Chan S Jul 16

Dancing and prancing around your emotions gave me the notion that I'd loved you.
For you, I'd donned my ballet shoes one and two; but what did you exhibit for me? Nothing. What gave you the theory of your love for me? Nothing.
Years flew by to the distant past, taking my true self with them. Leaving me a mindless genie, dancing to your every wish. You had rubbed me the right way...your rubs being likened to the pellets given to lab rats' when they'd completed a task. How did I become so immovable, so attached, and bamboozled by the very life I ran from? Was it the moment I stood on my tip toes and had forgotten about my tenderness to soften yours? Dancing so softly to fix your core had hardened mine. Now I've become my own ballet dancer, dancing to my own musical appreciation. And you are the onlooker in my audience applauding, twisting, and turning for me and my Ballet Love.

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Stefan Sagala Jun 26

coffee house is a place where you doubtlessly see all the people being swept away in an invisible connection you can not see--sometimes, there are also some people who get caught in discussion and stuck by diffusion. the coffee that you drink often converts you its energy to analize your life's difficult problematics.  

coffee house is a place where you will genuinely feel sane if you see some people reading their own scripts or feel well-earned if you witness the self-interested people--where they hear their own tunes just for themselves, where they do not want to give you the same opportunity for joining them in thrilling your cochlear, even through the air filled with whiff of vapour. vapour which doesn't comprise the fumes of nicotine, but there is just a little amount of caffeine in its womb. however, vapour is vapour. it has its ability to serve you an effect to crave which oftenly makes yourself lose its excuse to refuse.

coffee house, is a place for the people who are looking for identities. coffee house is made for the people who keep analizing the layer by layer of their lives, for the ones who keep hunting  the nucleus of your providence's atom, for the people who keep ripping apart their particles. not dalton, neither rutherford, nor thomson, not even bohr, as the ones who might be able to serve you a soup of theory which if you eat it, you might be enlightened and your life might suddenly be well explained. the chaos of your life can not simply be explained that way.

coffee house is a place where you will find the lonely people whose lives will always be tossed around, the people who keep glorifying the fumes of caffeine that can hit you back to the point where you can be boiled by new hopes. and it remains that way all the time.

coffee house is a place for them who are hurt and diseased, but feel like hospitals are not the right house to canalize their moans. precisely, they will find their house here.

in a coffee house, you will learn to be yourself, and you will never find the lesson at all schools.

in a coffee house, you learn how to admit your predestination as the Audience of Lives.

coffee house is a place where you will always find your own cinema seat.

Stefan Sagala,
February 4th 2017.

for you, whom i found in a coffee house.
Ana S Dec 2016

The words she paints so gently
Etch my mind
Her voice leaving me stunned
So beautiful and fine
Speaking ever so softly
Sending chills down my spine
She wispers in my ear
Babe are you really mine?
I am yours my love.
Always have been.
Always will be.
Til the end of this universe.
And life as we know it.
I will always be yours.  
Some don't believe in forever.
Some don't think about infinities.
My infinty rests with her.
She is my light.
She is my love.
Whispering gently in my ear.
I love you so my dear.
Is that so? I wisper back.
Well beautiful, guess what?
I love you too.

The words she wispers softly
JR Rhine Nov 2016

Smoke scintillated by dirty lights
Scent of cheap beer and cigarettes
Arms and legs and heads and butts
                mashed
      mangled
            mingling

In a space ejecting bravado
responding to the auricular bludgeons
plucking veins and boiling blood
arms and legs flailing like spiders
hammered by raindrops

Calloused voices scream through feedback
eking out of anguished amplifiers
while jungle drums synchronize hearts
to their frantic pulse

New friends old friends celebration
in sweaty embraces chanting screaming
stumbling outside the gates of eternity
sidewalk where we gathered round the sordid soapbox
and cast beleaguering gargantuan buildings
and endless cataclysmal streets
into abeyance

to prance along these old sidewalk cracks
stumbling along cigarette butts and beer cans
efflorescing under amative neon lights whose bombinate glow
tingles our skin and dazzles our eyeballs
rolling back into our skulls in the wake of ecstasy
billowing over our ambulant bodies

Friday nights
     Saturday nights
              Sunday nights
skipping school on a week day
braving city night life to find us in the nooks
they forgot to sweep out
where trash collects and pretends
to be unwavering and implacable
for a moment

Til it's back on the streets we spill out upon like puke
like the beer sticking to checkerboard floors
and we float home on the feedback high singing in our ears to sleep
dreaming of these ecstasies as something perennial
in punk lover's dreams

Pure when we're filthy.

