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Em MacKenzie Aug 2019
You know I saw this from miles away
planted my feet determined to stay,
you’re always searching for an answer,
blatant location: Tropic of Cancer,
I try to give direction but it’s something I can’t say.

So don’t go giving up on me
I try my best to make it all easy,
but you’re determined to house this burden,
even though it’s certain I’m the person,
who’s always around even when you can’t see.

I’ve got the patience of a saint and some,
and gained belief and knowledge from
what dreams may come.

Well we’ve discussed this and more
opened the lines and opened the door.
So divided and undecided,
why try to fight it when we can’t hide it,
you can’t go showing someone truth they’re not ready for.

I’ve got the time to wait in slum,
some would say I’m playing dumb
for what dreams may come.

I’ll keep living under heavy thumb,
trying to convince myself I’m numb
to what dreams may come.
storm siren Jun 2019
I am a
No good
and you can't
Tell me

In the end
I've found
All that really
Is who you were to them,
A year before you died.

Because I put a bullet where I should have put a helmet,
Along with Honesty and Sincerity,
And all their friends and Virtues.

Rebirth is easy, it's living that gets tricky.

Reborn as a sinner:
Love me,
Hate what I do

What I do best
Is watch you fall to pieces
Limb from crushed bone limb,
And what I do best
Is write sad songs
That I hide away in a corner of my
Closet(ed mind).

When you die,
They remember you with flaws they had of their own.
They make it about them,
And their pain,
As though being a martyr
Could actually bring you back.

(As though a martyr
Could actually come back)

So call me Apathy,
That'll be my new name.
A lack of empathy
No pitying sympathy.

Because I cannot seem to make you realize,
I do not empathize
Nor will I ever sympathize
With you no-good
Nice guys.

I'm a bad guy
What can I say,
I'm the villain, the antagonist,
I was put here as a test--

I went wrong,
I went far beyond wrong,
I took a wrong turn onto the wrong path in the wrong forest
Where I just don't belong.

So goodbye for the night, and maybe the next few,
But remember my number not name, as only the living seem to do.
So just remember these words, from time to time:
I am a lack of the holy seven--
You see, in place and in honor, I make nine.
sir humbug Jul 2018
one more for Joni and the one who accuses me of
"owning the courage to care so blatantly."

accused of writing with blatant courage,
a  4 credit requirement for caring

blatant is a word of merger -
open obvious unsubtle and unashamed

and a dissembling misleading one!

it is all of these  and yet can be a contradictory mask of
opposing, differing faces

my blatant is none of these
but appearance only

**** muses keep me coming back
to a particular lyric,
keeps seeking me out, so successfully, wherever I go,
I hear it
it’s invading my both sides now

the dizzy dancing way you feel

you think I have my own blatant courage, untrue!
so oft you mistook my dizzy dancing,
all fluff all humbug so obvious so ashamed,
a cover up, a most subtle cosmetic pretense of the truth -
no courage at all
and yet (they mock)
you do care...

just another of my peculiar
life’s illusions

  I really don’t have blatant courage at all
Mandated this faux gremlin explorer
(alias Cliff Ford) donning reinforced
rubber baby buggy bumpers to dodge
any errant wild jaguar, ram, thunder bird,
bee in blue bonnet hood lamb, et cetera

and/or any cowl screen Fascia hissed
dee fender must be subject to an intense
hot grill, especially if grievous, ferocious,
egregious, deleterious threat to undermine
Democratic pillar, weltanschauung spoiler,

rocker, rims (sic) coarse sea cove dweller,
whose tired hubby capped, (re: proffering
a trim package) houses plenty of junk in
the trunk adorned with harried styled and
tailor made dust ruffle par excellent well

did assembly, who (if not consigned to a
crash test dummy existence), would present
an a door able latchkey cont hinge hint. Fuel
lush con tank cuirass culpable, deplorable,
and execrable fiendish human immigration

injustices (executed abhorrent auto de fe
incognito, nonetheless lock king figurative
gnarled horns with cognoscenti), where
innocent charges teary eyed. Like
a cracked glass, viz shatterproof wind

shield radiator, the plaintive inconsolable
crying babies alarmed Aunt Henna. Mass
media did radio this *******, tripped,
and trashed tragic travesty. No tuner then
atrocious, baseless, callous dirt deed done

dirt cheap, one loud speaker after another
took to the airwaves, and sundry tele
communications outlets. Sad doggone sonic
booms (representative of sub woofer)
soul fully bellowed forth broadcasting across

humungous flat screens appalling catastrophe
unfolding reminiscent of battery abuses
against scapegoats since time immemorial,
otherwise known as (ohm my dog) volt age.

I gauge how wealth (or lack thereof) constitutes
as distributor. Electronic timing controllers
(viv a vis the internet and/or virtual realty
simulates) function as ignition modus operandi
to communicate gross injustices renting asunder

heart wrenching agony engendering abysmal
leap into nothingness. Existence rendered moot
as despicable horrors inflicted upon deportees.
Thee footworn, forlorn foghorn troops (analogous
to stone temple pilots) unwittingly journey into

torturous labyrinth, herein monsters ******
suckling babes. A pained spotlight signals sense
sore re:us, nasty and brutal choking, that throttles
the psyches battered beyond thermostatic threshold
of tolerance. Now any Earthling with sense and sense

ability must heed this alarm and siren infringing
abominably primal tenets, ethos, credos aligning
power train, sans **** sapiens linkedin as
one organic entity.
Aŧül Apr 2016
Baby, you're a liar!

You told me that it was real,
I thought real was forever,
But no!

Your love was real but weak,
I thought you were my peahen,
And myself your peacock.

But you loved just the bling,
The most shallow part of love,
You were never my dove.

Coz in the end you ditched me,
Chose over a peacock just a ****.
LDR was never your thing,
So no point blaming you,
But it's not so easy to forgive your blatant lies.

My HP Poem #1061
©Atul Kaushal

— The End —