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A collection of brilliance in moving parts.
Galaxies of stars painted green and blue rest in
perfect circles upon the gentleness of her face.
A woman who carries power in her voice,
one who demands your attention upon entering a room.
Her giggle so darling it commands the affections of men pursuing her heart.
You hear intelligence in the way she speaks,
see pride in the way that she walks.
She wears her confidence like a talisman around her neck,
her personality draped along broad shoulders.
The woman has kindness in her heart,
the capacity to bear love in her bones.
A strong spirit, unique, passionate and bold.
High cheek bones with a full smile.
She’s got mystery webbed in the danger of her desires.
The true definition of beauty lay in everything that she is.
One must thank the Heavens for creating a woman such as this.
L Jul 15
Robots and gods.

Is this madness?
It must be.

On one hand, the robot feels.
The robot knows what it wants, takes it.
But has difficulty feeling what other people are feeling.

On the other hand, the *** watches.
The *** orchestrates and plans things to go its way.
But feels as though it doesnt have control over itself.

It manipulates and prods.
It is calculated.
It is watching.
It is observant.
It is careful, caring and emotionless.
Yet full of it. And still yet unexpressive. Full of life. Trapped in their vessels; their roles.

What am i?
Jen Snow May 27
















For Matty who has my whole heart
no dreams tonight
though the moon does shine bright
yet clouds make it look
a little bit like a crook

they shroud its pale shine
misty rags do entwine
even hide the whole disc

then again with a whisp
a distorted appearance
suggests perseverance
     of the heavenly body

we love its continuity
amid life‘s ambiguities
welcome the now shiny round face
with a heartfelt embrace
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map.
We approached the city known as Dis,
with its vast army and its burdened citizens.
At last we reached the moats
dug deep around the dismal city.
What destroys the poetry of a city?
Automobiles destroy it,
and they destroy more than the poetry.
Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils
Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, ***** . . .
Also finished Brilliance, blockbuster
the blurbs for which should have said:
“Not the kind of story you’ve never read before.”
Then there’s Aaron whose Latin teacher announced to the whole class
he got a poor participation grade because he acts like a *****.
Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers
interested in *** and what man has done to man
to improvising primitive tools for survival.
Hope Abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring
in the nuclear fire – excellent –
during the decline of western civilization.

On the other hand, I hope
our current problems are only temporary
and it’s just a matter of time until
the public learns to ignore the 24-hour news cycle.
Bad news sells
but the good life’s all around us.
One feels love and devotion
even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent.
Vaclav Havel said
with a wisdom well beyond brilliance:
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t.
It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent
on some particular observation of the world
or estimate of the situation.
It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart
that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well,
but the certainty that something makes sense
no matter how it turns out.”

It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief.
Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks.
Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity.
Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth.
When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands!
When the laws are broken, what of the city then?
We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope,
where history has been abolished, and a City of History,
where hope can be slipped in only as contraband.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching
outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
Two ancient female poets are a revelation,
the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.

--Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, The Inferno, Canto VIII, Italian, trans. Robert Hollander & Jean Hollander, Anchor Books, 2000.
--Ferlinghetti, Lawrence, Poetry Flash, November 1998
--Havel, Vaclav, Disturbing the Peace: A Conversation with Karel Huizdala, Vintage Books, 1991.
--Iyer, Pico, The Man Within My Head, Vintage Books, 2013
--Sophocles, Antigone, Greek, trans. Dudley Fitts & Robert Fitzgerald from The Oedipus Cycle: An English Version, Harcourt Brace & Co., 1939.
Danielle Mar 24
Synapses roll off the tongue,
Stutter and glitch
Stut-t-t-ter and glitch
You a broken doll
With your bright brilliance.
I loved the character Glitch from Syfy's Wizard of Oz
Nicole Ashley Nov 2017
It's crazy just laying here under the moon and stars. I wonder which ones are still alive or if they're even a star. I wonder which ones are dead and long gone. I find it crazy that you can still see it's light even if it is non-existent. Like it's still there. If you stare at a star for long enough you start to see colors maybe 1 or 2. Some have red tints to them. Some have orange. And some are brilliant. I don't know how to describe it. I wonder if another universe has life. I wonder if a person or something like me is staring up at the sky at the same time thinking the same thing I'm thinking. Time must be different up there so how could I even say "at the same time". It must be different.
When you look up at the sky, in the middle of no where. No city. No lights. Not even a fire. There are so many stars. It's unbelievable if you've grown up in the city and have never set foot out of it. I wonder if they're even stars. If what I'm looking at is a star or another world, another place. I wonder if they represent the people we've lost. The reason why there are so many. The reason why, on a cold and silent winter night, you can only think of them. How they used to smile and laugh and how you won't get to see it again. Except in pictures and videos you've kept. Sometimes if you really know the person you can look at them in a photograph and see their smile but pain in their eyes. Just like how you start to see colors in the stars in the sky. But there's a moment, despite all the pain, where there's brilliance. And that's when you realize that you've been staring at the moon this whole time.
G Rog Rogers Aug 2017
Forever Evermore

Walk with me
     through fields of clover

Lay me down
      in sheets of linen

Let me see the dazzle
of the candlelight
in the brilliance
of Your ways

We will walk
      when all has answer

We will kiss
      beneath that tree

We will know
       all has come full-circle
              in a moment
                  just We between

Then remember
       to never say never

No never

For my love
will hold You always

On the crossing
and beyond the river

To that place
of Forever and Ever...

and Forever Evermore


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