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M Solav May 2020
You want to be manipulated,
you like it this way,
to be robbed from your agency,
to be imprisoned deliberately.

And in the sandbox play as you will,
With known constraints
And known space to fill.

You want it altered just so enough
As to tell things apart,
But to be told where they belong,
Hinted at what’s right or wrong.

And in the new stuff find exhilaration ,
But newness is old news;
Just give them the passion.
Written in May 2020.

— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.
Vexren4000 May 2018
Telling tales,
tall told tales,
Teeming with technicalities,
Telltale today,
Tooting trumpeters,
Telling tales,
To tellers long gone.

Norman dePlume Jan 2016
I wonder about Austria. Is it anything like cancelled Czechs?
Do pigs fly? Is there a stranger there, to complicate
the one in me? Or must I rearm my filling station?
Can we trust otters to indicate us
(who seem us only in the evil rush), our
end never stooping to think? Oh, I was so right around you,
my sonnet birdcage, once. No, cats' tails immersed
in the frozen swamp are about all I have time for.
The daylights are so Polaroid. Yet time is often self-
centered. At least that’s how it feels to me.
Norman dePlume Jan 2016
I am concerned with that venison in America
But the juice is soured.
This weeping as I wanked out of control,
After breaking cross-haired whims,
Galloping backward and forward, ahead the past,
Behind the unfamiliar future,
What were we doing, or were we,
The mattress, the limber of lice, or of loves
We were measuring olives, continually?
A moon soon to be forgiven
In crossed girders of past, hip Brooklyn charcoal
In this peeping that has sized you again?
"The man that can save Poetry" was created 1/1/2016.


— The End —