Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Karijinbba Aug 2020
When the joy and happiness
of others is above and beyond
our own;
when loving a beloved soul
more than we love ourselves
enough to set a loved one free;

it's not lack of self love,
being generous to a fault,
I doubt many have
the courage, heart, brains
to surrender treasures found,

just to benefit another.
  while feeling small
or stumped still yield.

It isn't foolishness
it's self sacrifice.
No rivals can fill that void
of not grabbing what fell on
and off a broken lap.
-~~
Defeat is born first in the
eyes passing judgement
not the one surrendering
all treasures found.
~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
08-25-2020
To love others
more than we love ourselves
we need a heart a brain
and courage.

not just self love.
Alicia Moore Aug 2020
I feel your presence shift past me.

To you, I am simply a memory.
A memory that has been tarnished throughout time.
An enemy perhaps.

To me, you are a ghost.
Stuck in time, without the knowledge of this collective reality.
Stuck in a cycle of decline and reassign.

You stand in limbo, observing your own mistakes.
But in your created reality, there are no such mistakes...

A ghost broken down by their choice of travel,
But blames the damage on the road itself.

You can only twist a story so far before the pages tear and split.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2020
Warning! This poem is too long for certain elderly gentlemen.

A blue haze morn, pleasant in the transition
from the ides of sensual summer to the
broken, busted curled dead leaves that now
decorate the half & half scorched, mottled lawns,
that soon enough will fall to full-on browning!

All this my eyes see when first I wake, only
the calm morn waters unchanged, thank god,
for the mind is fermented, the brain full on,
three, count ‘em, three born baby poems, all
simultaneous being birthed, triplets from one
****** working overtime, yet, only paid the hourly wage!

The mind interweaves the three, and yet subdivides,
only I, the landlord of the brain, failingly and flailing
struggle to keep track of these wild tenants, each:
a curvature, a tangent, a sibling and a stranger to
each other, sharing  a common single parentage!

Poem #1

Poem #1, a bright child, yet, poorest in vocabulary, more humming
than recites, but below its tuneful melody one just perceives, a refrain
born in the refracted sun rays that first opened our  eyes to this day, in
great gratitude, a morning prayer, a mourning poem, bidding adieu to the great  nighttime where the conception and inception inseminated within the ****** of the brain, and welcoming the warmth of day that cracks our body’s outer egg shell with praises of hallelujah that this one word poem gives so easy, in glory!

Poem #2

The toes wriggle, the eyes rapid-blink, the mouth yawns revealing
a still sleeping tongue, the stomach rumbles a basso tune reminding
everyone that their continuous sustenance comes from it alone, no
matter what those other body part snobs claim! An Uproar ensues
(bien sûr!), everyone roused, slumber a thing of the past, a cacophony
of disharmonious noises, no Greek chorus this, purely 100% American,
each party convinced of its self-worth, its own vitality, a ball park of
loutish fans, hawking vendors, an amalgamation of colorations, a
tapestry of humanity skin colors, though in a single voice upon this all
agree and shout “**** the Umpire!”

Then the bladder whispers “uh,hey people,” and all grow silent knowing
who’s the boss, and the man, stumbles from bed, wondering silently what
the heck that huuge racket was all about and how come no one else heard it?

Poem #3

A subcommittee of the senses convene a meeting and on the agenda, in
no particular order are the following, items of varying importance, but
needing speedy resolution:

The always very touchy skin asks: what shall we wear
today, it is warm outside and overly cold inside, should
we go short or long, stay in our overnight dressage, or
get a fresh accoutrements (clean Tee and sweatpants)
just to celebrate having made successful passage to day?

The aural receptors (who always insist on being addressed
in the plural), state that can wait! first let’s us determine what
music we shall receive, that must match the nature outside
and the nature within?  A Joshua Bell violin concerto, or some
retro greatest hits from the 60s, 70s and 80s?  Let’s vote..

The Gallic nasal passages (Les Passages, as they snobbishly prefer) sniff
in derisive decision, non! to yesterday’s clothes, a shower and a shampoo
dear skin, a nasal necessity, let’s try to remember to use deodorant today
please, and no more feral cereal and milk, something more fragrant s’il vous plait!

The Buds, as the tasting cells preferred to be called, said indeed,
some fresh cafe au lait in a proper bowl, to accompany les croissants frais, une baguette au beurre, and do not forget the red crisscross jar of Bonne Maman (Orange Marmalade/Confiture d'Orange)

The Eyes, waited and listened, and then proclaimed, all well and good,
but realize that after all this, we are the instructor, the instrument panel
without which you cannot operate in concert, let us see what we can see,
in the closet, in the kitchen, read the playlists, prepare the necessaries
for bathing, check the thermometers and then we will decide!

