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Buddy T Dec 2016
3000 BCE
the only world to exist is the one you live in

100 BCE
greater than we thought but so small

600 CE
the world is still so small we hate this box and the people here

1500 CE
the world is bigger than we could ever imagine but our small minds stay the same

1700 CE
we can expand and begin again

1900 CE
faster than we can comprehend we change

2000 CE
across the world in a matter of hours growing and expanding faster than ever the beginning of a new era
not my best work but I've been thinking a lot lately
over millennia the question
     what is beauty
has occupied the minds
of great philosophers

museums, galleries, and private homes
     as well as public monuments
display the sculptures, paintings, texts, and movies
created by the artists of all cultures over time
with figures, colors, poems with(out) rhyme

looking at that variety
I do remember words of one much older
     “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”
Picasso speaks to one, Velasquez to another
some prefer Shakespeare, others e. e. cummings,
in movies we find Billy Wilder or Fritz Lang
right next to Eastwood or Sarandon

which of them we enjoy with great abandon
depends on whether  they can touch our heart and soul,
move us to tears, stir our thought,
or simply leave us speechless

we have that soft spot for the beautiful
reminding us that there are things that go beyond ourselves
     they touch us gently
     like the morning songs of elves

till suddenly the brilliance of human art
reaches the very depths of our heart
You know it's been raining, it´s been raining for ages
We have been stuck here while the world has been going places
You know we've been failing, we've been failing a century
We have been stuck here while the world has been free

We talked about it away from the storm
Away from the raindrops so we could keep each other warm
You´ve been wanting to leave, but now you won´t go
Don't ask me to stay now that I can only say no

For hours into the night I listened to your voice
In the peace and silence we felt like there was a choice
You´ve been wanting something more, I hear it in your tone
Don't ask me for it when it's something I do not own

You know it's been raining, it´s been raining for ages
We have been stuck here to dry tears of our faces
I will walk with you outside and down the road until its end
Soaked to the skin under the open sky, I don't think I´ll be warm again
Candy Flip Mar 2016
When I was a child, there was something mildly special about standing in the garden, late into the minutes leading up to my bed time. It was something about the thrill of disobedience, as if I were already an adult, making my own decisions.

This poem is about my testicles.

A thousand twinkling freckles gazed down at me. Joining the dots with a finger extended high as if gripping an imaginary pen, lines would appear. The celestial wrinkles of an old woman who wears these wrinkles with pride – the imprint left by a lifetime of smiles like how an old arm chair wears the imprint left by a lifetime of back-sides.

A singular eye governs the sky, and through what I interpret as a flirty act of desire, winks at me, through a thirty day cycle. I let out a giggle, and wink back.

On the horizon, trees sway in a purposeful and rhythmic way, as if conducting a symphony meant just for me; the delicate harmony of distant car horn beeps, the melody of crickets and bird tweets, and the gentle percussion of snapped twigs and crushed leaves.

Blades of wet grass become fingers seductively passing between my toes. A gust of wind blows and like a comb, massages out the knots in my hair, whispering through a foreign tongue pros into my ear.

And I can feel it inside, a connection with the night. As passion builds, a bird takes flight, and I let out a confident breath: I am in love with life! I’m in love with the Earth, warm days and clear skies. I’m in love with nature: the birds and mammals, snails, slugs, spiders and flies.

I await a reply.

Which doesn’t come.

Years go by.

And then, half way through my puberty, when the world was not so alien and new to me, I had the sad epiphany that maybe this symphony of car horns and bird tweets was not meant for me.

That, if I were not standing precisely here, or had tragically lost both my ears, the trees would continue to conduct their tune, unstirred by the news that their audience had disappeared.

And with this realisation, came an audible, synchronised plop, as – like a penny – my two ***** simultaneously dropped as if recoiling, paralysed in shock.

Then in the following silence, a tumbleweed drifted by as if to imply some kind of mockery to the thoughts going through my mind.

But of course, it was just a coincidence. The tumbleweed, in its oblivious innocence has no knowledge of the context of my thoughts, like a bolt of lightning can’t appreciate its momentary grasp of dominance over an angry sky. Like an atom doesn’t appreciate the burden of the service it provides, like a poem doesn’t appreciate the metaphors woven purposefully between every line.

And how could I sleep at night knowing that a hurricane could slip into existence, tear its way through a village of innocents then ******* in an instant leaving no form of apology or reason?

This is the dilemma of owning a conscious mind in a world of impartiality.

And if you don’t mind, I’m going to divide this audience into two sides: those who are matured and wise, and when they look at the night sky, see those wrinkles reflected in their own eyes – and those who are young and naïve, to whom this insight may come as a surprise.

To the wise and mature, I assure you that we are all in fact slowly dying. The only reason you’re alive is through generations of successful breeding and surviving. God is dead, and love is a chemical compound produced in your head.

