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Purcy Flaherty Nov 2018
You came to me like a fairytale,
I held you close;
I looked into your eyes,
they were deep and full of soul; chancing fate.
I kissed your neck and shoulders,
your belly and your ***,
We took each others bodys and tasted freedom.
I couldn't help feeling this was:
"your one and only"
A secret that you'll keep to your self ~
"A happy thought!"
Secure in the knowledge that you were once utterly cherished;
And that you alone chose martyrdom; rather than embracing change.
choosing martyrdom and brutal familiarity rather than embracing change.
standing there with my
feet planted on the ground
and my arms crossed;
my somber eyes are
resting heavily upon
the sounds of the
monotone voice
and teeth chattering
from my cohorts
mouth jabbering
in my tone-deaf ears.

he takes his red hot poker
and tries to brand
my brain with his
autobiography of dishonesty
as if I were livestock

but the mechanics of my
body can only take so
much as I tune him out
and escape to the attic
of my mind where I string
up lights, find and open
the trunks of creativity
and pull out a binding of
blank pages to begin
working the poem
as the extension cord
and the light socket begin
******* like crazy and the
lights light up the attic
so festively with ideas
until he’s approaching
the end of his fabricated
story and my psyche
hits me like a low blow
to Houdini and I
simply nod in silence,
shrug my shoulders
and keep my humor
dry and normal
as it appears to be.

how can I survive this
grueling way of life and
what will become of me?

if the choice was mine
to choose between
the most interesting knife
and the bullet of boredom…

I’d take the slow death any day.

poetry is floating all around us
in any situation,
some sit on mountainsides
and watch beautiful
to find it,
mine just happens to be
in a boiler room of
insufferable hell
and that’s why
when I write
I have to make
it count

but if your control is exerted
and your impulses are restrained
to keep reality and surrealism
separated while surrounded by
people in numbers like
winter snowflakes

then you’ve got more will power
than all the hookers on Rush St.
making easy money.
Srishti Mundhra Apr 2018
Black sky turning blue,
Waking up to a prosaic view,
Thinking how to make do,
With the life I’ve brewed.

Walking on the busy streets,
Looking down at my feet,
Like another rat on the wheel,
I am running till I bleed.

Office drudgery from nine to five,
Listening to people with plain lives,
Wondering if they have fire inside,
Feeling lost as time flies by.

Standing under the moonlight,
Rows of towers sparkling white,
Gazing at the star-speckled sky,
Wanting to shun the city lights.

Coming back home hollow,
Trying not to accept my sorrow,
Playing music on the radio,
Tapping my feet, sitting alone.

Standing up with full grace,
Embracing music with a craze,
Rejuvenating my mental state,
Becoming sane once again.

Gliding through the air,
Pirouetting with a swan-like flair,
Unleashing emotions with tears,
Feeling complete in my lair.

Crashing peacefully into bed,
Rhythmic rising and falling of breaths,
Still wondering how to reset,
The vicious cycle that I dread.
This poem is about how a person is trying to find escape from a mundane life, but ends up in a vicious cycle
Passions, pleasure now feel like a chore,
making my life a bore
and my mind sore.
Tick, tock
Time is valuable
panic rises,
for there is a mental rigid routine to abide by.
But now my soul wears a dress,
which is stress.
Watching shows, self care and reading books
which once upon a time used to be relaxation,
have now become a cross off a to do list.
Losing interest in my mundane life,
I find my breath meaningless,
waking up pointless and have  
life just drag my corpse with time.
There are mountains;
burdening my mind and scraping my heart.
A soul of a robot is what I have,
except that I have a voice that complains
and ears that hear commands,
creating havoc on my mood and mind.
All what I loved, became
‘have to’ and ‘should do’,
a daunting tasks
requiring more effort than it did before.
Life seem drudgery and draining to wake up to.

But It was all about approach and perception.
Digging deeper with why,
I found reasons and meaning behind my life.
It was about relishing in the process,
rather than completing them.
In the errands for others; I searched for joy of my own.
Unleashing creativity in daily mundane activities,
it did not seem robotic no more.
Rediscovering happiness and enthusiasm,
making it interesting by sharing and snapping,
I set lose from the chains of my routine by reinvigorating spontaneity.
For what felt like burden, wasn’t meant to be felt like a burden.
Sombro Jan 2018
Me, on my way to clock out,
He, croaking wooden breaths, a
Splintering throat, crooked as an oar's overbite
Glinting with some
Unbelievably bared promise.

