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Angela Rose Oct 2017
KB
Did I love him right away?
No
Absolutely not
I don’t even think I liked him right away
He was cold, he was reckless, he was bitter
But his smile, when he smiled, he could light up a room
Did he love me right away? Of course not
I was loud, I was gaudy, I was too chipper and my laugh could make ears bleed
But somewhere along the way, somewhere along those years from 18-23...it started blending together and made perfect sense
I kept him alive and he kept me safe
Now here we are
And when we see each other on the street we might wave and we might share a smirk
But that is nothing compared to the energy we could have between us if things had gone differently
Nothing can compare to the epic love story that may have been, could have been, would have been
Aaron LaLux Oct 2017
Woke up,
at Lake Balaton,
wrote up,
some words like Babylon,
or rather,
a rant on like the Tower of Babel,
chant down,
Babylon we build up and gather,

or rather,
we collect then scatter,
collect the thoughts,
then write them in patterns,

sort of,
like what prose is,
bitter sweet,
like what a rose is,

smells good,
but has thorns,
stormy seas,
but calm shores,

snore,
no,
sleep,
yes,
wake,
up,
re-,
freshed,

at a resort on a vineyard,
overlooking Lake Balaton,
with a girl who is gorgeous,
that let’s her ball of yarn unravel some,

she says she’s my “substitute,
in other words a replacement,
for the other girl I was going to bring,
with me on this 24 hour vacation,

and at first this sounds like an insult to her,
like she’s just here because the other one couldn’t make it,
but really if she can so easily replace the first girl,
then that means that the first girl was actually basic,

and was easily replaced with,
the new one,
see the first is so last night,
and this new one is so new dawn,

I’m on,
a level seldom reached,
like a secret state of enlightenment,
the type that’s so sacred it’s rarely preached,

enlightenment,
secret,
oh there he goes again with that Illuminati talk,
Jesus,

Jesus,
has nothing to do with this,
the new one is on the balcony dancing,
in the sunshine’s rays she’s beautiful,

the old one is gone now,
has no place in my life at all,
except for on the shelve of Past Memories,
that hangs on the Mind Museum’s wall,

although,

I had had an intense dream about the old one,
I’d dreamt about her Illuminati tattoo,
and we’d made love some of the best love made over,
as if I was Adam and she was the Forbidden Fruit,

ooh,

what’s the truth,
what’s perspective,
what’s the proof,
than any of this ever existed,

what are we doing here,
and how much longer will we be,
why are so many slaves to their own projected fears,
while so few are liberated with love and set truly free?

And this all comes to me like a never ending dream,
as I write this words which come to me in a conscious stream,
as my new love dances outside on this resort’s balcony,
overlooking Lake Balaton which is so big it looks more like the Caspian Sea,

see,

I woke up,
at Lake Balaton,
wrote up,
some words like Babylon,
or rather,
a rant on like the Tower of Babel,
chant down,
Babylon we build up and gather,

or rather,
we collect then scatter,
collect the thoughts,
then write them in patterns…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of the largest collection of poetry in the world.
James Court Sep 2017
He perched upon his steely throne,
beset by plebs and debtors,
and made his judgement, more astute
than any man of letters:

"This usurper who bears no name -
he never sees the sun,
and thus daren't start his daily toil
'til evening has begun.

'Til the twilight bell doth knell
the pastures he'll surrender,
for in this land of habitudes
he is their one defender.

A rider came, with news; he has
conferred with his committee -
the dastard has concieved a plan
to **** and raze this city.

As such," continued on the king,
"'tis well within my reckoning
that any decent gent would not
to such a man be beckoning.

