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Alfa Oct 2018
I am                  split into
  Two,
People. Speaking up           /or stuck in a box
   and
          I will                         never be(ing)
complete(ly).
me                                      .
Three poems in one that speaks of my confused identity.
Read as: 1) I am split into two people. Speaking up and/or stuck in a box I will never be completely me.
2) I am two people. Speaking up and I will complete me.
3) Split into two, or stuck in a box and never being complete.
Derrek Estrella Oct 2018
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.

Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
CreativeBySea Aug 2018
Just breath and sit still
gentle numbness creeps in
like a cat through a catflap

Crimson and purple and grey
greyness leaks from prime,
colours dotted on the walls

dust swirling through the grass.
Scratched.  Whispering fields
emptyness of green and yellow

drought runs its fingernails
through the spines of. doors
left ajar but slowly closing

transcending the closed place
of clouds slicing the
deep blue.
Paul Butters Jul 2018
Who needs words
When you can simply go ???
Or !!!
!!!
This poem will not make me any £££
Or even $$$
But I don’t give a *.
I just love writing 100%
& don’t *
a d
About £££££.

I <3 to experiment with poetry and language,
Stretching those *
aries.
*** let’s have a good LOL
And even ROFL.
Let’s play the %s
And send my spell-check
Into a red frenzy.

Any ???s ?
You !!!s at this
???
And I’ve only scratched the ~~~~~
There may be ####, #### more to come.
I <3 my Qwerty keyboard
With it’s !”£$%^&()_+ at the top.
The more I look the more I see.
@ last I’m free
From the Grammar ****.
=ly free from the tyranny of the word.

But worry not my lovely words
For I will always go <<<< to you
In spite of looking >>>>>>>
At all times.
The *
*.

Paul Butters

© PB 28\7\2018.
!!! PS I haven't bolded anything to no idea why some is bolded above. And **** shows as * or blank somehow.
MicMag Jul 2018
One?
Done
Fun?
None

One


If two?
Pass through
Will do
And you?

That's two


How bout three?
Shall we see?
Bit more free
Works for me

So says three


Can we try four?
It gives us more
Not such a bore
Crack wide that door

Lead us on, four


Would we dare do five?
Tis too high to strive?
I do love this jive
Let's stop while still live

Safe with lines of five


But hear the cry of six
It tempts as time still ticks
It's not just a quick fix
But adds to this great mix

Yes, hear that call of six


Rules change as we reach seven
Words lengthen, stretch to heaven
Lines rise like bread so leavened

The changes wrought by seven


Hard as the end draws near with eight
Liked this before, now's not so great
Long lines I don't appreciate

Thanks for nothing, unruly eight


Entering the danger zone with nine
Meaning gets lost by end of the line
Despite the trouble, guess we'll be fine

Phew, we just made it through there with nine


And finally we arrive here to ten
What an intriguing journey this has been
I'm so relieved now to be at the end

So long, good night, let's sign off now with ten
But who's counting? :)

Some people love playing with words. Others like to play with numbers.
Why not both?!

This was a bit of a whimsical experiment in letting the numbers dictate the form.

The number of syllables per line corresponds to the number in the stanza's first line.
I went with one syllable words until seven forced one style change with its two syllables and another change with its lack of good rhymes.
Numbers are beautiful, aren't they?

I was tempted to continue beyond ten, but... Can I count on you to keep it going?! ;)
Jabin Jul 2018
The bottom of the nowhere land
has got me torn and jaded.
Learned alot from-
say no more!
I’ve learned alot.

Kiss me in the rain water
somewhere, someone must feel it.
Lies through the teeth
have made the sight weak
No, no more.

Littered with sand storms and hateful
the tides pulling off from the *****
Crack the skull-
pull out the pain,
That’d be nice.

Call out to the voices of heaven
do you hear more than you thought?
That’s just your-
Nevermind that.
I’m sure it’s all true.

Lizard skin and slithering wellspring
locked into eternity’s grip
What could it mean?
Or does that question
Even make any sense?
Jabin Jul 2018
Cast it aside I…
Can the world be so…
Is anything actually…
Where does it go?

Promises they kept
Lifted from the well.
Hurt me just a little longer…
And I will never tell.

Basically, the chains they…
Craftiness all ensnared…
Turned round to face the…
Was it ever there?

Sever my motives
What does it matter?
Emptiness concepts…
Meaning’s in tatters.

Legs wrapped tight on…
Hardly notice the…
Singes the backside…
Looks so good, huh?

                         Push me to action.
                         Call me a fake.
                         Hurt me with venom.
                         Lies from the snake.

Nobody knows that…
So much of knowing it…
Is there a knowing such…
Yet, how we commit.

The pain sets it free now.
The blisters remind us.
Sifts through unknowing…
Blood, guts, and ****.

Will it ever be, I…
Where is the voice of…
Searching for aching…

And finding love.
Morgan Gail Jul 2018
you are a church filled with hymns
the voices of sinners
humming in unison
the tears that fall
in remembrance
of every transgression
forgive us, Father
we are so lost
we've no idea what we are doing
i am only apologies
draped over soft bone
a false pretense
that dead flowers only
need more watering
press the petals to my lips
i want to be soft like this
i want to be beautiful
like this
i lost my words
in a strangers mouth
outside of a sanctuary
and my throat still burns
from the alcohol
i bet i'd be easier to love
if i pulled out my teeth
so my bluff would always
be worse than my bite
rosy bruises unkind
to my knees
yet i preach
humble me, humble me, bring me
as low as i need to be
to feel the earth shake
when i hear your name
i am but a nervous spirit
chewing my skin back
i just wanted there to be
less of me
i just want to look
less like me
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