Listen to Beach Slang.
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016

Not quite a hurricane
but a wind that still blows,
holding love aloft.
I prefer to be behind the scenes
like god,
observing the audience
through a chink in the curtain.

I am prophecy self-fulfilled,
but I’ve been before mistaken.

Surprised to learn
they embrace what they kill.

Knit Personality Aug 2016

I hate a lot of things and people.  
   I’m full of hate.  Aren’t you?
I hate myself; and, though I don't know you,
   I probably hate you too.

I hate a lot,–a whole fucking lot.  
   At hating no one is greater.
I hate as much as I love and lust:  
   I’m the very greatest hater!

Martin Narrod Nov 2015

Backwards, like a sign that's hard to read. Like a leather jacket that's too stiff in the arms but 2 years off the rack. And then the heart explodes in the esophagus. Pieces of young trust comes out all over what the eyes can see, and each body part wants to go back to their respective bed nestling areas. Sometimes, even this little me gets nervous about being vulnerable. You can only burn the velveteen rabbit once.

These are the monkeys of my throat and the dinosaurs that tend to my fingertips. My skin gets leathery before it feels like silk. I don't smell like a motorcycle or sound like the fast lane but I'm not sure if I want to yet. I'm happier not waiting to randomly be reminded of the pain, it's much better to chase down those hydrogen bombs while the cattle prod is still hot and fire-red. Two served and five Peanuts left for playtime. I rather enjoy being a vampire.

Dhaye Oct 2015

This INSET's a successful one
In all aspects that they have planned
With one theme here, through hand and hand
We're all for one, we're all for one

The venue is a perfect place
Here, up and down with all the grace
So beautiful, no time to waste
I want to praise, I want to praise

Our principals and cluster head
Applause to you for what you did
Our dear speakers, you've sown the seeds
You took the lead, you took the lead

The speakers were so excellent
They taught us all with great extent
The knowledge were like message sent
There's no more vent, there's no more vent

Demo-teachers and all us here
We have the smile we need to wear
Please, no more stress and no more tears
The joy is near, the joy is near

I want to say  thank you to all
A job well-done, we shall recall
Let's clap our hands, all in this hall
Let's rock and roll, let's rock and roll!

I was assigned to give an impression about our 3-day In-Service Training so I prepared    one in form of Monotetra poem. I am glad I delivered it just right to the audience.
Oscar Mann Oct 2015

How I’d like to be a man of the people
To write poems that widely spread
To have the public sit up and notice
And nod to every little thing
That I, ever so poetically, care to share

My poems would be talk of the town
In fame and fortune I would bathe
And the public would subtly bow as I walk by
Wondering how I ever so clever
Show what the show’s all about

I would gracefully describe human nature
In a way that everyone would get
I’d share my universal wisdom
The essence of this life
And offer the promise of bliss

There would be nothing I would withhold
From the public I hold so dear
I’d help them cope with love and lust
With pain and loss and death
And all that’s bright and beautiful

But alas, I am no man of the people
And my limits are ever so clear
I myself am an isolated poet
And I fear it’s true what I hear:
That they don’t have a way with poetry, anyway

Meteo Oct 2015

How do you live here? / who's sins have you / do you forgive yourself / for the sake of what you believe / makes you? / keeps you in momentum / sails unfurled against the clock / How do you live here? / which scars do you show / which ones no one knows? / what parts of your skin were you born in / what parts of your skin are new / drawn over / coloured outside the lines? / what parts of your skin have you always been? / How do you live here? / who's laugh track echoes in your ear / a recording of a long since dead live t.v. show audience / or your now since becoming nameless childhood friends? / How do you live here? / how do you occupy your skin / your sins / your echoes? / what dreams keep you asleep / what dreams keep you awake / what dreams keep you? / How do you live here?

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