beauty.
Maybe you miss the ***.
But I miss the emotional attachment of my once best friend.
The one who talked about my dreams with me.
The one who held me as I cried about losing you.
The one who told me to look to our star when I feared of never seeing you again.
But not once did you understand what you were putting me through.
You left and I doubt you ever felt bad about leaving me.
Because I could never do that to you and then cut you out of my life like it was nothing.
Maybe I still love you.

— The End —