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Philip Lawrence May 2018
scales of desire tip,
time now weightier than fortune,
the more precious,
as it always has been,
gone unrecognized,
obscured by hale youth,
invaluable, ephemeral
allowing the echo of song,
the titter-laugh of loved ones,
banter of old friends,
hours with the hound turned gray
who clings to one’s hip,
silver windswept rainstorms,
ice-crested mountains,
frantic hummingbirds
suspended as still life,
the raw tickle of a running finger
along silken skin,
sin, regret, atonement,
recollections savored
of those who have left
as if brought back before one,
if only for the moment,
before recession into an ether world
and the miasma of memory and loss,
a gift for one to inhale the entirety,
and to expel it all with a ferocity
that says to those who will listen,
how I cherish thee
SoZaka May 2018
fine flavors
calamari and spice
tea laced with poppy petals
noodles mixed with rice
and  a mandarin slice

  wisdom  
generations gone
in a tiny fortune cookie

and a mint if you're lucky
A Simillacrum Apr 2018
Standing in the bathroom
Between the toilet and the sink
As such the mirror
Between the waste and stark display
Afraid of my face

What's more my eyes sink
Sunken more than usual
Their grasp of differences
Between non-fiction and
The fictional decays

My arm is off and on again
Now product of the medicine
My father and his father and
His father's father made
In sparing no expense

What's more my eyes see
Dot matrix ghosted notes
On patterns previously
Invisible through my
Corrupted nodes restored

Reborn

One thing though that I
Should let the nurses know
I can now transpose
Simple items left to right
On focusing my mind

Earlier I made the toilet
Paper jump between the
Edges of the room
I then successfully
Subtracted and multiplied
A Simillacrum Apr 2018
Who is all alone?
Solipsism slept with me
Community then rose the sun
The thorned and black roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The difference between self pity and sadness
The black and thorned roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The milk of the mother of the world
Community then rose the sun
While solipsism slept in me
Who is all alone?


(The Suspicious Oracle groaned, the body and the mouth. They came to rest on the line between the poles. No grimace. No grin. No light deep, deep in the eyes. The Suspicious Oracle pushed an object across the table toward the audience. An old coffee tin turned black with paints and oils. Centered in bright yellow, the word TIPS. All around it, simple symbols were scratched out in metal. Fingers. Toes. Currency. A *****.)

Coin for a fortune?

(One of the drifters at The Suspicious Oracle's table gifted a coin to the tin. The Suspicious Oracle smiled, and shifted back into the shadows.)

Thank you.

(The Suspicious Oracle reached into their jacket and produced a card printed on one side with a pair of staring eyes. They slid it toward the drifter with the eyes turned up. The drifter flipped the card and read it to herself.)

'UNHAPPY IN LACK, UNHAPPY IN EXCESS'
MetaNote:

I'd like to thank my grandpa, Arnold Gene Evans, for teaching me lessons that no one else could. And if they could, they wouldn't bother. Here's to you, big guy. The memories of smiles, sun, and the cool breeze remind me every day that my gray is gold to some. And that's enough.

~ W.
Umi Apr 2018
The wind blows on a restless night
No fright, sight or cloud creep around in the tranquility of darkness,
A drizzle, brought by a softer breeze from seemingly nowhere drives near, dispersing the light brought by the sweet waning gibbous moon
And so, a grand rainbow, yet dim has been cast across the dark sky, filling it with both hope and glamour and blessed optimistic tender,
Impulisive shooting stars, racing across the sky and illuminating it,
In great numbers, one would think someone let the stars rain down instead, as they shine, then shoot across the horizon, never to bee seen again, each wishing, leaving their bright trails behind as travelers,
Appearing like a cosmic chess board, the flare stars dance in a festival of pure energy in the light of a white nights eternal moon, beaming,
The legend of a first wish, travelers which bring infinite fortune, brought to those whom believe in a shooting stars power and might,
The legend of the second wish, simply infinite power brought in light
And the last wish is carried by the realisation of transience, right before the night has come to its end, a last traveler shoots across the sky, it is the wish of immortality, an eternal life which cannot vanish.
But, the last wish, is a greater curse than hell or death itself.

