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Words' Worth Jul 2019
The bells tolling and gallow stools
Carved by a crisp knife sharpened by a stone flint-shaped among the garden tools
The molded and weak rose like the solid and stolid coveting
The dolorous limelight seekers were sure about the fun settling
The call-in your wake is sure to make you disagree, subversively
Pretentious till it leads me into ruinous states, with each verse
Troubled and telling about the stoic salacious dread, of your *******
The sins and arresting rebels brought you minister and spirit
The apologetic and shrieking in their walls their apologies
Am I the only one, who thinks
They don't change their disposition
Time I'm tearing you up into fragments
My stories are getting caught up in their endings
Caught by the hook of standing on the ceiling, rear-ended
The knee-deep hell, mountain high harp, what the ****!
Reelin' and rockin' in heaven, indeed purgatory calls your bulls and porgies
Greed and corporeal blood and recipe for dreadful disaster, and luck you yammer about out-and-out too
It's in your flesh and bones, ****** vain too
Feels like time is slipping and sliding out of my oval face and hateful hands
The friends you seek to hold you when you're ready?
Blows, busy days, France in its hey-day had some passion rather saints who come marching in
Are you ready to read your death in the newspapers, when your stomach lurches like holes in the air
Or here from storytellers like a burnt legacy, in the papers that herald flying guns and leveraging politics
And hate, rising with the ashes, the education burning blue like a phoenix
Apogee, really, after so many a doubt and clusterfuck of redactions, I'm ready to learn about counted visage among the many faces on a business street
About my attraction to nature and fantastic reality, I'm jumping with joy
But, smaller than the cosmic bubble that keeps us from dying
I can tell no one, this is our one and only time with faded humor
You're breeding and you're dying with famished and frayed daughters of petulant sons believing hilarious rumors
I am dismembered much to my won't, the stentorious frolicking reeks around astute anecdotes of my pain of having a name
Even it's a fake one and adopted by pretty old me
The antidote of all this, love and peace, it must be the end of fashion and integrity
Peace and love cradling the waves wandering in mystery
Walking among the feet of trembling rage hungry for power, our love is just an island, but, not the little flower that just matured
If I engender myself, I will be free from being prematurely always on
Smidges and shakes for the collared contingent of successful women
For the one, surreptitiously resting under the invisible sun, sticking out their necks for none
Smack her flesh across till light turns still
The center light pops in expectation of blue days and flooring her money on her mind
On the reeling hail, tying the wrong laces and pushing wrong buttons
I left the hall crazed and surprisingly fully-dressed
Snake-like heads facing away from each other with their smothering hands around my neck
I unhand my royal touch and my license for the cream-crop
Not sure about my violence and clammy hands, but, my old man didn't like it all that much
Handing the trembling papers of my record for another dispensary
The errands that I have to run, I would recommend this to no one
Watching movie reruns and playing my new dreams in my trailer park, every time she was the one
Tea and teeming, brink and livid feeling, reelin' with the great high upstart
Cosmopolitans and Neapolitans, I'm probably going play to Jupiter jazz for another meridian of Earth
Red rain splaying like the sand Andalusian like, waving my hands care-free, only to slam my self down easily
Into another speakeasy with a wake-up call and nightcap, dusk till dawn
The day seems brighter and the sun scintillating like the queenie-eyes on the resting sunshine on the iridescent soil
Ecstasy open miles ahead, the eyes lay in peace and capacious lamps full of soul food and meals
Like lamps and little lintels, the coruscating fire makes the colors of the day seem much more real
The tears in Heaven are adjusted for a place in my salvation
Vitriolic, but, mellifluous in it's surmise, you're sure about the music you're hearing
Crouching upon old times like washed memories
Or is it the waters of the ocean afar from snake-like repellent waves of the oceanic dreams
The snake passes by, in the time of your lifeless soul
You were just pacing yourself, the motto is "Always look your prime and best"
They are your true reflection, this is the one and only reflective surface I will attest to, lest I sound sanctimonious
Bo vine and in vino veritas, you're ecstatic about auriferous objects
Sheep and tipping civilization with the conquest of the times, and the same sundial from Eratosthenes that made citadels
The conquest of Troy is any different from the present oligarchy
Librarian of Alexandria, and the Trojan horse of cursed hands mixed with the opportunity
A couplet for a couple of composite numbers is enough to tempt the prime number
In showing up in your  classes brimming with achievers, some students among them
Eratosthenes' sieve is diligent work on simplicity, so yes, whoever reads this, the wake-up call is not a snake bite
This is Stoicism, and poetry is stoic writing cannot be duplicated
The moral could be looking at hopeless dreams, helplessly
Just passing by without shedding any of it on your probity
A gnomon is the part of a sundial that casts a shadow. The term is used for a variety of purposes in mathematics and other fields.
Francie Lynch Apr 2019
Humpty Trumpy promised the wall,
Humpty Trumpy's in a free fall:
His base reactions
To blackened redactions,
Gave Trumpy just cause
For more infractions.
Leal Knowone  Dec 2019
Thin veil
Leal Knowone Dec 2019
A thinly veiled disguise
Is really what you want on their mind
So they never see the wall you hide behind
The ones put up in your mind.
A heart like an open book riddled with redactions
Your actions an abstraction
Longing to forget the obstructions you encounter and create.
trf  Feb 2019
caution tape series
trf Feb 2019
my caution tape series
cold wax & oils, an apogee of scars
yellow redactions cover the senses
four paintings so far
Warwoman's eyes
an irreverent man
the thinking pipe
and estrogen

