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Pradeep  Oct 2018
Random rant
Pradeep Oct 2018
Here I was, reading and
writing poems on HP,
glad I hit a personal
high in frequency,
if not classic poetry.

Some months passed,
and my interest in it,
being afflicted with
Poetry Enthusiasm Deficit.

Was it work, ***** Netflix
intake with less water,
or i let 'busy' hijack my
life while poetry
passed me by?

The doctor told me,
'take it easy,
one word at a time,
or you'll feel queasy,
PED can happen any season,
not the Netflix kind,
the autumn-spring type,
I know how you feel'.

I glanced at his notepad
just as he covered it,
scribbles with lines
ending with rhymes,
crocin and aspirin,
words of chemical mystery,
compositions poetic
and bitter tonic
converging like two streams,
reminding me of modern art
since I could decipher
little from the sheet o' paper,
too surprised to pretend
to comprehend.

'I am recovering, I will form
a support group,
give a PED talk even,
'Just let it out' '.

I did. I realised PED's
a good reason
to mask a rant as a poem.
Don't you blame me, I
more than hinted in the title.
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
I, Now, Here, The Future, This Month, Next Door;
This Chair, The House Over There, Thus;
Sulphur, Spherical, Eighty-two, Angrily;
Brutus killed Caesar by stabbing Him.

Rules are sometimes broken. If I tell you
That and That are That, and That because There it is,
Carelessness leads to Referential failure;
Brutus caused Caesar to die.

Schizophrenia is curable;
It’s not true that Schizophrenia is curable.
The Key is in the box by the phone;
If that Man’s Father is my Father’s Son.

The tableau runs to unfortunate intention
In an attempt to form a logic of likelihood;
Windowless wrong meanings slide probably;
The needle must be somewhere in this room.

I have always been an idealist,
A closed tableau; therefore, inconsistent.
The constituents are then the same as before, except
The number march disappears; Brutus, too.

It is easy to generate bogus inconsistencies
By ignoring lexical ambiguities,
But maybe Truth itself with sword uplifted
Has degrees and blurred edges;

Happy, Expressive, Heavy, Unpleasant;
Square, Perfect, Smooth, Daily;
The differences lie in the emphasis alone,
Borderline cases and bizarre situations.
Having spent many weeks collecting 'random' numbers from bus tickets and etc they were systematically applied to shelves of books in my room in a pre-determined manner to locate and select words and phrases which I then assembled into this poem.
Suicide Girl Oct 2017
Red as the blood gushing from her wrist.
Purple from the bruises on her body as the beating
Green is her eyes yet she doesn't want to see
Yellow is her body from the **** her father impacted her
Red,purple,green,yellow
She wishes that she had a normal life
Red,purple,green,yellow
Her body aches for love, as when her father whispers "I love you babe" she cries
Red,purple,green,yellow
Her mother calls her fat and **** while she beats her
Red,purple,green,yellow
She slits her wrists while she cries
Red,purple,green,yellow
Shes now dead as she was hanging by a thread
~A.E.G.
Tbh something I made up in art randomly
Daniel Ruiz Aug 2018
Emotions fuels my writing,
Like gasoline fuels cars,
Like depression fueled the
Success of those good songs
That i listen to while
My mind is driving
Probably on his way towards
Thinking of you.

Do you know who I am?
Please tell me who I am,
Then I wouldn’t be so
Lost trying to find myself,
I try to find myself in other people,

I’m just a poet,
A college student
A “writer”
A person that lost an opportunity
To be with someone who cared about him,
A person that, without consent, loses friends,
Thinking it’ll be better for them,
That they don’t get to know more about me.

And as you can see,
Emotions are the raw energy that
Keeps me writing,
The same as writing keeps me sane
From these emotions that burn into my skull
As the same temperature the stars emit,
Those little flying rocks in the sky,
That without hesitation fall
From the place they find more dearest,

It’s a good thing the sun doesn’t let us
Escape his grip,
And keeps us around
So he can show the moon,
How much he cares about her.

That’s why I adore space so much,
The stars,
The fact that the light I see and adore,
Is probably a star that’s about to die,
Wishing me goodbye,

So farewell little star,
It’s a good thing,
That you can’t see my last shining moments
On this earth,

So Goodbye,
Goodbye to the constellations of dying stars,
That fueled with emotions
Shine the dark away.

Goodbye old friend,
I’ll keep observing you for a while,
Hope you still have more stories to tell.

Because I’ll keep listening,
Until my light fades away too.
Jaycee Jun 2015
I'm scared of bugs and, also hugs.
I enjoy writing, it keeps me smiling.
I like the rain, people think I'm insane.
But you seem to be different.
You remind me of being an infant.
Everything is exciting and new.
It's amazing, how you help me pull through.
I go off topic quite often.
The things I'll ramble on about..
I hope they won't make you check-out.
I wasn't sure how to title this, I just sort of spilt it out..
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