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ConnectHook Sep 2015
♥☠♥

Lightweight free-verse exploration,
withered ghosts and wisps of phrase,
breezy unamusing musings
barely raise

a titter, tear or lyric warning –
fail to reach a middling height;
then subside to shallow murmurs
(not quite).

Teenage existentialism
cryptic, dull confessional mush;
suitable for a poker-faced
unroyal flush.

Must you set this stuff in motion
fizzling through our universe:
half-bright comets leaving trails
of boring verse?

Incoherent thoughts meander
through your words like fish through nets
unable to ensnare your reader.
One forgets

whatever it was you started saying
(weirdly spaced, unpunctuated).
Could it be such thoughts are better
left unstated?
From NaPoWriMo 2014:

https://connecthook.wordpress.com/mine/ntl-poetry-writing-month-napowrimo-2014/

                   ♥☠♥
Harsh Sep 2015
I don't understand why
people hesitate
to compliment others.

Have we all not had those days
where we really felt like
all we needed was some appreciation?
Those days where our efforts
were nothing but invalidated and dismissed?

The universe has presented itself to you
in an ethereal way that is unique to you and solely you.
Let the cosmos influence and inspire you
and let your words and your work elate and embolden others.
Admit your awe and affection and maybe
you can be that one piece of inspiration
that someone else needs that day.
Remember to breathe, remember to smile.
Gaye Sep 2015
Why is that looking into the-
Wide and open city so upsetting?
I saw the bird,
She was looking amongst the buildings,
A space that was hers
Or maybe the space-
Her ancestors have told her,
The folklores and many songs-
Written on the very space.
She crossed mountains,
Seas and barren lands
To see the city lights and
The many dreams she had.
She is not homesick,
She doesn’t even have a memory
Of her home-land
It is a long lost dream
Which cannot be recollected.
She’s homeless.
Was she looking for a mirage
In between the tall buildings -
‘They’ said where dreams prosper?
It’s a furnace,
The colours of fire she could see,
The shadow painted colours-
Orange, red and grey and
Still it required meaning?

I’m looking for it too!
I am scared of forgetting,
Old age and Alzheimers
I’m a dreamer, a homeless hippie
But there is a root, a deep root
A scent, a strong scent and
A soul that is sometimes homesick.
I’m a coward, a bold faced, masked dancer
But there is no rhythm, no audience
It’s just silence, dull grey stillness!
These buildings scare me, where is it?
Where is my chariot?
I cannot follow the crowd
They have a home, a meaningful home
They like the cement, the black air
And bundles of printed paper.
They stamped me mad. Am i?
Maybe I am.
Hey bird, I’m not responsible-
For your destiny, look, look
Look at my hands, there is no blood
Look, look carefully, there is no stain
But I belong to the race, I belong to
The same age, the same world
That changed your fate!
I've no redemption from my sins!
I've no redemption from my sins!
Gaye Sep 2015
I sat under my dining table
Of eight chairs and forty eight columns,
It felt like a house with
Windows, dust and unwanted curly locks.
Sitting cross-legged on the white floor
Reflecting my clothes, body and words
I pulled my nails, sang little rhymes
And hit the chair legs with my little thumb.
Guests came, gossiped, recited tales
Gulped tea and left with more stories,
Some returned, others did not.
I sat under my dining table, awaiting
Plates, conversations and fuming-
Black tea. It did come occasionally
With my mother, father and few strangers.
There were books, umbrellas, newspapers
And sometimes samples of medicines,
They sat like Victorian women in long gowns
Who did not speak even after a tempest.
I sat there morning, noon and evening
Unaccompanied singing little rhymes.
Gaye Sep 2015
Yong Marx, yet to die, jumped
out of an air-conditioned car, a
journey Berlin to Bombay as the
Dream merchant of Utopia
metamorphosed him into a subhuman
white bearded national bourgeoisie.

The third world girl who was climbing a
tree without Motorcycle-
Diaries hung to her clothe looked
like an Engelian mistake possibly
not from Cuba, Zambia or Bolivia,
certainly not a Soviet artefact.

Alienation, self-affirmation and all
unlike modes of production confused
his surplus brain. The dichotomy
of imaginings and reality with the
girl proven anti-thesis kafkaesqued
him an added ****** struggle.

A shift in his struggle with a smile
on her lips gave a  hint of welcome to her
Animal Farm. He did get inside.
The moulded furniture, preoccupied sickle
and the lacking exploitation
left him a disappointing proletariat grin.

She opened her mouth, blue words
did not discharge. Neither the mid wife
nor the revolution pumped her conscience.
He got up, disappointed, alarmed,
cursed the chap who misdirected
to a class-less renewed pattern.