And therefore," he went on, "I do
declare that he and we are foes -
so, rally, soldiers! Go ye forth!
Let him regret the path he chose."
Blair Gowrie Aug 2017
George did not hear this diatribe,
because early that morning he had gone outside,
for every day he liked to go
jogging for seven miles or so.
Keeping fit was his intention
and he really liked the warm sensation
of muscle power it brought to him
after completing his daily run.
That day while jogging in the park
he was accosted by some fellows dark,
all with beards and fierce black eyes,
aggressive, but not so large in size,
who took him to a nearby place
filled with people of similar race,
talking, shouting and drinking up
great quantities of coffee by the cup,
and sat him down as in a pen,
and surrounded him with excited men.

from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
This is another excerpt from my wacky, humorous and satirical narrative poem, The Adventures of George.
Aaron LaLux Jul 2017
The Fillmore

It’s cold these days,
just ask a stranger,
saw a show tonight at The Fillmore,
Dave Chapelle with John Mayer,

Dave mentioned the show,
when I saw him at The SF MOMA,
John signed my Frieda poetry book,
that I got today from The SF MOMA,

how am I so in the In Scene,
yet at the same time such a Goner,

come on we’re,
trying to make Greatness,
so there’s no time for the Procrastinators,
and all of their lateness,

got Volume 2,
of The HH Trilogy,
coming soon,
5/5/17,

thought I’d put you on notice,

I’ve noticed,
they’ve noticed me,
more than they used to,
before The Trilogies,

came back to America,
from a few months in Australia,
now I find when I go out,
people recognize me,

not sure when it happened,
when my works became bigger than me,
all I know is it happened,
now people approach me like they know me,

“Haven’t I seen you before?”,

that’s a common one,
I guess I’m somewhere between,
Famous as Fck,
and quasi-obsolete,

I’ll probably be,
gone but not forgotten,
pardon me,
I’m lost it happens often,
caught up in the moment,
high off life and coughin’,
in the light trying to focus,
off my head and on one,

*******,
God blessed,
on with the show,
and off with his head,

and that’s cold,
cold as a guillotine’s steel,
cold as Chicago in the winter,
when it’s 20˚ below before the wind chill,

for real,

it’s cold these days,
just ask a stranger,
saw a show tonight at The Fillmore,
Dave Chapelle with John Mayer,

Dave mentioned the show,
when I saw him at The SF MOMA,
John signed my Frieda poetry book,
that I got today from The SF MOMA,

how am I so in the In Scene,
yet at the same time such a Goner,

come on we’re,
trying to make Greatness,
so there’s no time for the Procrastinators,
and all of their lateness,

got Volume 2,
of The HH Trilogy,
coming soon,
5/5/17…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of multiple best selling poetry books and publisher of more poems than any other living poet.

Blair Gowrie Jul 2017
“Comrades, the reason I’ve come here today,
is to meet my old friend and to say
that I will not touch any capitalist food.
What I need to eat is both simple and good,
yes, pork and beans, the people’s staple,
a dish which my friend is very able
to make very well - but before we eat
I wish to continue with my speech.
The poor must stand up for their rights,
put blood-******* foreigners to flight,
arrest all those who plunder resources,
never give up, but gather their forces
to ensure that all assets belong to the nation
to be used for the benefit of the whole population.
Those in my country not supporting this cause
of freedom and equality were forced from our shores,
to flee as refugees, never to return,
these people we call traitors, these people we call worms!”

from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
This is a further excerpt from my zaby, humorous and satirical narrative poem "The Adventures of George". Read the full story to meet delicious characters such as Mustafa bin Maden, Didi Damin, Borrock Sobama, David Chipperfield and many more.
Sam Anthony Jun 2017
When nights grow long and lights fall dim
The pale moonlight casts a fine shadow
‘Cross the pathways in front of the grand cathedral
And behind the tree in Helen’s Meadow
To set our scene anew once more

Mothers and fathers draw children close,
Gathered before the friendly fire
The Tale bubbles forth from long-worn thoughts,
Words strung and sung to the oft-plucked lyre
Wise words from rough tongues to desperate ears

Just one warm home sees silence then
Its riches a veil to hide bleak sorrow
For The Tale long told holds secrets dear
To the hearts of yesterday and tomorrow
And pierces today's with a vice-like grip

The daughter of Walter stares into the fire
Its crackling embers a restless reminder
Of Grandfather Friedrich, the gods-fearing Knight
And Grandmother Helen - his quest to find her
And doom-laden journey it turned out to be

The rumours of dragons had plagued Olde Vorlund
For decades before the armies marched in
Their crests aflame with glorious colours,
Their fanfare a growing, melodious din,
A cacophany borne of love and blood

Atop his throne, bedecked in red robes
The mighty King Halred announced loud and clear
“Behold! A call to all men of Vorlund
“Hear this, mighty warriors from far and from near
“This offer, unique in its time, is for you.”