~ Umi
mythie Mar 2018
Bright lights!
Neon signs!
Pounding sounds
with citrus scents.

Focus on me.
Zoom in.
Zoom out.
I'll be all they see.

All eyes on me!

Wet cement!
Handprints!
Deafening silence
with the smell of freshly burnt oak.

Focus on me.
Flashing lights.
Blinding colour.
I'll be all they see.

All eyes on me!

Big billboards!
Magazine covers!
Spotlight on me
and the crew sets up scene.

Focus on me.
Dig your nails into me.
Leave your scent on me.
I'll be all they see.

I'm everyone's favourite.
I'm in control.
The society is crumbling.
They hum a lulling beat.

With their eyes on me.
lights, camera, action!
I'm astonished I'm not getting grey hairs
I'm stuck in the cross hairs
I thought this would wind down
As each step unfolds
But it just expanded the road
You think I stress out too much?
I've been apart of every hand clutch
The most used crutch
This has taken a toll on me as well
You aren't the only one stuck in a well
Not everything is as swell
As people make it out to be
The pain just stays silent
As the thoughts grow more intense
These scenarios are getting more violent
As the time treadmill goes on
Fervent headches
Should be a thing
But I hardly get them
Lucky me
Throughout my good fortune
I can only find the flaws
Everyone else is dealing with
And it might add a restless spectacle in me
Insatiable as they come
I might be somebody's bottle of ***
Beating the problems out like a drum
Whether you're from the big city or straight out of Krum
I can redeem you back into it all
It'll take some work
But it's nothing I'm not acquainted with already
Keep those positive thoughts steady
And the activity heavy
You don't want people thinking you're petty
I miss the days of Tom Petty
We're all trying to survive in this great country
Some live in the country
For that exact reason
To decompress
To wind down
From the hecticness that humanity brings
I hear the phone ring
Who could be up at this hour?
Samantha Mar 2018
There are some people out there,
Spreading lies to those unaware...
Listen, friends, to my words;
And hear the horrors they said, the curse!

"Price doesn't matter, and it never has,
We'll make a fortune on our own path!
Who even cares about the headphone jack?
It's a waste, nobody wants it back."

"Besides, we can market to those who are dumb.
Stupid enough to type with just a thumb;
They won't care about a closed system.
Nerds? Who could think that we missed 'em?"

This is why I decided to not
Buy from the company as messy as a knot.
I'd rather spill a whole glass of Snapple
Than own a device made by Apple.
This wasn't a very good poem, but I decided to finish it when I found out that it was lying around in my "DRAFT" section for over a month.
I took two totems
and held them to
myself
one in my right pocket
and one in my left
for clenching
tight in reminder
while walking about
of what's really
important


a brass bull
keychain strung
to the keys
that opened my home
and made it mine


for prosperity
and material health
and weighing down
to the ground


and a little hunk
of lapis lazuli
speckled through
with golden
glitters


for keeping
bright blue and
buoyant
my spirit


the bull broke off
its chain and
left a dangling void
a superfluous
jangle
wiggling on old
keys turned in
to an old landlord


the stone
slipped out of my
jacket pocket
in a cab to the
airport to a plane
to the other side
of the world


now of my totems
but a short refrain
and a
memory's glitter
remain




© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
It is perhaps naive to believe in totems. To believe that one can will something into existence just by imbuing an object with its representation. If a brain, if a life do not want to hold those things yet, then the totems will simply slip out of one's pocket, forgotten.
IrieSide Feb 2018
Gravitational forces
towards something better
as if it exists
buried beneath
some distant desert

what is it
that strains to convey
itself
in this broken poetry
as if truth were at
the tip of its tongue

perhaps it's to feel real
for only a moment
to escape the routine
of making a living
which only yields
a skeleton
compacted in dirt

Take my writing
let it fly upon the wind
let it touch the four corners
of Earth's spiritless surface
Take it farther!
upon the wings of doves
and sound waves of conversation
to red and gaseous planets
let even the martian men
attempt to
translate
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