I looked past him, echoed the anxious knots
Of its hollowed brow, scooped and spotted
From overuse, I frowned past him, though he followed.

I spent as long as I could not talking to him,
But forced to deny myself silence
I heard his two part speech
And paid some token focus
To what he had to say

What little I heard, in his hope filled groans
Had nothing of his contented purpose, for
Varnished words are slippery

When we went to the pub he
Leant on the wooden counter and
His roots set, he
Sprouted drunken fruit and
I don't think he's moved since
this one was sitting in drafts, so I thought I'd finish it, I'm having a prolific day
RiBa Oct 2017
Chained to Work
Released through Verse
Back from the Brink
For better or for Worse!
I find my release from the hum-drum of life.
this lifestyle.
this average,
middle class,
nine to five,
daily grind
it violates and
rapes and molests
your body and mind.
it puts cigarette burns
out onto your soul and
punctures holes in
your spirit.
it consumes you and
tosses you away like
a dumpster baby.
***** the life force
out of you and throws
you down a dried up well.
it crawls into bed with you,
***** you
and slithers out,
like a continuous
one night stand.
this lifestyle,
butchers your energy
like a sadistic psychopath
repeatedly stabbing
your essence and
slowly twisting it in
while smiling at you
with its blackened,
decaying teeth.
leaves you incessantly
exhausted, to the point
where you can't even
enjoy yourself,
your significant other,
your kids
or a beer.

....and we take it,

because they want
to make us believe that
there's a weekEND.
there's no END
about it. just a speck
of mercy they bestow
upon us that goes by
so quickly, you blink
and it's over and next
thing you know, it's back to
killing you all over again.
we fear change so much
that we'd rather make
someone else's dream
come true than
venturing out,
grabbing life by the *****
and doing something
that actually makes us happy
because it blindfolds us with
a routine
and order.

let's go lay in bed all day long,
let's go ***** each other's brains out,
let's go for a nature walk,
let's go play on a pinball machine,
let's go get a record or two,
let's go catch a flicker show,
let's go to a wrestling match,
let's go watch a local band,
let's go drink beer till our hearts content,
let's go to the zoo and see the animals,
let's go to the ocean.