The men of Olde Vorlund gathered around
Their listening ears silenced anxious hearts
King Halred drew breath, his standard raised high
Anticipation and fear in equal parts
As he opened his mouth to speak

“Our kingdom’s treasure,” his voice rang true
“Is stolen by bandits from the Northern Wastes
“I call on our bravest to arm themselves
“And travel abroad to that cursed place
“To retrieve what is rightfully ours.”

The eyes of the gathered remained fixed on Halred
Not daring to dart to the left or the right
The danger, now felt here, of bloodthirsty pagans
Made fully grown men crave for fear of the night
Or torture in dungeons at home

REWARD, read the image hung from the Great Hall
Finding the treasure not only for glory
The warrior who would restore Vorlund’s wealth
Would inherit a title, lands and a story
Sung by bards at home and abroad

Eight men approached Halred, on bended knee
Offering service to the gods’ chosen leader
Armed and armoured by the best in the land
And gifted a horse from Vorlund’s finest *******
To take them far north and away from home

The names of The Eight are remembered in legend:
Grimwold and Stafn, the brothers in white
Falki, the trickster, determined to conquer
Friedrich, as calm as a cool autumn night
And Bekan, the selfish and greedy hunchback

Olde Vorlund women grieved as Bolli left town
While Dyri and Kali told jokes to each other
The Eight dressed and ready set north all together
While sweet lilting songs caught the ears of the mother
Of each man, a dirge drifting into the night

The Eight crossed countryside fair and rough
Young Kali was first to meet his end;
A bear thought nothing of gripping his head
And ripping his life away from his friend
And Dyri lost hope on the road soon after

The next whose clock struck was beautiful Bolli
A one-handed brute beat his head with a club
After Bolli took single-armed’s wife to his bed
Then cared not to carefully tidy his mess up
Bolli’s bed now has been made in the ground

The Five now remaining approached the Wastes
Expectant to loot and return Halred’s treasure
Bekan crept onward to rob from the robbers
The length of his life met the end of its measure
And Four woke that day without knowledge of how

Grimwold and Stafn, the brave pair of brothers
Led Friedrich and Falki towards Bandit Town
Atop a near ridge they hollered their war cry
Fear entered the village as they bellowed down
One half of the bandits retreated that day

The battle that followed was swift, fierce and ******
Six hundred the number that met death that night
Among them was Falki, whose creeping and sneaking
Worked wonders until he tripped into a fight
And lost both of his hands before losing his life

The brothers in white and Friedrich the younger
Cared not to stop fighting while the sun did not shine
By morning the sight of the town was burnt crimson
The blood of the bandits caught up with spilt wine
And burned-out log cabins in every direction

The treasure was gone, like it never existed
An empty town holding now one lonely crone
Who said that the treasure had passed three days’ north
Ulred the barbarian’s treasure hoard grown
Stolen again by that fearful monster

The Three from Olde Vorlund resolved to continue
Tracking the man with his ill-gotten hoard
Across barren plains and through thick forests
They followed him, tugging his faintly-laid cord
Closing to grasp at the glory ahead

After one noon they discovered a strong trail
Signs of a scuffle there clear on the path
Excited, the Three embraced and moved onward
Ready to face the Barbarian’s wrath
And eager to grasp what was stolen at first

The opening glimpse of their quarry shook the Three
The lone-acting Ulred was less than alone
A lady in chains paced in time by his side
A beautiful maiden he’d made for his own
A desperate soul for the Three to redeem

