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Louise Apr 8
They are the drops of rain in an island
as you ride through a storm on a motorbike.
The coconuts falling down your head
on a quiet beach.
They are the songs and poems
addressed to or meant to attack politicians.
They are slippery rocks on a river
and the current of a whirlpool
for the heavy steps
of the enemies.
And they are the soft cashmere carpet
and the fine, powdery sands
for the careful steps
of my lovers.
Written from the point of view of Panay Island;

An adaptation of "My Poems Are Not Gentle" by Roger Felix Salditos/Mayamor
Maria Mitea Jul 2023
we learned to sit like birds on a wire,
the bicycle,
unicycle, the backward somersault,
the front somersault, the chair on the wire,
the bed on a cloud,
seated in a hyperloop toilet,
96 in an 8,
jumping through hoops: what we are doing here?
it looks almost unreal, so
we started to reinvent the wire, like emil cioran,
we reinvented insomnia and
the otherness …
Haven't even shed Crocodile tears
Calloused feet and scaled back,
the tear and wear.

Biting wildly and deeply into what feeds me
That desperation is the toll it has me in a death roll
This whirlwind of drip grit and flames; while spinning in the mud I can have no shame.

My pride deluded me to think of myself as an ancient king of lakes and streams.
Watering holes or beachfront property
On a sunny day, my kind knows harmony
We only know war At the movement of opportunity.
A Petty precarious peace treaty:
Survival of the fitness; closed mouths don't get fed
Survival instinct; if you don't eat you'll be the one who loses an arm and a leg

How can I even shed Crocodile tears
When I've become the dread
Adapting or remembering. Was it the blood in my veins or the blood that's washed These eyes.
VanillinVillain Feb 2021
In jolts my bones erupt,
shatter and realign within
flesh contorted,
until amorphous I return,
to draw up the covers
of that old snakeskin.
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2020
Sometimes one needs to
Dim the light to be in
The abyss world

No, no brighter sun over there
Just because
That world is grey
And greyness is
What they are used to
What they prefer
In their sense

Offering light
Even a trace
May leads to blindness
And yes
You don't want to
Blind them

Yet that light
Is love
Genre: Observational
Theme: Thus dim you own light
IrieSide Oct 2019
If there’s one lesson you learn,
let it be that-
Nature is not weak,
and you are nature
And when the Lamb had opened the seventh seal,
There was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour -
I did grab my last chance at God to finally feel,
But after all those fights and battles, I still was proven dour.

Never - I felt myself winning in Death's game of chess;
Even if, I was sometimes pridefully smiling,
Just as like children feeling proudly after doing a remarkable mess;
I wanted to prove myself on Earth while God has been hiding.

All time - I left behind the ridiculous faces,
Painted with pious spirituality from random rapturous riddles
That might fuddle the painful slaves on his laces
To hear the scream of Death as dance-starting fiddles.

Oh, no - I said: Away with all the physicality,
Give me rather knowledge on my own - at least to know -
Who is God and who is Evil if they are real in reality,
To know, these faked battles against Death were not shallow.

All time, I've been annoyed on my road,
Though, it wasn't Death bothering me but my own emptiness,
While others had thousands of funny wishes implored,
I only wished to fetch up with my boredom and lonliness.

Never, I gave up to call the fate upon suffering fights,
To know, whether I would bear another hit - another blow,
Then, for sure it's my final destiny to hear how it invites:
Come, it's the end. I know you've become so tired for now.

And when the Lamb had opened the seventh seal,
There was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour -
And God has been silence all since I've been able to hear,
Say, what's the fate of such a terribly deaf and faithless soul?

"S.D.G" (Soli Deo Gloria) — "To God Alone the Glory"
Inspired by Ingmar Bergman's movie, The Seventh Seal (1957)

Marla Apr 2019
Not unlike the monster for which it was named,
With debaucherous whims that divide foreign lands;
Here at the briny, gilded portal to our home now stands
A hollow woman with a torch, whose warmth
Has become faded and disheartening, and her name
Mother of Philistines. From her once guiding hand
Emerges world-wide distaste; deranged eyes ransack
The smog-filled harbor that dystopias fame.
“Keep, other lands, your progressive pomp!” shrieks she
With welded lips. “Take our tired, our poor,
Our huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of our teeming shore.
Take these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me,
Lift your lamp as a guide and take them all!”
An adaptation of "A New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus, the poem inscribed at the base of America's Statue of Liberty.
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