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aniket nikhade Nov 2015
Important to be convinced before conceiving something new
Time has always remained important.

Important is the present moment in time;
important is the available time,
important because everything needs to be done within a stipulated time frame.

Every now and then there is always something to think of,
something new to think upon.
Every now and then there is something that goes on in the mind,
something different comes across the mind.

Important is that something that goes on in the mind
Important because it connects the past, present and also the future
Important is that moment in time when something concrete gets figured out in the mind with regards to the future.

Facts never need any conviction,
so does truth,
both of which never require any conviction.

Thoughts keep coming and going one after another
Positive attitude, positive mindset is what makes all the difference.

Think of past and present along the line of all that is going on in the mind keeping in mind an uncertain future.
The past will remain a thing of past while the future will get ascertained.

In any case,
at any point of time and at any stage,
it’s always important to have a conviction of own with regards to what needs to be done.

A convinced mind always knows the kind of efforts that are required and also puts in the same
A convinced mind knows the exact direction in which to move with regards to an aim that has been set, so as to refrain from all the negative thoughts and negative way of thinking.

Having a conviction of own makes all the difference,
a convinced mind can solve, resolve and settle everything and all that comes along it’s way,
if not by the way of it's thinking,
then by putting in the much needed extra effort,
which can also be the need of the hour.

So always have a conviction of own and then step ahead.
"We cannot hold a torch to light another's path without brightening our own."  - Ben Sweetland
JR Rhine Nov 2015
The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see

Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.

And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath

Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.

In a world between
Real and imaginary.

For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push

That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed

And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath

And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream

As I press on
In the concrete jungle.

Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.

And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen

Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.

I am alive
In the concrete jungle.
I love skateboarding.
horseloversmyth Oct 2015
Node poem here: http://www.spicynodes.org/a/7d2bb6e5228c163e0f558105ee877522

Nodes:
set up on the nice spongy ground

a ring of stones where a fire goes

strawberries all around

but they are quite now

just as the fire went

when the wind blew

they coat the ground

but their fruit is asleep

deep in their green

an idea in their genes

still none of this

is why day goes
Playing with a non-ordered form. Try to keep the phrases short and open-ended, and open-beginninged, so that each line can be attached to any of the others. Sense the sense in the shift of order.
From A Heart Sep 2015
Do
  raindrops
    envy tears Because
  they glide gently down
 cheeks, And aren't falling
onto concrete? Do raindrops
envy tears As they come from
   pure emotion And aren't
        equivalent to vapor?

                                                      ­                                                         Do tears
                                                                ­                             envy raindrops
                                                       ­                             Which have no say
                                                                ­              in their falling And don't  
                                                         ­                    have to feel ashamed? Do    
                                                                ­          tears envy raindrops Because
                                                                ­             they need not feel pain, Or  
                                                                ­                   fear or heartbreak?
Steele Sep 2015
I am a falcon for you, my love.
The wren may sing; The lark may try
his hand at the heavens; The dove
may coo, but for you? I will dive
                                steep, like falling,
                                deep, like what's calling
                    me to
                                L
                            ­      E
                                     A
                                        P through this sky so blue...

                                Weep when we say "I do".

                                          I am a falcon, love,
                                 but I'll D
                                               I
                                                (V)
           ­                                        E
                                                     only for you.
                                                    If you ask me to; But speak fast.
                                                   The sky's forever far away and above.
                                                          ­But before my dive takes me past,
                                                           I can say this to you at least; at last,    
                                                           My dearest,
                                                        ­   My only,
                                                          T­he sky's forever far away and above,
                                                          ­But for me heaven lives in your eyes.
                                                           ­     I saw you and  
                                                           ­                            fell
                                                                ­                            in
__________­____________________­____________________­_______
Shawn Sep 2015
Right food forward, left follows
Forth by the gravitational pull of his electric eyes
Like a magnetic force
Drawing me in, attracting me,
Influencing my strings, convincing me
I am still the puppeteer.

My hand slips away from the grasp of my rules
It has become busy
Tangled within bows and gift wrappings

First, my tongue.
It parts my lips, drools at the gleam of the sharp blade,
Then, communication falls.
Second, my ripe cherry of purity.
Naked. Peeled. Devoured.
Finally, the puppeteer demands
Take a sledge hammer to the wall.
Reveal the heart once and for all.
Tear it out. Gift wrap it.

Into the emptiness I plummet
Down into the bowel, through the stomach
****** awake by the sinking feeling
Empty room, all truth revealing

Right foot forward, left follows
Forth by the gravitational pull
left by his hollows
Body trapped in in the lingerings of his magnetic field
His electric gaze the portal
Storing the Love Comedy wielded in Horror

Tear out your heart. Gift wrap it.
Place it into his arms
Watch him drop it.

Mouth gaping. No tongue to speak.
Just eyes watching, from above to the side
Out of body out of my mind

I am the puppeteer who tore out my heart
Gift wrapped it with bows
Hypnotically placed it in his arms of doubt

He dropped it.
Severing me from the gravitational pull
Awakening me from my trance to witness
My heart there
Pulsating
Against the cold. Concrete. Floor.
Jordan Sterling Aug 2015
our bodies fit(    your breathing
lockingin2-1   .breathhhonmy
another so      neck draws (  to
p. r. e. c.      ME IN you ) ouT.
i. s. e. l. y.     Time. is /running
it’s -HARD-   out/ everysinglu
to-take-them    larbreathhh cou
a    p   a            ntsd        10
    r             t              o 9        8
) …buti                w     TicK.
ca              7                  n
               nts            6       5
ta                  4
                 y,                        3
s            o        r           2       To
   r                           cK.
          
                           1
                  y/
Another cummingese piece. This one is a little hard to decipher. Two sides of one relationship.
Therese G Aug 2015
Trees are in love with humanity.

they reach out to kiss our heads
with the tips of their browning leaves
while we like a vengeful lover
first kiss back with words
and then cut them down with blades

but someday we too will be cut
from life
and our concrete jungles
will fade into dust

only stumps remain.
Okay. So, I was thinking. What if the school makes me write a stupid poem about the environment right now? And I was like, nuh-uh I am in no way going to write something like "nature is so beautiful, we need it, we should preserve it" kind of crap (Well, this poem is still 50% crap anyway). So, I decided to write a not-so-bad poem about preserving the environment. Namely trees.
SøułSurvivør Jul 2015
of the'''··♡
        ''··south''···::''''
''♡''···        ''        ­              
''''caught'''···
out of''^^···♡
'',,,'''the corner      ...''···
       ''''··of
                     my eye
'''♡~~,,,
gossiping~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~    ~~~~    ~~~~
through the
                   Spanish moss
the sound
of a          
banjo              
a                
slow
            drawl

                             the moon        
                   winked
           o'r the
pond like
the tarnished                
sequins                              
on                    
Elvis' hips

and
the  
         clouds
                        wound out
                                         like
                        the
           curls
    in
a  

*southern                
belle's            

hair
soulsurvivor
first draft 1992
rewritten
(C) 7/19/2015
Raghu Menon Jul 2015
The days are becoming hotter
The sweat does not appear
But form into crystals of salt.
The bitumen laid roads are boiling..
The concrete jungles are oven baked..

For those who are well off,
The air conditioners roar day and night..
Either at home or at office
Or during the transit in the car..

For those who are not so lucky,
They manage it ..
For they have no other choice
Rather than to sweat it out..

Is it the climate change?
Or is it my feeling?
Or both?
Or..
Neither?..
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