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Zywa May 19
The world your parents

keep impressing on you is --

fitting less and less.
Diary novel "Een licht bewoond eiland - Faxen aan Ger #5" ("A lightly inhabited island - Faxing to Ger #5", 2022, Nicolien Mizee), April 21st, 2000

Collection "Out of place"
Bipolar Poet Jun 2022
The ocean blueness—fades further into the deep
A naked eye—in the needle hole,
threading old skins of past; to sew away
The present self being a stowaway.

Sheds of tears—falling from time to time
The grounds washed—drenched in eroding thought,
as the tears of an experience's memory
I've experienced so many things.

Beauty that is glorious—beauty my eyes attestor to
So seen is life—tasting all bitter sweet,
heeding the stories; touched by them all
Scented by intentions: to vocalize beauty we'd recall.

Swivel politeness—coupled by lessons from progenitor
Wisdom must be kept—holding immense value,
spoken in tongue; lips impart to succesor
Should it flow naturally in life: to your success sir.
Bipolar Poet Jun 2022
Storing up the blessing of sky;
Dry arid season is here,
A drought of love; nature's harshest,
5,000 years of stories,
Silhouette of a rural African experience,
you cover the vastness of her land.

"Tree of life"
Whereas the breath of man was origin,
Folklore; stories of our elders and tomorrow's wisdom,
We are all children of the sun,
Bright skinned under the cooling shade of time,
Time as long as a tree has lived, and lives on.

Lest we be wise to store up our stories,
What will our generations remember of us,
Baobab trunk; store up the provisions, love, stories,
Time, blessings, and fruits of our labour at heart.

Baobab tree; blowing the wind,
A symbol of life in harshest of times,
We adapt to our environment; people all to thrive.

It is our nature.
I was conceived on acid and whippets, the drugs a kaleidoscope of umbilical dreams.
I was conceived on bad luck and lust, from darkness and sexually exploitive childhood trauma.
I was conceived on teenage dreams and difficult childhoods, to black sheep children of 17.

I was raised on addiction and narcissism, a love bomb here and authoritarian abuse there.
I was raised on the chess long game, to lose a piece here means to win at the end.
I was raised on 2000s tv, Lorelei Gilmore my wish for a mother, Rory my idol.

I taught myself strength in building up a fantasy on the outside while my castle crumbled within.
I picked myself up by the tendrils of a lost childhood, by the whispers of good memories, by the hiding places I found in pages upon pages of someone else’s imagination.

And I let it all go at 28. To find peace. To start over. To build myself a new castle with no more haunted corners or echoes of pill bottles or smells of ***** and orange juice permeating the breaths of those who walk these sacred halls.
Rib cage cut open, heart destroyed and renewed, ancient umbilical nooses cut with teeth.

I will no longer fall victim to my mother’s circumstances or my father’s mistakes, I will never have the soul I’ve created look at me and ask himself if he is loved or safe.

I am cycle breaker,
I am generational karma’s worst ******* fear,
I am no longer frightened maiden,
I am fearsome mother.
I am new.
Ron Gavalik Feb 2022
The last generation
asked for success.
Our generation
asked to be left alone.
This generation
asks only to mitigate
the pain.

–Ron Gavalik
Who is the captain, of our ship,
The engineer of this train,
The person in the director’s chair,
The ones that make the most gains?
Our vessel,  a round mass of dirt,
Rocks, the center full of fire,
Water and sand, knowing,
Our lives are limited reservations,
We never totally own our land.
The people should be happy,
It seems like old history,
Many welcomed strangers, to their town,
Introduce themselves, invite them for vittles,
A shot of moonshine, truly kind, not a plan,
To rob, or hurt them, they enjoyed company around.
Every generation, learns, from what they hear and see,
Those at the wheel, need to change direction, a different way,
Robots are we trying to eliminate ourselves, the future will it be.
By The Original Tom Maxwell © 1/30/2022 AD
There is much good in the world how does the media miss it?
Nigdaw Dec 2021
post war baby boomer
born of Blitz lottery survivors
sixties influenced music head
mixed bad taste seventies
girly long hair and dress sense
brought new life into space age
travellers seeking new worlds
while trying to rescue the one
we messed up in the first place
Jim Mar 2021
Watch the moon go across the sky
as you lie on your back and wonder why
or how on this planet we came to be
evolved from fish or decedents of Eve

Though none of it matters for we cannot go back
time moves forward as a matter of fact
just as the past, the future is unknown
except to the mystic and their crystal ball showing

The paths of men, women and beast
the future of war and lacking of peace
They see such doom and unfortunate pain
They see the young who end up insane

And other youth ruined as they grow old
tainted and rotted -- lost in the world
lost in themselves from the moment of birth
some unlit candles lacking self worth

lacking the chance their ancestors got
who ***** all the land, bickered and fought
A blind group of creatures who just couldn't see
the sacrifices WE made so they could be free
Ira Desmond Jan 2021
As we got older, it became clear
that we wouldn’t have the luxuries

of drink without worry,
of sleep without restlessness,

of raising children
without fear for their survival.

It became clear
that we would never garner

the respect of our elders
no matter how dearly we pined for it,

and that the world itself
would smolder

while those responsible
rested comfortably in their graves,

and those of us to whom
our forebears’ sins were bequeathed

would be left to choke on the smoke
and ashes

of a promise to posterity
allowed to burn instead.
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