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Moji K  Dec 2015
typeset poet
Moji K Dec 2015
typeset soul
page to fill
graphite smear
wings on walls
spinning verse
ink black sky
etched ardour
*wordless voice
Jon Shierling  Nov 2014
Typeset
Jon Shierling Nov 2014
Go on then and type type type away
into the gloom of a dying Eastern seaboard,
waiting and watching for a glimpse of that
rotting corpse you call a messiah,
yes the prophet of power reeking of
stale cigarette butts and old ******.

Type type type the day away
buying your worthless flowers
and plastic ******* palm trees
as you shed pieces of your soul
like flakes of aluminum shavings
metal snowflakes trailing behind
your beat up industrial exterior.

Type type type through the sickle cell night
wallowing in the animal urge to
go dance naked round a roaring fire
and make sweet love to Anglo-Saxon girls
lost in moonlight on a bed of pine needles
only to realize that those dreams are just as
sallow and jaundiced as the *** on the
rusty iron corner that you know you
will someday be sacrificed to.

Type type type till the pink lips of sunrise
claw their way out of another shuddering dawn
to find you red eyed and drunk
screaming obscenities at the computer screen
and wondering how the dead certainty that
filled you with passion and verse the night before
could wither away into the hollow crevices
that forever wink up at you out of the
gangrenous ******* chest wound of American Dreams.
DieingEmbers Feb 2013
Insomnia makes strange bed fellows of us all
as sleep replaced by poetic sense of irony
as when we are alone we find good company
within the spirit box of demonic technology

there beneath the glass rise unspoken words
seemingly writ by modern day planchette
as disembodied heads with rictus smiles
beckon us with whispered promises typeset

fingers fearing rheumatism fumble with keys
unlocking neuron pathway to answer their call
to find peaceful rest beneath ink stained sheets
as insomnia makes strange bed fellows of us all
This is in response of his insomnia poem
Jeremy Lately May 2015
Alcatragedy, aesthetics, and a
Bubbly feeling beneath our feet. Let's
Cruise between channels; there's no need to meet. Re-
Doxx on Galaxy's
Extremeties typeset whatever is
Faked, overridden, and
Glistening in chic.
Hybristophilionic puressure
Infracts upon the fourth wall we seek,
Jicking, ticking, trickling in.
(Kickstarted convection)
Life is beyond a stream...
Minuet attraction
Null, neo, and novelty
0.0
Pulse or minus me.
Quantitative lacerations, fantasy and a fascination
Recreations masking
Softsations
Taint my rose and wildest dreams!
Unphasing
Vermillion reasons to like it.
Wordless, grinding sonar screams; Isle,  
Xana, et tu. Rumble a shy oasis in
Yeses, twos, and please
Zzz
I have several drafts of this. I intend to make changes in the future since the feel is inconsistent.
Z Atari  May 2013
yoUthSB
Z Atari May 2013
There's a road far away from here, beyond the nurturing couch that has always lain behind the living room door.
eyelids open and close but body is frozen, you're a man made of fire trying not to break the ice
it's not a pain it's a fear
Legs are warmed from the wireless furnaces that heat up in your lap.
Fingers have traveled hundreds of miles on that typeset but toes none
You can't be the only one
technological systematical hazes in which we bury all our gazes
Suddenly every friendship ever born seems to have its own wi-fi password
Bill Gates, a god and jesus a fraud
Autotuned presidential speeches leeching into ears
are there actually words that we're hearing. Is this a state of mind that we are being herded into
That phonix toy that taught me how to read is replaced by angry birds on some mothers iphones
We are all so plugged in, you can update where you are on a single whim
But it takes so much whining to get the mangled limbs off the couch.
Every youth is living in two worlds one in which they binge and one in which they purge
But i have a question,
Do you even realize there's a lesson here, in all of this?
youth teen culture
technology culture
eh
Katie  Apr 2016
talking therapy
Katie Apr 2016
sitting underneath her knee was a lent book of entymology
something about butterflies being caught and pinned
preserved in stasis for the sake of beautiful things
cold crisp leaf wings smoked behind the glass
of a cyanide bottomed killing jar
and in that half read book all she could glean
amongst the bones of writing so lean
was the feeling that you could lie flat and cold
and be a redolent beauty despite the lack of life-

days earlier
the talking therapy had been all right.
hey, there's a ton of treatment these days
medication and conversation and there's no need
to burrow yourself away.

so they talked about feelings
as if they were quietly observing the to and fro
independent little embryos growing opinions of their own-
the indignant insistence that these things,
these emotions have names, signs, triggers
and they begin and they end and curve again-
rising up from the flat of a typeset page.
first one in a while, i'm not sure if i'm even writing poetry anymore or if it's just drivel haha.  was i ever writing poetry anyway?
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers
ottaross May 2015
There are no words today
The shopkeeper told his patrons.

They gathered bereft seeking sublime phrases
Poems of love and loss
But he could offer them none.

There are no words today
He told them.
No typeset letters upon the page
No phrases crafted of sinew and strength
Or of weakness and failing.

They pressed on with their day then
Without their fix of crafted words
To scribble waxen-colour inside their lines
They were left to contour their own imagery
And look about them for hue and tone and rhyme.

Lost then in clichés and quotations
For day after subsequent day
Used words were read over and again
Off ***** or torn sheets
Or passed hand-to-hand on gritty streets
And stapled and taped
To telephone poles and fences.

There were no words for the patrons
On that day and since
And their unspent coins
Brought them no respite
For the disquiet in their hearts.
chitragupta  Feb 2021
Lie
chitragupta Feb 2021
Lie
-x-


You heard the man
He was telling a lie
But it felt harmless;
so you had let it fly


Into the web
of nameless, faceless arachnids
who chewed it up
and spewed out in typeset


With no recourse,
it spread across the threads
As they kept on spinning
their yarn of hate


It grew with ancient tales
of temples broken, villages burned
And threats of history repeating itself
unless all debate was adjourned


Till a house of cards it was no more -
but a fortress you couldn't move
For you had by then forgotten
what used to be the truth


-x-
Publishing back again on HP after a long time, hope this is enjoyable.
spysgrandson Sep 2017
my stylus on the keyboard

is...

a vulture venturing from q to m, scavenging the whole way

spelling not a kind word, leaving a cyber trail of blood

mockingbirds rarely roost; when they do, they typeset self loathing, for what it's worth

mostly mourning doves make nest there, pecking keys, punctuating words with their sad songs

deaf as I am, I still hear them,
see their blue tales

not yet has an owl visited with its mythic wisdom, but I know one day it will call my name...

not a minute too soon, amidst this fluttering digital madness
Ottar  May 2014
Relation Ship
Ottar May 2014
the tangle of lines or wires or web,
tangible visibility matters not,
a thought, a typeset, a thread,
a voice, a tweet, a time,
all of these spent,
in one place
from the heart from the mind,
and all the space that is just
beyond fingertips,
and a keyboard.

— The End —