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Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
Jackie come sit with me
I have been waiting so long.
Come hold hands with me
Then I’ll know nothing is wrong.
I will try to do better this time.
Jackie please try not to be
Seethingly angry and snippy;
Completely ******* at me.

I know I should have thought
Before I laughed loud like I did.
Now I wish I had closed my mouth
And had gone someplace and hid.
But, can’t you see that sometimes
Not laughing is quite a hurdle?
Especially the way you look when
You wiggle into your old girdle.

I’ve told you many times before
I prefer your body without one.
But you insist on wearing the thing
And won’t quit until you are done.
So, that’s all fine and very good
If I am not in the room with you.
You insist on dressing in front of me
And you can’t claim you never knew.

Because I giggle and laugh at it
Every time because it is funny
And I can’t help myself, even though
I know your mood won’t be sunny.
Telling you I have never liked girdles
Or things like those awful ***** hose
Doesn’t seem to mean a thing to you
So, that’s just how it all goes.

Every time you put that thing on
And when I laugh you get mad.
And I am ashamed to admit it
But it’s the best time we ever had.
You wiggle and I giggle, and then
You finally get it on and glare at me.
It makes no sense that you insist
On forgetting our marital history.
The Wordsmith Sep 2015
The eyes of God regard man, waiting, watching,
And the eyes of man search for God, praying,
Our souls are lost, they cry.
Torrents of lies pour from the mouths of children yet unborn,
And whips of racism render the skin of our souls blistered and torn,
This world is broken and lies in shambles, war drums litter the streets,
This world is rabid, and with it come the rabid men, dancing to the beat
Of mad men and demons. The paupers pawn the poor,
And the poor pawn the paupers.
In this world I danced for tepid water, and sang for stale bread,
I crawled through streets with cobblestones littered with lead,
I saw the dying children, their eyes pleading with a God, any God,
They begged for redemption, and they pleaded for rest,
In this world I saw the hearts of priests and nobles impaled on rods,
And I watched the virtuous have their robes stripped off their *******,
In this world of mine, men and demons are now one and the same,
And together they shall all rot and burn in unyielding flame,
Nothing remains constant, except the eyes of God, watching, waiting,
Nothing remains constant, except the hands of God, waiting, unmoving.
Tell yourself to breathe
as the stratosphere is falling,
imagining verses tumbling
midst downpours' dissension,
sans sentimentality's
         loquacious language,
and the land is left barren
    as verbosity disintegrates
and emotions wholly perish
    'neath fickle cloudbursts
               of poetry's extinction
Selena Jance Apr 2014
Sometimes I turn my head
showing my pain by averting my eyes. Nothing I've
done to deserve this, by how you treat

my old words becoming something static.

Many mistakes made cannot be
mended though I owe myself a smidgen
of humanity. So when these eyes crave a

golden horse for lost carriages and
then lash from dissatisfaction you can soothe
in my silence and disbelief for hole heartedness.


© April 22nd 2014
Sometimes something you did or said will be held against you for quite a long time. Like a proverbial slap in the face.
Sabbathius Dec 2014
He fingers the strings,
Enjoys the discord
Without any chords,
He dances and sings

The way he should dress,
He couldn't care less
Some hate him for that,
Some show him respect

As blind as a mole
But she, does enjoy
His tunes bring her joy
And peace to the soul

Old chums think he’s mad,
They just wish him dead
Young lads go “Hooray”,
When they hear him play

So happy he lives
Without real care
His talent so rare
Is all he believes


*A Charming Discord by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
It was an opera in that everybody had grown fat
every movement was stylized and expositional
the faintest grin
the miniscule teardrop
even an emotion that barely registered came out over-inflated;
encircled in greasepaint, underscored by full orchestration, embellished by stiff and grandiose choreography.

It was an opera in that we yawned,
shifting in our seats, checking our watches, yearning for the curtain call.

It was an opera, but it was mostly life
in that it had no final act, ending or closure.
revised in 1999 Andrew Marshall Alper
Amitav Radiance Aug 2014
The mind is comfortably numb
Unaware of the repercussions
Holding guard at the gates of Eris
Invoking the discord with intensity
Gazing endlessly at dull perceptions
Anarchy is just a breath away
Holding our breath just to stave away
But the cries of horror are unheard
The mind is comfortably numb
According to Greek Mythology 'Eris' is the Goddess of strife and discord and chaos.
Roberta Day Jul 2014
Caffeine curdled with cannabis
a rushing stream of nerves
corrupting my senses
  stalling the hunger
  arousing the amygdala
     to focus on what?
Connaturally knowing
through text I display
sketchbook paper smudged
with charcoal black
the color of my mood
  keeping my will at bay
Too many words
not enough time
   relative to all
   conceptually absolute
  mentally resolute
emotionally destitute
K Balachandran May 2014
He lets her touch him intimately, without emotion
                        when in some pretext she is alone,
in his cubicle with him, discussing  things inane,
                     a software environs need not be  concerned
some times when she passes through,
                     her longing crosses limits, these days
it has become frequent, to the extent others to  notice.
                    she found silly excuses, fifth time this morning
but he can't hurt her feeling, a team member valued,
                      she contributes to his success, as the team leader

  He can see her need for comfort,
               under her tired eyes dark shadows of sleepiness
  lay curled like a depressed mongrel,
                     yet another duel she had with that nincompoop
   she calls her husband, all through last night;
                      a sudden pang he feels calls his wife
  asks if she is fine, to ease his guilt that raises
                        its head like  a snake from under the cover of grass.
  "A housewife has a thousand things to do, why don't you
                      find a buxom colleague to flirt, if that is the need"
  she banters and teases him on his illogical concerns.

                      Through the glass parting he discreetly watches her face
   heard a murmur arising inside,"the ***** plans the next move"
                           panicked he tried to concentrate on the screen
   that looked frightening, the deadline getting nearer and nearer
                       by each hour, he heard the heavy foot fall
  at that moment he heard a thud, as if something fell down
                      everyone was running towards her workstation.
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