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Adam Schmitt Sep 2021
You've caught me in a strange mood,
with some energy,
but no food,
and I've got all these things I want to share
Please just try to hear me.
I'm skeptical, but dearly
long for the strength of her faith
like it's air

She once told me that my path
is guided by mishaps
that I commit every time
I want to sleep
"When you're craving some shut eye
but settle for some cheap wine
God laughs as
his tricks make you weep"

That's what she told me
and no philosophy holds me
like her words which shouldn't ring that true
How can she know that
God's a grinning Cheshire cat,
with endless wisdom
that's never really on cue?

I'm standing on the brink
of finding the link
where my mind and my body should meet,
And I inch ever closer
to the answer that I know
will not put any part of me at ease.

With his endless arrows
Cupid amuses his narrow
mind, He's having his
fun shooting blind.
Every bad romance
just gives him one more chance
to laugh when he forgets he can fly

Lost in her freedom
she knows she doesn't need him
she just tells herself "we're both being used"
And that is enough to repeat all the stuff
that got her feeling empty,
and confused

So I have fun in my way
with this old tragic play
that we convince ourselves has gotta be real...
Hiding from emptiness
I look to be tempted with
anything that has a nice feel..

My thoughts gather in whirlpools
in a sea of these new rules
and I wonder If I'll ever catch up.
Yet they flow ever quicker
when there's a reason to snicker
and I cannot deny they're
quite possibly corrupt.

And I know I'm just another one
Trying to have some fun
Thinking that my smoke belongs in the air
But I could easily forget this
and then there'd be no witness
to what seemed like
the Truth on a tear...
Old song.
James Study Jan 2021
nothing embarrassing have I ever done
nothing stupid or silly under the sun
never my own horn did I toot
my perfection you can't dispute
I've out lived everybody who could tell anyone
Nahum Mar 2020
Shall the sun not rise and fall on the morrow?
From dusk to dawn then recur?
But not is it praised, holy giver of life,
Almighty sovereign? Doth not shine like the eyes
Of thine lover, nor clasp thou mind like the smile.
And yet still the sun be deserving of such title?
Rather I, the embrace of the eighth then to ever be
Held by its rays, and would thy not? Hark! The delight
One feels at the simple touch of one's lips against thy lovers’
Outweighs with incomparable relish thou suns rays.
But in mind, the sun will rise and fall on the morrow.
Inspired by Donne's 'The Sunne Rising'
James LR May 2019
There was no crosswalk here
yet crossed I nonetheless.
And with just mild fear,
I ran across the lane.

The light had took too long.
The button stayed depressed.
A street sign said 'twas wrong
to run across the lane.

But I cut across the street
and then I cut again.
knowing not where I'd be,
I ran across the lane.

Until the corners I had cut
all caught up with my feet,
and then at last I was resigned
to just walk down the street.
Anita Apr 2019
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.  
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.

My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.

'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.

It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.

Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.

If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.

If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.

Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!

These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.

I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
I'm in a mood so I decided to ask the answer to life's most sizably voluminous question. Of course, I found that the answer was the number forty-two and so I found forty-two arbitrary words and shoved them and their synonyms in this cockamamy poem. Visually perceive if you can find them :arrogant, recording, foundation, ignorant, aspect, drown, program, rider, nightmare, monk, arm, sheep, wording, ferry, net, agile, exception, unlike, threaten, sandwich, correspond, receipt,trade, recovery, judge, beat, safari, shot, lover, generation, friend, coerce, perceive, soul, sea, general, accident, polish, strike, arrange, exclude, radiation
Henry Feb 2019
Putrid scent of rotting elm
A hollow vessel, none at helm

Floating, Drifting, Swaying yet
A smoke-filled room, a shallow bet

What more than logs can human be
With not a helmsman in his sea?

For what’s a ship without its crew
But dying wood and foamy slew?
Sara May 2018
I wonder if you're loving someone else.
Before I remember
that you're no good at loving,
unless it's for yourself.
A short burst of happiness and freedom
Mary-Eliz May 2018
oh such humility
is found here

not a cocky one
in the lot

no narcissism
or conceitedness

not a word about
**** so taut

not a one thinks
he's better

than any other
on the site

or in the world
for that matter

who thinks he's
always right

not one thinks
that he is

God's gift to

or that others
swoon for him

because he's so
very fine

at least most
don't write it

a bragging
load of poo

if you have to
write about it

it's certainly
not true!
"The truth?! can't handle the truth!"
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