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Anais Vionet Aug 2024
Today was the first day of class.
You should have seen all the people.

Everyone couldn’t have had class, some of them must
have been gawkers, the types that slow to watch
flat tire changings and car wrecks.

Some were carrying maps - freshmen.
Like student drivers they clogged the paths,
drawing a few looks.

They gaggle together like geese,
Jeeezus - shut UP and get ON with it, freshies! I thought.
Not ungenerously - I remember being lost - back in the day.

I have class, myself - in both the intrinsic sense - of style -
and in the “research for credit” ‘check in on the first day,’ kind.

Still, we’re parading, and I’ve always loved parades.
My one regret is that there are no mimes or elephants.

ok.. poetry..
Stress is somewhere in my propinquity.
See, it’s known to stalk this vicinity.

I’m not a freshman, so it hasn’t struck yet,
but when it does, and it will, you can bet,
that initially, it will shake my tranquility
and end our start-of-year festivities.

It will creepily creep, destroying my sleep,
until I prove my scholastic resiliency.
.
.
Songs for this:
Violently Happy by Björk
Schoolin' Life by Beyoncé
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08:27.24:
Propinquity: a nearness in place or time (a synonym for proximity).
Lucas Grant Aug 2024
I'm wary of my fatality and it feels more than a flaw,
You complete me and im scared
Nervous at the prospect of your darkness
Wary of your light
                 But is this happiness?
This feeling of adrenaline whenever I see your name
Even in my dreams
And my darkest fantasies
You are my only constant
And it's this fragility that's scares me
Only because its true

I should be happy by myself but I'm only happy when I'm with you.
The nervous feeling when wondering whether your happiness should rely on another half
OpiaOnism Aug 2024
Dream
F and I. in b/w.

Have we put an end
to
all

of this?


Yesterday pink today black.


Streets soaked in blood.
A poem about gravity
I know he’s going to break my heart
I tell everybody that I know that it’ll come
I tell them, to tell myself
Maybe I’ll remember
Maybe he’ll run
Maybe I’ll run
Maybe just maybe, there’s a future but I’m afraid to feel that way.
Because
maybe I feel too hard,
maybe I feel too much, maybe I haven’t felt this way in a long time,
maybe that’s why I’m terrified.
I know it’s going to hurt, he’s already hurt me.

My walls are down, I know his are not.
I wish I could keep mine up,
but oh boy, it’s too late.
No relationship is ever certain
No love is ever promised
No life isn’t confusing as hell.
Always “love on me”
Never “I love you”
Hail, rain, warm nights, street lights, sunrise bedroom kisses, warmth, cold
- sometimes so cold, and Pleasure, and so vague,
social, no PDA, but then he grabs my hand and we walk together.

W T F is this, why do I want it so badly when I know it’s only gonna hurt me.
Why did I allow my heart to be open enough to be broken?
I’m still trying to put my own pieces back together, I didn’t and don’t need this.
But it’s truly everything I want.

Him, his black hole of a bed, those windows, those eyes that are **** galaxies.
They show so much, I can read them but not all of them,
sometimes they shift to a far off world that I have not been invited to.
But I want to know what’s going on behind those gorgeous galactic windows to a planet and soul that I will probably never get to visit.

Why, when I know, this is going to crush me.
Tear me apart in ways I know are coming,
Why do I come back and leave my heart on the floor, begging for more.
Why can’t I stop falling in love with a dark matter in the Universe?
Why does it already hurt but hasn’t even happened yet?
I am the light, orbiting the black hole,
Knowing full well I’m being ****** in,
And to my own detriment,

I circle it and am bracing for the inevitable-
But I’m also already ****** into his gravity.
…for or about J
Manx Pragna Aug 2024
Be unrealistic, congratulations!
You are privileged.
And think me wrong,
I am only a realist.
If you don't like the observational
It's because you fail to see
Things as they really are
And rather, how you'd like them to be.
Zelda Jul 2024
“What do you want?”

I am
the double braids;
the sunshine in the tutu dress
The linear path
The yellow line
Didn't lead where it was supposed to
(where I thought it would)
I was just trying to catch up

From the McDonald's to the escalator
From the escalator to the McDonald's

I am
An ever-changing labyrinth; A sunflower
Caught in the dead of winter
Suffocating in a sea of strangers
Home isn't where it's supposed to be

From the McDonald's to the escalator
From the escalator to the McDonald's

I know
I can't afford to;
I know
It's best I don't:
Lose my ears
Lose my head;
Lose my feet;
Lose my breath;

But they're not where they're supposed to be
And I can feel myself lose my eyes;
What happened to the linear path?
Where is THAT yellow line?