Then, the Mighty Brain, said “folks, we’ve been busy all night and tho
first light has already penetrated, we are going back to bed, as we are exhausted by all this noise herein encapsulated!
Her ******* were taken
from her legs and back.
Formed from her own body
by a stranger’s hands.
A brutal procedure, reconstruction.
Adding four more scars to
her body which has already carried
three lives besides her own
fading one.
I catch her reflection
in the bathroom mirror
fresh out of the shower.
Door left open
because her legs wobble
like a newborn foal’s.
A giraffe.
A gazelle.
A calf.
She looks like a sacrifice,
my mother.
Allowed to live a short while longer
in the face of the new death
sprouting in her brain.
Or perhaps
it has been festering there
a while.
She is sick of pink.
She still smooths lotion
over her hands and face.
Feels her prickly, bald scalp
with her soft palms.
She is soft all over now
where there used to be muscle.
Brown, toned arms,
shapely legs.
It stole from her
again
and again.
Inside that soft, tired body
a warrior spirit raged on,
but knew defeat
when she saw it
on the pink horizon.
RIH Aug 2020
They peek in the window,
Then try the lock,
But they don't really need
My permission

Heaviness of limb
And a room seeped of color.
My brain is my tomb,
Until it's not

I never know
When next they'll return,
Demanding, not asking,
For the keys
We are masters, not slaves,
not even to our brains.

All until the empire caved through mental anguish,
and the terror-filled thought first entered humankind mind,
you have been the enslaved, not the master.

Mentally losing control in all believed,
through streamlining a connective world and thought,
it seems we've all been deceived.

No single stream is achieved,
Not every imaginative wish was truly dreamed,  
communication is a constant drowning without an esteemed regal theme team.

No matter if too much or too little,
our mind enters new lands from false provocations from foolish and progressive new minds.

Youth and old somehow learning intellectual finds,  
understanding emotions is the mojo in the potion.
We're all the same kinds, same minds, race with color blinds.

Often though, no hope to cope,
no sign of mental help in poverty folks anywhere in sight,
we just stare at the moonlight,
praying for a wealthy snakebite.

Distraction from your inner-gleaming.

Don't think, let thoughts flow like a calm stream,
as inevitable chaos ensues with persistence in the mind,
the normal overwhelming of the mind,
you realize that we have made
a flawless design.

Yet, with one door open behind,
a coup to unwind.

Only the owner of their mind has the full power to control, cope, and turn the tide.

Those types of people who understand that there are inevitable downsides,
but view them simply as realities benign.

Viewed as a part of the intellectual process and our life ride.
,
Annihilate your ego, and let emotion become your bride,
spark the fire and light inside a pure soul filled with love and empathy.

Understand the Jekyll and Hyde hiding inside the mind will never disappear or fully hide,
yet fight and become no longer terrified,
only mesmerized.

The truth is clear and here,
no more anxiety, worry, fear, just....here.

You drift and physically drop down in pure peace,
understanding you've just completed a mental masterpiece.

Full with a new sensation of content masterfully mixed with enlightenment,
thus, begins the personal journey,
a subjective mental exploration of a new frontier.
Alicia Moore Aug 2020
In the beginning of the dawn,
beings alike waited for their brains to mature.
The brain labelled itself,
and followed with alike ideas thereafter...

Oh, aren’t you as glad as I
to possess such poetic beauty now
that freely flows from
the matured control centre?
mjad Aug 2020
I look back on the way my heart jumped
The way he made my love filled blood pump
And I fail to understand
I do not know how I loved everything so small, even holding his hand
How can love just come and go?
When he stopped loving me, how did I not know?
His eyes must have sparkled at the idea of leaving me
My absence was the reason he smiled gladly
I never looked for the signs of this
I was the definition of ignorance is bliss
My heart knew all along
But my brain was saying it had to be wrong
When they say trust your gut they never say which one
Breethyr Aug 2020
Within my mind are heavy thoughts,
They do not let me feel at ease.
Everything i'd failed to do
Is coming back to haunt me.

Body withered and my mind
Is trapped awaiting for relief -
Heavy duty machines above
Will serve as bridge to a new life for me.

Heavy brain is in the skull,
Drinking blood that flows in veins,
The blood is pumped by a heavy heart -
A heavy heart is all that's left of me.

LONG WAITED ΣXTRACTION OF BRAIN IS COMMENCING,
Heavy heart has been put to rest.
As narcotics put me to sleep i imagine
What future holds for me.

What was it that made me who i had thought i was?
Which parts of self will be put to rest?
After-****** life may just show me the secrets of who I am.
Is life within a machine equivalent to death?

Vivid images i had not seen
Yet imagined like they're real -
The brain is fed through metal tubes
With tar-like liquid that flows within,
The brain is speared by electric spikes -
They cut their way through every part of it.

THE DREAM STATE DISRUPTED BY A HEAVY DESTRUCTIVE SHOCK,
What are these sings i'm receiving? I can't make sense at all.
The feeling of dread is suppressed by machinery, i don't even feel any pain.
Yet heavy thoughts haven't gone away.
More than ever before i am wondering if a choice i had made was correct -
Eternal existence without a future or hopes and no right to be welcomed by death.
Jacob Lyons Jul 2020
In the roaring twenty’s
In my boring twenty’s
I keep seeing glory
But still I keep snoring
So whose fault, is it really?

I’ll take one more nap
When my brain gets bad
The story has capped
With a curtain call clap
These dreams are silly
Next page