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Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
I’m the captured poet of dream
a Ferris wheel author of
haunted Sioux transcendence-miracles

an alchemist of language
maybe the last poet of epiphanies
that dance like a silent water-tanka
the fire-rain-truth shouts inside of me

like a poet that navigates the overmind
a benevolent alien collective-mind
an indecipherable dialogue of

darling insomnia divinity and
fantasy-starved and sun-quilted
ambrosia, my lungs filled
with the promise of the cosmos

come to life in majestic verse
behind blindfolds of invisible offerings
resigned to the hypothetical
responsibility of mediumship.
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
bright honey pours
all across my dawn
for pictures of you

that seem a hundred years ago
or seven, or beautifully
transparent into who
I once was, and the person
I’ve become, the nectar is curved

love never leaves us truly
just a nameless horizon
where faces shimmer

and wisdom like a fabric
can be held from world to world
planet to planet, until
our body of pure love suddenly
touches the light of a new day

and every face seems like
somebody we should have known
every personality feels really

intimate, I get that a lot
when I’m people watching
it’s a baptism of love
fluid as golden light
as I melt so easily into a stranger’s

eyes, that I feel my entire life
cupped in their hands, in their
memories, as they mix with my own.
Amitav Radiance Oct 2014
One word can
Give birth to a whole poem
And one poem
Can give birth to a creative idea
One idea can
Inspire one or many
One poet can illuminate
The minds of many
One moment of curiousness
Can light the mind
Of the poet
The thoughts
Now will have opinions
And creativity
Has led the way
In igniting minds
An idea
That fueled a culture
The one
Has now become many
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
There is a stillness that catches me
In middle of the last hours of Summer
Catching me from the inside

Adrift, in the memory of haunted
Centuries that are no more
I hear low voices in the horizon
Chanting syllables of dust
Nothing moves but Autumn’s approach

Time is lethargic and artificial
I can feel the low sky vibrate
Inside my heart, each hour feeling

Larger, more spacious and more fleeting
In an acceleration where memory
Is lost in a whirlwind of sensations
And I promiscuously must harden myself
To survive these faceless moments

I have unlived today’s suffering
Until I escaped memory itself
And the idea that I was conquered by
Mortal hours that had no light to return.
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
I lift syllables to plant
They will ripen in your mind
Like wheat of the ancient fields

Where our ancestors ate language
And leisure, like we have never known
We who labour like machines
As slaves might, while our lives
Is as a poem where the trees incandescent

Must watch themselves wither
As sheets of paper gone to waste
I lift houses of sound

To your legendary fracture of silence
These vacant lots of night-time
Where a pale puddle of your
Grip upon reality suddenly blazes
With figures of your once dreams

The summer has oxidized mornings, sunsets
A weightless winter awaits, as scattered
Pages are left to turn, each one

Words in the shape of a cloud of dust
As white as snow, as lingering
As the cold, and the murmur of a million
Leaves that once were, but are now only
The idea of color, the texture of earth.
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
When I first began culturing my memes,
I found the soil was rocky, had poor drainage, and little organic material
But life is relentless and these first thought experiments rooted.

They weren't much to look at from above ground,
But those roots were doing important work
Every weak point in the bedrock of my mind was found and exaggerated.

This action created micro fissures
And as the seasons turned and those early plantings faded into oblivion,
Erosion took over the heavy lifting.

With the bedrock now permeable, and the rainy season upon us,
Those cracks filled with water which then turned to ice and,
As autumn turned to winter, the mechanical action of freezing and thawing,

Was responsible for metamorphosing those fissures into actual cracks.

And with spring came more rain,
Washing organic elements into the cracks,
Now my mind had a proto-soil and was much more robust.

However, my garden was always ready, I just didn't realize it.
Life always exists,
When we use the cyclic reminder of the seasons as analogue:

It's much easier to see.

I find it much easier to see when I close my eyes.
Bring those spring rains, bring the pollen, more seeds, spores.
The pollinators are waiting
http://youtu.be/OFzXaFbxDcM
JP Goss Oct 2014
Sayest timshel from leaf and vine
You keep yours and I’ll keep mine

I vow not to be a shoulder to cry on
A balm to that Sartrean dis-ease

At which even he would shake his head.
Can you choose when things are weighted

By our stones a lapis and gold?
Of truncations of freedom to you

Even seem old? You, you step back
From the depths, from your behest

For know you are learned, deserved, and
White, your struggles aren’t so lead

Lament, can I, at no progress
Being the same in thought, though

Practice, marked indifference. We are
Not free, nor are we doomed

Rail against thyself and bear
And bite your teeth at the cord.
Black and Blue Sep 2014
"In our culture people tend to over-personalize"

I don't understand that statement, Professor.
In fact, I think it's a paradox;
I think our culture tends to under-personalize.
Women are just **** and men are just dollar signs.
We make generalizations to degrade those around us, whether the generalizations are true or not.

Our culture supports independence
and opinions and freedom,
yet we label everyone with their own box
of stereotypes: gender, race, ****** preference,
appearance, religion, and intelligence.

Our culture de-personalizes individuals:
While us youngsters sit and exploit our lack of work ethic,
demoralize ourselves, smoke our cigarettes,
and play with technology,
laying waste to our mental health.

Our culture promotes individuality:
While the children of this era,
the poor, blessed children
are spoiled rotten,
and pitied for the mess they will have to clean up
when the young
adults of today become
the dead of tomorrow.
However, we do over personalize in the way that everyone is so self-centered in today's world. Many will not stop to lend pennies to a homeless man for fear of needing that money or that time themselves.
We are a paradoxical human existence, aren't we?
Null Sep 2014
Who would have thought the pigment of our skin could cause such controversy?
For looking the way I do I must conform to the expectations of society.
If I could shed my skin like a snake maybe you'd finally understand that I am just like you.
I cannot act a color the same way you cannot see a sound, and I will not apologize for who I was born to be.
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