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Today I thought “*******.”
You’re rude to those I love
through ignorance,
yours of course, as mine is finer tuned
though I abhor you
for your corporate judgment
in kind I’m classifying you
to post in **** encrusted pigeonholes
so future proles
will know to write you off
and your specious waffle
will forever be followed
by polite cough,
Yours Faithfully
There are beautiful souls
Somewhere in the limelight
Unexposed to the colorful world
Unwritten in any verse
Not tempted to hear
They are beautiful
Incarnation of angelic spirit
With noble decency

Beauty like that
Manifest rarely

You vibe that
Genre: Inspirational
eleanor prince Dec 2020
'Will you be my daddy?'
the girl in the woman whispered
to yet another lover, acquaintance,
man in the street who looked remotely
like he might just step in the phantom's shoes

...and the ache burned on
the searing, tearing
rags aflame

and cold
as dry ice,
as unsuitable
whiskered men
became barnacled

to a little child's longing
to have a better papa than
the one that arrived to bash
all decency out of the fibre of

a life torn
This poem has welled up in response to one I have just reposted, penned by a deeply impacting, candid write by poet Joe Thompson.   Not all have the privilege of having known a decent human father, one we can be proud to call our own.   Of course, it would be unwise to seek to make any adult have to try to fill those shoes. The responsibility for wellness in adulthood rests with the one now no longer a child in calendar years. The 'adult' self needs to protect the 'child' inside and gently and firmly help them heal so that only safe partners are sought, with a view to experiencing and enjoying healthy relationships.   I would be honoured if you could leave a comment on what thoughts and feelings arise in you as you read my poem.  Thank you so much. (P.S. I appreciate knowing of any typos, however in Australia it is correct to write 'fibre' not 'fiber' and 'honoured' not 'honored')
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2020
If you feel childish
Hold on, never be adult
I see honesty in it
Genre: Observational
Theme: embrace dope soul
Author's Note:
Most grown up kids are
Something different
Something unpredictable
Something unrealistic
Something inhuman
Something unholy
Something sick

So called grown up
Are like filters
They may
Say LOL without laughing
May text Umm without reading
And idk while knowing
Remember that
And you need to understand
Whom to keep distance
Whom to stay close
TIZZOP Jun 2020
wings of birds were stolen by the gods, centuries ago
an earth's day lasts for 86, 400.002 seconds
children are roaming in the mind of these lines
they are counting, playfully and without feelings

days come and go, they float through our lives
i wrote about the stages of dreams and dreamt of an *******
the ruins of old poems are silver, blue and red
remains of a day's thoughts, decoded and clear, similarly

it is not wise to count seconds while you are breathing
it is not wise to count on people while they are leaving
it is strange to use "wise" in order to refer to cleverness
people of color may feel excluded by our languages

in german, "white" is called "weiß" and that sounds like "wise"
explain to me the origins of such a word, i demand it
before the river will have swallowed me; i demand an answer
poems come, poems go, leave a trace, stain – and a change

fools are flodding the streets in order to have a five o'clock tea
proudly, they are talking about their old heroes, bearded conquerors
these guys nevah really wanted to dig strangaz, dey killed 'em.
they killed unknown people, they stabbed my dreams

they murdered ancestors because they were used to murdering
they invented words without speaking but grinning
power is an invisible instrument that consists of hierarchies
power is what we see and oversee, power is the origin of wars

wars are the origin of despair; and that is nothing new
wars, though, may be invisible and silent, just in the mind
what is a war, does a war need bombs, guns and soldiers?
wars occur everywhere, daily, within 86, 400.002 seconds

the length of a day is measured in numbers; they are just inventions
numbers are man-made, animals orient on the sun and the moon
humans celebrate planets and write poems about them
we all will surive as long as we keep writing and tolerate each other
Today is a good day.
Dave Robertson Jun 2020
framed by inequalities
that sew the disaffection,
throw the disenfranchised into
blues sharp relief,
stark contrasts of
black and white
rich and poor
needful and needless cries

There should be no politicking
or filibustered unkempt bluster
in the emptiness of children’s stomachs,
nor grave injury from
the ignorant knuckles of authority

Hunger of all kinds
in guts and minds
brings pain
and a shame to even voice,
for there shouldn’t be cause
to have to

Hunger has a way of spreading
to hearts and minds
and when hurting enough
will drive change

But not alone

The comfortable,
careful, silent,
the full,
must give time,
use voice,
use currency,
and fight
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2020
She told me
"I am the Moon."

I believed it
Her gravity is
What can't be

It’s always been
The truth
Genre: Observational
Theme: Muse and the Muser.
Author's Note: Too far yet close. The soul of every spilled ink.
chitragupta May 2019
Honestly, I was never your enemy
Sadly, you were never my friend
Foolishly, I placed my trust in someone
For whom I was a means to an end
Mystic Ink Plus Apr 2019
Like that

You are right
Genre: Observational
Theme: Being the witness
Mystic Ink Plus Apr 2019
True reason
All believe
To a person like you
Who will not lose their mind?

You are
Mosaic of the
Entire Universe
Who may not have this thought?

Here, I'm
Genre: Observational
Theme: Act of kindness, culture of calmness and balance of elegance, what you are made up of.
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