“Comrade” she said shaking his hands,
the blood did stir for a moment but
the fight less slant , **** suits and
her distant reality pained the rationalist.
The amusingly alienated young Marx
jumped into his car and left for utopia.
Rue G Sep 2015
Just when you think you're doing okay,
just when you think your life might finally be headed in the right direction,
someone from your past walks by in the grocery store.

They don't have to be someone who was particularly special or important to you or your life at any point.

They don't even have to be a friend.

Regardless of who they are,
they never fail to remind you that your life is not actually ok--
it's in shambles,
and suddenly that oh-so-genuine smile on your face
cuts into you like so much shattered glass,
because your life *****,

and nothing you have done up to this point can actually change it at the end of the day.
August 30, 2015

I was literally at the store, getting groceries, when an old acquaintance from a few years ago walked by in my peripheral vision. I recognized his face, though his name took a moment. I was surprised he remembered my name...

Anyway, I chatted with him and his lovely wife, made the usual resolutions to hang out some time, etc.

After they left, though, I was just struck with a feeling of what could be called existential nihilism. I really don't know. It just ******.

On a side note, it reminds of a tattoo an ex once mentioned: "Life's a b*tch and then you die."
F White Aug 2015
Stuck in the 9-5 of Everyone
Else's life
My undiscovered dreams shelved
Luminous theoretical future
Kisses overflowing interlocked and
Delivered with promise
Transparent truthful question in
this Interim-

Is ' Happy' enough?
Copyright FHW 2015
Knights Aug 2015
I like the simplicity of things
Like the beauty of Saturn's rings
I don't like when things get complicated
my mind seem to get evacuated  
From all the peaceful thoughts that tend to linger
They vanish and leave me as an obsessive
Thinker
Charlie Chirico Aug 2015
The 20th century a new philosophy was introduced: Existentialism.

Existentialism is pertaining to human existence, and finding our ideal self, along with the meaning of life through free will. This German philosophy must have been confusing, because not long after the beginning of the next century, free will showed us that eradication and apathy can be achieved by "following orders" and not questioning the ideals of your country's ideology.

The idea of this philosophy is that humans are searching for who they are and what they will become by the choices they make based on their experiences without the complications of laws, traditions, or ethnic rules. Now, the ivory and ebony pieces that lay atop the granite chess board are one of a handful of acceptable, yet objective black and white cohabitations that can't function one without the other.

Strategically sound is the sycophant. Then in reference to people, how easy is it to spot a Parasite when trying your hardest not to be stereotypical? That is why it's easier to hate a person because the color of their skin rather than their theology and ancestry.

This idea of free will is sometimes misconstrued as a hindering factor in reference to the education system. Our foundation is put in place at an early age; this is our fundamental axis, and this reasoning is acceptable because
of our commitment and trust in conditioning ourselves.

And when you need to teach youth about hate and pass it off as love, you must regulate the educational systems, and propaganda needs to be subtle yet exposed in mass media and entertainment, along with chalkboards and textbooks.

Considering the learning differential, people who use a different side of their brain than a peer have a chance of excelling in their studies of specific subjects; however, this does not apply in all cases. See science and language as objective, and abhorrence as once subjective with an edit and an asterisk.

One factor is assumptions made regarding social structure. And this is what happens when something is driven by an economic imperative. But statistics are heavily confusing and easily manipulated when some groups of people are thrown figuratively and literally into ghettos.

This has made people a taxable commodity, but not one for a universal vantage. The reason for that has to do with the socioeconomic status of certain communities. Then again, when a country is at war with itself, being drafted will provide an individual with the necessary rations, and when you're wearing a uniform, bank statements do not matter.

From this point on we can put people into two classes: academic and non-academic.

None of which matters when you're staring at the barrel of a gun: automatic or semi-automatic.
Free verse poems aren't always enjoyed, and in some cases respected, but it is my favorite way to structure, or not structure my poems. Although there isn't a rhyme scheme there is close attention given to meter and my overall voice. I know that this poem in particular is a long read, as are some of my others, but I believe that many topics deserve length and cannot be expressed well enough in one or two sentences.

Thanks for reading.
- Charlie
Douglass Aug 2015
My life is;

Françoise Hardy, on repeat
Falling a little bit
In love
With many bits of
Many people.

Maybe if I laugh hard enough this time,
Unapologetically,
Beautifully,
My mouth will be so large
I'll swallow you all

And maybe then I'll be so full of you
I'll finally be
Satisfied,
Satiated,
Fed.
I'm spread too thin and I wish I could just gobble everyone up instead of juggling them all. Or just focus on one...
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