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Anushia Oct 17
common unleashed my thought  
proper capitalized my title
concrete engraved my pleasure
abstract fantasized my dream

nouns complete my poetry
nouns create actions for life
bloodKl0tz Sep 11
My legs are heavier than I am used to,
Except it feels so familiar,
I think this happens every night when I try to run in my dreams,
And its like forcing each step forward through thick syrup
Hardening wet concrete
A rapidly thickening slurry coating me.

I am weighed down by it, down on my knees now, hoping that grabbing the ground and pulling myself forward will increase my momentum
Ripping out handfuls of grass trying to get the earth to treadmill beneath me
Clay under my nails, more slurry, more layers,

The earth is a part of my lungs now
Wet pink webbing hardening from the outside in
Thin tendrils brittle and breaking off, sun-dried,
Cracking and dusty and making its way up my throat
A river bed of mud consuming the space in my mouth,
I reach in with my fingers and scoop out the muck and throw it but it keeps coming,
Filling and refilling my mouth, faster than my fingers can dig it out
Thick like dentist's putty, coating my tongue and teeth like taffy

The fear is always there
The fear mixed with the drowning feeling, drowning in wet clay,
Suffocating and afraid
That it will still be the same even when I wake up
An Observation

The aim of Art is to express its own self by the means of its specially codified articulation. Whether one choses to employ language, paint or plastic, as a mean of expression, it matters little in the outcome. Art has always had its way, and never failed – what has is public reception. In this day, when much craving for realism and concrete is asked for, it has embraced the shape of abstract and ideal. By opposing the modern demands of Life, it stirs us from our sensing percieving, and points to the introspecitive and intuitive. Turning to these two, which go hand in hand,  we are likely to find closely associated romanticism. The meaning of romanticism has shifted its form and rules in the past centuries, but it was always present in them. There is in Thebes the young girl professing she was born for no other purpose than to love. Amongst the reeds, there shifts the nymph into the laurel tree, its bark swollen by sweet – liped god's tears. On the island of Albion the king passes into the shadow of Avalon. Back in Italy, the maiden pots her lover's head with basil and mourns for her life. The young prince in the North sacrifices his life in attempt to avenge his kingly father. The doctor's wife ruins herself and her family, to end her life in sorrow and agony. The modern Narcissus achieves eternal youth for the price of his soul. We feel a certain deterioration from this image in the time that came afterwards, which may be attributed to the external circumstances that spun our beliefs, culture, taste and thought. Something deeply changed grew within the contemporary thought, and through Life realises itself by strict exactness. Through Art, it realises by fluid abstractness. As a result, many refuse it, some agree with it, while the minority strives to feel it. The good question to ask oneself, when facing the contemporary Art, would be how to reach for the meaning with what is present in front of one. For, very so often, we might feel an isolated vagueness scratching at our minds and emotions, and turn away from it. The starvation in the incomprehensible frightens us, because it is the answer to the strict exactness – for which we haven't asked a question. In this light and its shades, we search for the long lost ideal of romanticism. „Romanticism is always in front of life“, Oscar Wilde stated in The Decay of Lying. In the past century we have witnessed a few attempts of applying it to the modern Art, but in vain.  Where Marsyas once used to cease in his song, in his being, there came an ever – fulfilling silence. It is not uncommon to see young readers or admireres of Art returning to the old masters nowdays, and it delights their teachers to see so. What should disturb us, is their lack of notice for their contemporaries. It simply urges us to refine our methods, reach for the pure and unbroken visions – untouched - and confront our self – restrictions. We have become overfocused on self – protection and preservation from crude attacks, imposed by the fashion of our time. What is needed, much as ever, is to embrace the emotions, purified by their sense of rawness. This comes to be the vital substance of all creation. Without it how much longer are our inner worlds to endure?

Oh, give us complex beauty, tender beauty, distant beauty – but always, always – our cry is for beauty.
Nylee Jul 7
The misplaced ... words
they do
  not find..
        a concrete   structure..
always half baked..

   missing  the     essence
       of     something great.
Zywa Jul 3
Concrete is useful

and poetic, concrete makes –

nature pain concrete.
“betonnen gazons doen het goed” (“concrete lawns are doing well”, 2018, Astrid Lampe)

Collection "VacantVoid"
TJ Radcliffe Jun 7
storm clouds rising            somewhere up ahead
blossoms tossing              shadowed on the wind
skies are changing                  blue is running red
searching for forgiveness                    for our sins
in the darkness                         under forest cover
eyes that hide from hunters                 passing by
we hold these truths
                               clutched to us like our mother
we tell these stories hoping                they're a lie
raindrops splashing             fat upon the flowers
shaking leaves and          dampening the ground
summer's waking thunder              tolls the hour
what never has been lost            cannot be found
young buds open          now their time has come
senescent giants falling                       free the sun
Inspired by a painting my wife did of blossoms under a sunny sky, after some reflection on current events. Ideally the formatting will come through.
plunged towards
the hot pavement
and sizzled as it

shimmied its way
down the smooth
side of a glass

melted in the
kiss of two

saddled the fuzzy
back of one merry
little  bumble

made a quivering
ripple as it plopped
into a muddy

sneaked out and
made  its  escape
in the ensuing
NaPoWriMo Day 9
Poetry form: Concrete
For image -
you've heard about the rose,
that grew from concrete,
it learned to walk,
without having feet.

funny it seems,
we forget about the rose who,
never got the chance,
to keep his dreams.
or a chance to
breathe free.
like the rose who succumbed underneath
all of life's adversities.
like the rose who was shot,
by a force of unjust police.
or the rose who fell victim
to generational poverty.
or the rose who was born with a
serious disability.
or the rose who came from a
long line of broken families.
or the rose who felt the effects
everyday of inequality.
making it harder for him
to spread his great leaves.

lets not forget,
about the rose who couldn't,
rise and beat the concrete,
and whose body lies underneath the concrete,
lets not forget
about the rose who couldn't rise from a crack between,
the concrete.
The Rose That Grew From Concrete
Tupac Shakur

Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it
learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.

This poem by Tupac is one of my favorites so I tried to write a poem acknowledging it yet still from a different perspective. The poem is sort of one big allusion.
I was once a seed tossed away
to the side of the concrete
until you paved a place for me to stay.
You dug into the dirt.
You watered my soul.
I was once a seed,
now I am a rose.
Celil Dec 2019
be free my bird, fly
every pain shall fade away
one day in the sky

This is not a pretty unique poem as its content but I personally like how I made it concrete.
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