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Filomena May 17
I've recently been told
That music's for the bold
And performance represents
A simple flow of confidence

While I think that's good to know
I think there's more to music's glow
Cause when I put my pen to paper
I want me to be the shaper

I aspire to hone my craft
And not come off as over-daft
But my music is my art
Communication from the heart

And that calls consideration
Of musicians' motivation
Cause when you stand up on the stage
It's true the listener's the gauge

Of if your music is worthwhile
Or should be thrown into the pile
So overall it's just a balance
Of one's skill, but also talent

So at the ending of the day,
The final thing I'd like to say

A is for Adam
Atoms are for art
I'll write like a free radical
But on stage I'll play the part
Hex Jul 2021
Far, up high,
An idol's cry,
Her shining tears,
Sprinkle the sky,
Infinity's tomb,
Brings cosmos bloom,
Bringing life,
And starlight's doom,—
     —Shining through, Celestia weeps.

Painting warily,
Creating merrily,
Braiding hues,
Working wearily,
While painting shells,
Her eyes still swell,
Her canvas, sprinkled,
As shining tears fell,—
     —Shining through, Celestia weeps.

Gaze shifting upon her opus,
To the Terra, formed with focus,
As she peers, she fails to notice,
Her heart's expire, soft necrosis,
Yet again, a grieving seep,
Striking hard, striking deep,
Off again, her focus turns,
Her mind taking a blinded leap,—
     —Shining through, Celestia weeps.
Chapter One of an intergalatic series.
I caught you feeling... you stupid...
How dare you feel and where's your brain?

I caught you working... you stupid...
Working all day hard with a level of thinking aligned

I caught you learning,  caring, helping around,
Trying to make life sweeter...
Helping a wound fade away
And the memory of that awful day become bearable.
Are you that... stupid, stupid! Why don't you keep it all to yourself?

I caught you having some ideals...!
High and of the brave Angels adored!
You stupid, stupid Child!
How dare you even dream?
How dare you believe and hope and scream and shout out your pain!
How dare you stay!
How dare you fight!
How dare you be what you are
You are not... Stupid... Stupid...
The heart that ruined all that!

How dare you be strong?
You did it all at some level but wanted much more!
How dare you be only a human?
How dare you be much more?
You got all tired of this... Stupid... Stupid...
And walked away.
How dare you be that strong?
How dare I admire you?
Stupid... Stupid...
Heart and Soul taken to a ride by the Mind!
How dare you walk away?
Stupid thing... no! Lie!
Image on a surface
To remind us all
When stupid,
When arrogant
And why.

I caught you enjoying life. Well that's stupid!
Again, you will get hurt, you stupid stupid thing.

I caught you thinking... are you that stupid...?
When will you learn to act? React.
Do something!

You stupid...
Why don't you angel for us and fly?
Show those wings that can carry the world to a better...

'You stupid? Why don' t you Angel inside?
Without feelings, without thinking, without?... Only a cold machine, smart!

Ah, I can finally breathe in and out!
This is a strange perhaps but still a stand against violence we sometimes apply... out of discouragement, out of resources, out of some filth imposed we keep looking for ways out. Why do we do this? Why do we keep taking and taking and giving... ? Our hearts need to be out there, telling their stories, their joy and suffering, their truth and their faults, their lies and their one day found news...

*There's also a SoundCloud available for this poem:
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
atop the Manhattan skyline
her similitude descends as rain
we see her wonderwork
we see her water-standing
her very abandonment of draperies
unassuming and artless
where the heedless moths settle
with bodies of mystic warmth
colored with rose and a dash of flame

– for Audrey Munson
Audrey Marie Munson (June 8, 1891 – February 20, 1996) was an American artist's model and film actress, today considered "America's First Supermodel." In her time, she was variously known as "Miss Manhattan", the "Panama–Pacific Girl", the "Exposition Girl" and "American Venus." She was the model or inspiration for more than twelve statues in New York City, and many others elsewhere.
Solar Nov 2020
He is a talking flower with lips
made of curving petals.

Begging to hold his hand - which is a lovely saturation of pollen - is my unknown sunset quietly falling over him.

I never knew I wanted so deeply to feel him, now there seems to exist a safety within my thoughts I never knew possible.

In a way that is purely fantasy,
he spins the world so fast I’ve fallen off it.

Even when he walks he dances,
allowing me to slowly rotate in the vortex of his spirit.

How could I ever show him...

How could I ever let him see,
how he is the sinking throat
of dawn blessing me with vision,
and the medicine of my now fading paranoia.
Andrew Rueter Jul 2020
Does an artist have a responsibility
to steer their audience in a positive direction
or is honesty and self expression all that is required?
Art OvElar Jun 2020
In a vast canvas, outside the spread of doubt
the feathers from my brush start to settle.
As my pupils stare through, I reach within my thoughts.
Every movement and every breath...
slowly desiccating through motionless actions of uncertainty and question...
Have I seen her before?
The harmonious sigh extracting a simple, no.
The spread of wonder inside and around me
start to grow
marching up and down the peering eyes
I tell myself that I know.
Density and silence
embracing the frames around her face.
Then I remembered something else and slowly smiled
the awe of skepticism peering through me
I paused for a moment...
just to wonder.
Again, I wonder
To the inquisitive self within, without.
Love is given to anyone born
Later on, it starts to prickle like a thorn
Between one's business and so on
The heart gets too crusty for love to grow on
But I swear I love you
My love is unswerving and true
Bigger than that dreamed by a romantic poet
Artistic than that painted with a great palette
I know you don't love me
Though, I couldn't stop loving thee.
I wonder what in this world could stop me from loving you.
Lyner May 2020
My thoughts could run a marathon
Faster than Usain Bolt
But they can't focus
All over the place
From here                                                                  
                                                                   To there
Up high

And down low
but they never stay GROUNDED
My words f l o a t away from me
Like balloons set loose by a child

"You don't care," they say
I care too much
I care to the point of pain
Am I enough yet?
I would cut myself open
Rip out my heart
How much of me is too much?
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