The brothers in white found it hard to resist
They leapt out at Ulred, their swords in their hands
His legend stood firm as his axe found its mark
And both fell at once, their blood feeding the land
The Barbarian roared in a victory scream

And Friedrich, alone, hid behind a grey boulder
Showing no fear as he planned what to do
Gathering his wits, he took one final look
And paused as his eyes opened wide as a flue
For his sight was not filled with Ulred alone

The great dragon landed, the ground gave a shudder
Brave Ulred stood firm, caught with no chance to choose
As Friedrich looked on, the grand lizard attacked
In minutes the strong man lay bleeding and bruised
And a firm stamping foot ended one more great saga

The dragon, distracted by the screaming girl
Ignored the great treasure hoard piled on the cart
In one taloned claw he grabbed hold of his prey
And flapped his wings gracefully, using his art
And leaving young Friedrich to claim what was sought

But Friedrich cared not for the infinite bounty
For what can great wealth be when won at such cost?
He mounted his steed and stared straight at the dragon
They started at speed before the trail was lost
And Friedrich prepared himself to die that day

The dragon swooped low as they approached the sea
Protecting its prisoner by skirting the cliffs
Diving away, it took stock of the cliffside
And headed directly past massive sand drifts
Into a cave set below a large rock

Friedrich dismounted and leapt down the cliffside
Bare hand by bare hand he descended bravely
Arriving at the cave mouth within minutes
He paused for a moment, considering gravely
How he could save his dream lady at last

Grabbing dark moss from the base of the white cliffs
He covered himself, dressing up as a bush
He crept into the dark, every movement so dainty
Each step requiring his body to push
And holding his breath to protect his fair maiden

The cave was so deep and the tunnels so winding
Lost in the dark, blindly following the trail
At long last he saw her, ******* in the corner
The dragon had left her in his self-made gaol
And Friedrich strode up to her, one aim in mind

He released her so quickly, she collapsed in his arms
“My saviour!” she whispered in gratitude and love
In great need of rest, she pulled Friedrich close
And one night of passion settled from above
And Friedrich and Helen became one that night

As morning drew near, Friedrich woke with a start
The dragon was back and was roaring with rage
He woke up dear Helen, took her onto his back
And ran back to sunlight to take centre stage
To face down this great beast who threatened his wife

He pushed Helen upwards and onto his horse
Determined to fight off the awesome monster
From the top of the cliff he saw only one option
As the dragon looked upward
Friedrich looked down
And he brandished his axes
And leapt off the cliff
And struck true through the dragon
Saving his Helen
And plunging to death

Helen stared at the scene that unfolded below her
Distraught at the death of her only true love
Then she picked herself up and resolved to complete
The mission her Friedrich had finished part of
And she started her mount towards Ulred’s grave

She returned to the spot where the dragon had grabbed her
And looked at the treasure that Friedrich had sought
She picked up an apple and carefully planted
A tree to remember him of whom she thought
He who gave up his life so that she might live

The Tree of Friedrich still stands to this day
In Helen’s Meadow, not far from the sea
And their memory remains in tales and song
But words are not all of this couple we see
For that passionate night led to more than one seed

Helen took all the treasure and raised up an army
Who stormed Olde Vorlund for all it was worth
Then as Queen, nine months later, a new son was born
And the bloodline of Friedrich continues each birth
Ruling the people with justice and mercy

So here ends our tale of sorrow and hope
Of a brave young man who gave up his life
And as children today think of all that he did
They forget everything that they feel causes strife
And remember that love, faith and hope rule the day
This isn't as long as I really wanted it to be.
Jayantee Khare Jun 2017
If
the wounds of my heart
and
scars of my soul
translated into words
and
rhyme together,
It will be
a never ending  epic...
Jayantee Khare May 2017
All are epics, different page opened by different people....#10W
Aaron LaLux May 2017
FINALLY! The new book is here, and it's honestly epic...
Check the link for more info. Write a FREE review, let me know, and I will personally thank you :-) ∆ https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07141ZNW6
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