my five senses
render resentment
and my method
masks the pain

searing pain
my body convinces
poppy seed bagels
to braid blood
blinded from the meaning of time, habit is action without thought or purpose
Michael Marchese May 2019
What nobody else sees
Or can know about me
I divulge to the shadows
An unvarnished self-portrait
Devoid of redactions
An honest account
Of my crooked transactions
A pact with the demons
To spare me from their
Maledictive libations
And impish fanfare
That befall me
When I try
To ask god why we die
And receive no reply
Only silence do I
Spy with my little eye
When I lie awake
Counting the ghosts
I descry
Cedric McClester Sep 2019
By: Cedric McClester

You say you want diversity

At your elite university

But your thirst for tuition

Places you in an awkward position

Because when your recruiter makes a call

Wealth will usually trump it all

And most likely it’s exclusive

Or should I say, non-inclusive?

So admission tends to be

Limited to the same folks I always see

In the line ahead of me

And, you won’t let me in for free

So never mind Affirmative Action

Which has undergone some redactions

Because of the adverse reactions

Of those expressing their dissatisfactions

It’s not a matter of superior intellect

As some of you might suspect

It’s the turf that you seek to protect

Like the monuments you *****

Attempts to level the playing field

Lack the same kind of appeal

I’m just trying to keep it real

But, you already know the deal

Despite how it makes me feel

And it’s not like we’re not driven

How many years of free labor have we given

You’re surprised that we’re still living

Or, that the past is not forgiven

But after all is said and done

The sins of the father will visit the son

So if you happen to be the one

Are my chances still slim to none?

Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Cedric McClester Nov 2019
By: Cedric McClester

Follow that car!
Riding shotgun is William Barr
On another ******
With an Oval Office agenda
Carrying the President’s water
Let’s declare him out of order
And turn on your recorder
His time is growing shorter

His flagrant impropriety
Is there for us to see
He’s called Attorney General
But we shouldn’t take it literal
We’ve watched him on his journey
As the President’s attorney
See he’s there to do his bidding
Which he doesn’t keep hidden

Look! he just turned the corner,
And I’m thinking that he’s gonna
Defend the President’s actions
Devoid of any redactions
Though they’re undefendable
He’ll still give us an ear-full
And I don’t mean to be snarky
It’s what Biden calls malarky

So, as for his legacy?
Let’s just say, search me?
I guess in time we’ll know
What history will show
Because even those who have a sequel
Should be serving the American people
But that hasn’t been the case
Since they put him back in place

Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Ron Gavalik Jan 2019
The poets in the digital age
hunger for constant approval.
As cowards, they hide in fear
behind the mob's outrage.
In a constant search for validation
within shallow mud puddles,
every penned word betrays
the pursuit of truth in art.
Lost in a fog of redactions,
I just don't know
if these poets will ever find
truth again.

-Ron Gavalik

— The End —