And to the young and naïve, I’ll leave you with this line: despite the pessimistic undertones this poem implies, if you just don’t worry, you’ll turn out just fine.
I will now write all my poetry in pros as I feel like it leaves more freedom for my presentation.
Ormond Mar 2016
In autumn leaves fall
Each year turns heavens' verses
Chapters from the sky
Sheik Hazi Mar 2016
My Honey,

I feel it has been ages since we met,
Still I can feel you at my best,
Whenever my eyes are wet.

I know with me I always carry you,
Like the way in veins blood runs threw,
As you are spread under my skin,
Always residing in,
Quietly waiting for my touch,
Nothing more I have to do to feel you,
Just I have to scratch my skin to touch you.
Tony Luxton Sep 2015
I'll just read the birthdays now.
Good gracious! Is he still alive?
It's getting late for fifty-eight.
I thought he'd taken his last bow.
How much more can he survive?

I see he's still on fifty-eight,
while she's now owning to forty-five.
What will tomorrow's lot contrive?
Gaye Sep 2015
It’s all about remembering the calls of the blue water and stories when the golden globe sank inside happily to be born somewhere else with apologies for the rejected words and love and a reminder to nail the frail blank papers!

It’s all about carrying picture albums all the way round in the school bag and holding the panic of leaving the heart possessed things, to leave foot prints at the door steps with sonnets in heart and ink stains on the skirt with the word ‘forever’!

It’s all about the crisp wind easing the whine of heart and the effortless glad crimson scars of life, drinking coffee and lobster watching rain through the cracked window pane searching for the adventures of beauty!

It’s all about becoming a part of the unwanted yellow note book pages breathing the never spoken emotions, ******* the tiniest memories with echoes of time and dust and whispering to your silent soul about your lessening autobiography!

It’s all about being the ballerina when melodies played late night, to see things scattered all over the desk and lay by the window on the crest with memories pasted on walls filling stillness all around the corroding iron ramparts!

It’s all about searching for the dried out basil stems and binding them with a thread and wishing that someday they’ll fuse together to swim in sun lit mornings for the dragon flies to bind the kaput dreams together, to live life!

It’s all about waiting at the familiar doors with the falling petals of memory and still trying to figure out the moist waited face with a screaming brain, aching veins and wrinkling skin ;the fingers searching in the wet mosses for the familiar shadow!

It’s all about dying with a dream of the familiar imperfections with the stony silence of the skull and dreams of a twilight graveyard with darkness all around a red rose faultless among the dried damp flowers!
aniket nikhade Jul 2015
Again and again
All over again
The same thing gets repeated again.

Agreed upon the fact that a mistakes have happened
As of now, not only in the past, but also in the present
Often it happens that when something is going on in the mind, one finds something similar to it in front of him, just before his own eyes
Possibly an intution or just a coincidence
Well, the same is true with regards to a mistake

A mistake is a mistake that tends to remain a mistake unless and until an effort is not made to learn from the mistake.
Always make sure that the same mistake is not repeated again.

It is always easy to make any mistake,
Making a careless mistake itself takes the least amount of efforts
Equally important is to make sure that the mistake that has been made is understood at the first instance itself.
The required lessons are learnt from the mistake that has been made
Correcting the mistake is definitely important,
Equally important is to keep in mind the fact that the same kind of mistake is not repeated again.

Before getting ready for executing a task look at yourself
In the mirror, look at yourself and while doing so you will come across a series of different thoughts.
Also you will find so many questions that are going on in your mind
Never mind to the doubts that have been raised over and over again
A bit of anxiety proves to be good and helpful before the start of any particular task.

What happens afterwards
What follows later is not as important as important is the fact that you know what you are going to do while executing a task.

Be yourself
Be what you are
Give your best in whatever you do
Always be positive in your mind, think positively.

No matter what happens in life, never think of giving up on anything in life
since failure is the first step to success

A mistake or two can happen, but then that must not dampen the spirit of moving ahead and getting things done
Experience counts
Experience matters
Over a period of time experience is gained
Step by step learn from each mistake
Experience will get enriched over a period of time.

Experience can never be gauged on the basis of one failure
More in particular,
The time when it comes to decide upon the future course of action
Many things are decided on the basis of prior experience then
So better not gauge the level of experience on the basis of one bad experience
On the basis of one failure.

When a mistake happens
Whether it's small or big
Nature of mistake all of a sudden does not become the criteria,
However it's important,
Never shy away from the fact that you have made a mistake
Accept your mistake
Also keep in mind
Many more number of ways will always be there to avoid the same kind of mistake.
Primarily because attitude matters a lot when it comes to winning or losing.

So always be sure that like the rest of the other individuals even you are not perfect
You can and you are bound to make a mistake, but then be firm that you learn from the same

After all winning and losing has remained a part of the game since ages.
undefined Jul 2015
our
"just 5 more minutes"
end up
turning into
hours

our
"5 whole hours"
end up
feeling like
meer minutes

love
manipulating time
since the beginning of the ages
// the amount of time i spend with you will never be enough  //
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