Third time’s the golden ticket
Get me out of here
Please

From the McDonald's to the escalator
From the escalator to the McDonald's

Ears heard you call my name
Head spun
Feet pushed against marble
Deep breath

Into your warm, comforting embrace
Lift me off the path
Show me the yellow line
Take me where I'm supposed to be

I am
The path less traveled
The yellow line unwinding

“A Happy Meal”

Epilogue
______

Little Miss Sunshine
Sit awhile
Happy Meals turn into ice coffees
We'll wait
No need to worry
We'll be found
Eventually

"Can I steal a fry?"
My Dear Poet Jul 2024
Why do you always do that?”, she asked

What?”, I replied

That thing you always do! Even when I say don’t!

Am I doing it now?”, I asked

No…but when you do…don’t!

So, when I do it, you want me not to?

Yes!“, she exclaimed

So for me to stop doing it…I’d need to do it…right?”, I asked.
My Dear Poet Jun 2024
You’re that feeling that burns
every time you’re filled, not spent
we go back to learn
It wasn’t what I meant

The strong promises and lines
that couldn’t be broken, you bent
among all the go around rhymes
It wasn’t what I meant

The absent truths and stains
of every little word stolen, you lent
only to borrow pain and play
It wasn’t what I meant

and when you finally understood
phrases couldn’t be ripped, but rent
now there’s that silent separation
It wasn’t what I meant.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2024
Creating a passing remark… recreation…
in a mind, a reified fine distinctive will…
said in such a way
as to hold reason on rails, as we rise
slowly to the apex, before the drop.

Such sorts of talks as one might hear…
while thinking something missing…

listen, instants reminding winding
ways, whither so ever this mind listeth.

Then and now, originating force, used
in fact as wind fitted 'round makes uses
of letters leveling the imbalenced powers
using long slow upslope with peak powers
pulling from the down side, launching
minds into wonders yet beheld hid in
understandin' laws selecting ears, hush
such as seek the source of joy used to lure.
The joy strength knowing
Words was writ becoming

Power, to make motion, umph
to push the self positioning
reflex past off imbalence,
back to on imbalence,
patient
waiting being not on or off,
but here in time at a tempting,
attempting attended by all who
have ought against my will to be
as plain as day and simple as phi.

A Sermon on Novel Incomplexity
spiraling wider in reaching for more

in an autodidactic country church,
carried on by disciples of the founder,
the called of Truth, and chosen to teach,

to cultivate as one tends to tender vines,
those lost souls caught in strains confusing
will and ways, mixing will and spirit,
soul and minds creative by nature's go'd
and we the goaded on, kicking not back, but
some will to know, in terms we all agree with,
using terms that yoost to be ere words empow'rin'
agreement to trial rentals,
old works, functional,
used goods
to be retold as true
by some, so called holders
of the lessons learned
for sharing, as affection, any surplus seed.

Did I act, in course of time, of course,
gravity does matter, all ups have downs,
strange and charming ins and outs.

Fast make my point, in effect, a will to make, machen,
means make, manufacture, reify imaginary ways,
same as Latin facere, as a matter of fact, says

Google Translate, at my behest, hight, answer swear
"take or utter an oath,
make a solemn declaration
with an appeal
to divinity" deus "god, deity"
(from PIE root *dyeu- "to shine," and sworn so

to tell me all the etcet'ras as ye's called, Wille zur Machts,
"the driving force behind all living beings, including humans" making thinkable things
useful to rethinkers, at some point…
any wishing uses wills of some sort in fact,
so if your wish were peaceable,
imagine it taken up by all, at this point

try umph und dinkum, humm as manly virtrutheous will to make stuff up allows,
to lighten the load
of memory reminding me
of olden meanings fed me
to teach meekness, as penance
for troubling my house to inherit wind.
As grace, breath, taken, forming this fected
will to use and by using gain more of this will
working wonders to let us think we understand,

three point curving arches in a process known
as growing through the creative process,

supported by the will a toddler achieves upright
status as a force
to be reckoned with
on new terms, better balanced
at agreement, mental fixedness of purpose,

supposed and set as pivot point in time,
myrrh tipped darts - cursor arrows telling course, marking distances in steps,

exclaiming this is the pleasure pursued,
subconsciously diverted in to golf,
{I sell rescue *****, I never played the game}

a fruitless pastime perfecting will
with aimed at pride, some cheat for.

Ranting chance expletives,
followed by, amen…

there above, our letters bringing the common tongue,
into total disarray,

to think the meaning -breathing, the common sense
since simplicity stepped from sublimnity,

to light the way, by mind's alit with news,

actual knew knowns, new translations,
accepted as accurate, aimed
from then to now,

another day in your life,
another day in our life, we wordform spirit minds
kinematic cinematic role inversion,

existing Ich heize, Herr Klumpen, ein Pepito, no mas.

A ******, a loogie, a phlegmish mass spat at nada,

deemed as worth a minute
as any made up will let go
in just right down sloped acceleration
joy may spark an avalanche where avalanche's wait.
Growing old in an easy-by-luck old age, in a presummer quiet,  
before school lets out the seeds
of my past perspicacity, Will to power, is better thought willingness to make.
for taking that chance
to have babies who had babies,
that look like my selected
perfecting other , and read like me,
in hammocks I can see from my porch.
Summers become alive here.
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