getting off from work, looking
like a circle **** of snowmen
just ******* all over you and
inhaling and exhaling chemicals
with relentless humidity is
and no way to go through life.
There is no room for complacency in poetry
but when you haven't written a poem (a good one nonetheless) in several days, I guess there's no complacency to be found at all and when one ill-advised incompetence shrouds your shrewdness with nonsensical proportions, you must seek another with equal intelligence to occupy each other to accomplish your resourcefulness. Then again, I am the nincompoop who tries to write an such disruptive environments but before I can print one letter on my hydro-allergic portable typewriter, I must read my way out of an avalanche of books to find myself lost in a frozen wasteland of my own imagination, otherwise my auspicious augury will deteriorate into empty words of despondency. Half my day is drudgery and the other half is alcoholism, one incites the other; and the other is complete exuberance to forget about it all. No one can match my laziness as it rises high above the clouds and my ambition struggles to stay afloat in the swamps of recognition. I don't want to be remember as a man who worked hard his entire life but as a kind soul who you had some good times with over a few beers. If there is one thing I could leave behind for the swarm of living things with pondering minds:
Don't work hard, even at drinking and don't drink responsibly, just professionally... and do it with all your heart.
one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because I can.
as a poet and a poor player of instruments,
a drunk and a breadwinner
as a father of two and
a husband to be,
a ****** of horror flicks and
a collector of vinyl,
a surfer of televisions and sidewalks
(or at least I once was)
and a lover of foods.
this bearded wonder....
his mind is split in two,
there's a difference between
what formulates in my brain to
my mouth
and my brain to my hand.
how I write is not how I speak,
the wires in my gray matter get
twisted up and so does tongue
as my mouth fills with spittle, but
with a little thought and time
my medulla oblongata glues
together words of sophistication
into articulate sentences.
I'm an uneducated man,
just very meticulous with
the absenteeism of rationality
that humanity has to offer.
working a dead end job
as a fluffer for the aristocratic
in this mundane life
of mediocrity,
mutually exclusive and
mentally exhausted with
the surroundings of
ignoramus cohorts.
screaming on the inside
for an ounce of stimulation
where my subconscious
can find no purchase,
channeling outlets through
hieroglyphics on a portable
handheld typewriter.
a hundred or even a thousand
publishers could viciously attack
my passion with the onslaught
of a hundred or a even thousand
compositions of rejection, but yet....
I'm still here.
reinvigorating myself through the
slough of privation and trudge
through the days of menial work
in search of surreal reinvention.
far from where I want to be,
in life and location,
prancing down the paths less traveled,
breaking every barrier put up,
carrying mawkish moppets
on each shoulder,
becoming the ultimate
goal achieving marauder.
but until then....
one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because.....I can.
In and out of consciousness
Waken by alarm
Hit the Snooze button nine times
over and rub the crust
from your eyes
Lethargically shifting gears out of bed
Scratch your belly
Get dressed
****, ****, Wipe your ***
Wash your hands
Brush your teeth and comb your hair
until it's perfect
Permeate yourself with anti-perspirants
and mouth wash
Force feed coffee and breakfast down
your throat with 30 seconds
to the door
Climb into your four banger jalopy
and hurry up.....only to slow down
for all posted speed limits and
fight traffic with all the
other scatterbrains
Destination upon arrival with only
minutes to spare
Punch in and out of time clocks
at the nine to five dead end job
for the captains of industries
with the dullards you call "coworkers"
Living the dream by
working hard
for others who are
making more money
than they pay you  
in another day of paradise
Powerhouse through lunch with
no time to enjoy the simplicity
of the little things
Take orders
Be obedient
Have patience
Listen to abysmal music and
******* and complaining with
mind numbing conversations of
tedious and repetitive proportions
**** with permission to do so
After all, you are,
who they want you to be
Relieved your day of drudgery
is almost over with you
Fight traffic again
Stop for gas and novelties
Get a Flat tire
Over exhausted
Under stimulated
Get home
And without a moment of
relaxation or thought....
Parent your children
Guide them
Put a bandage on their cuts and scrapes,
kiss their wounds and tell them
it's going to be ok
You want to raise them right
You don't want them to end up
dead or in jail
Impish little *******
After school activities
Help them with homework
Sweep, Mop, Vacuum, Laundry,
Mow the lawn, Garden
Under the sink, household cleaners
and detergents
Cook dinner
Chew your food slowly over an
Awkward family conversation
How was your day?
May I please be excuse?
Clear your plates
Scrub the pots and pans
and eating utensils until
they're clean for next time
Commercial buildings providing
everything for your wants and jollies
Stand in line with the other galoots
in the land of consumption and
purchase the unnecessary provisions
of plastics and sugars
Return your library books on time
Enter through where it says "enter"
Exit though the exit door
No smoking
No pets allowed  
Scroll through your
rolodex of contacts and
hold for an hour as you
make phone call after
phone call, planning out
your next five years with
appointments after appointments and
filling up your calendar
with events of nonessential importance
Stay economically viable while
managing your finances and
paying your bills and taxes
Cleanse yourself and your children
in a shower or bathe in your
own filth with shampoo
and conditioner
Lather and rinse
Moisturize and groom
Brush and floss your teeth
Tuck the kids in under their
nice warm blankets
Bedtime stories
Ghost stories
Night lights
Give them a glass of water
Check for closet monsters
Hugs and kisses goodnight
No time to think
Only unwind
Adult time
No reward for your attainment
other than a few moments of tranquility
Blissful transgression
Soaked in cocktails and
spirits of intoxicants
Recreational drug use
Prescription sedatives
and tranquilizers
The nighttime candies
of sedation
Take it all in
Let it grab you by the boo boo
Clear the room of the smoke
and haze with the 500 channels
in front of you
Tv shows
Sitcoms and soap operas
Comedies, Horror, Suspense
You laugh
You cry
You have fun
You don't think for a while
*** on special occasions
Fall asleep in the tv room
Make it to bed at a reasonable hour
Dream of another world
that doesn't exist
Nightmares and dreamscapes
Slumber and shuteye
40 winks
A snoozer if you will
Just Breathe
Everyday until your
old and grey
Letting life pass you by
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