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that's it.
that's the poem.
Art is antiwar, no exceptions.
Daniel Cuzzo Nov 16
To live for tip tap beet how they greet wounded windows.
To say the dance is livid, lively, proven providence prevented
this day from basking, or moving portraits posing prominence.

Let long the tethers be quashed, the arrogance of the mash,
the brevity of rotunda. Capture sordid castrations of color
as frolicking follicles of filamented files in heavenly spirals
make you remember this blasted November.

Dance to renounce desperate claim to fake-humanity.
Dance to taste spilt milk spelled out in rapids.
Dance to give the giver of life claws.
Dance to make manic romantic’s clumsy flaws resolute.

And in the wee hours of the disparate, few know
that I consoled you.

For the dance of dead zombies sordid in strife –
come to fickle midwife berthing unborn boys.
Oh, heal the Dance and its joys.  **** the banished toys.
Let them dance their fairy hue.

Dance like lude and previewed and spectral integration.
Dance like unwashed wood’s vile vines.
Dance like ludicrous anti-Valentines.
Dance like you got no soul like never whole.

Dance off rumors dance off begotten dreams,
dance off liars and their tattered seems.

Dance, but know that you should crawl if perchance
the little apple should sing and rewrite everything.
Maybe it is, with the subtle shimmer of the soul
that in the dance we are but pajama poisons to the whole.

Albeit the raging repercussions,
the ****** of test-tubes, of sirens
and meticulous violence fighting fringe capitalism,
leftist indoctrination, rhyming placation
and yes:  methodological praise.

Lift the star off its rays
of undoing wooing pants off eager gents.

And in the eclipse of memoire, the cusp of selective rhyme
of distant AIDS, white-washed promenades
I’ll write a sultry verse of elegiac curse
and vehement little taste buds collecting
to imbue naked weather.

And with the clawed off Calypso
we choose neither celery nor the jukebox.
We choose: the ***** of the punch bowl
the clout of claustrophobia,
cornered in Captive States’ palisades
given grades of grim to not-so fantastic.

This chaos is not to be a subject of social engineering.
But to DANCE – God to dance right nuptial
with frisking air limbs scattered – plumbing everywhere
distributing despair carelessly from our Earthly bodies.

World inches past tomorrow has sounds of sonatas.
Yet gallows will chide, lunatics glide, releasing
the feeble, flimsy figures and rudimentary makeups
of the human race, along with it, the mellow trance:
the feline feminine foreclosure of forthright fathomless fiends.

In it the clocks of clever, candorous cadavers
that still lather the pedestal that poignant prudence deems
NECESSARY to support our survival,
It is simple truth:  to do the opposite.

SO burn, churn, play, foray, give grieve,
reprieve, glaze, glisten, char, christen, blare,
vindicate, tear, truly satiate, mar, placate,
place power in your-own hands and show your puissance!

Heal your pallor, accept the vintage seed,
Don’t hide the greed and the pillaging of our past.
The blood is pinned to us all but we can RADIATE.
Mandate a better future NO meager beleaguered children –
we can salvage this situation
galvanize grunt work for the Earth
instead of our masters in declining stasis.

And we will not suffer.  We will masticate
on fruits of the Earth in our favor,
our grunge will be washed our cells inflate
as we derivate the truth of our origins.

We cannot be stones in sorrow like this.
We cannot borrow the opinions of others but
salivate on the inspiration to create.

you to glimpse the true future of our race
and initiate a tour of the universe,
to tweak your consciousness, start to twitter
like birds and not like social media,
twirl your sons and daughters in clean air,
and ink your family’s book of kin.

To echo the song of John Denver, “Let Us Begin.”
This poem was started on November 3, 2009, then rediscovered 11 years later and re-worked into "The Dance or 2020" on November 16.  I never understood the 2009 version.  It was rhythmic but made little sense.  Reading it 11 years later, I believe I was able to bring out its true meaning.
Nolan Willett Nov 17
In their beauty, an unparalleled race
From a higher, supernatural place,
Driven to hidden, underground refuge
When mans’ cynical wars the earth deluged-
Leaving only the slightest, unclear trace.

They knew no pain, nor any suffering
And the world is darker from their leaving
And we are left to pick up the pieces,
While our own ambivalence increases,
Seeking to find a singular meaning.

You may call it naive wish fulfillment,
But I will search for reconcilement.
I will upturn the soil and the roots,
Until I may procure some lasting truce
Make amends for Ill-judged revilement

And then mankind again will have a guide
Some holy beings to gift us back our pride
What a dream, to again have dignity
To direct our kind to benignity
So we may be pulled back from the wayside

It’s all very romantic, isn’t it?
That some saviors will see us fit.
It takes the blame off us,
Makes our apathy superfluous,
Proves we are not hypocrites.

But maybe we should fix our own mistakes,
Go outside and clean our own ******* lakes,
Stop hiding behind flowery language and care
Waiting for a savior when they are rare,
Before our zeal irreversibly breaks.
Arkapravo Oct 14
(with an apology to Pink Panther)

Ice melts,
Hurricanes rage,
Permafrost thaws,
Methane burps,
Temperature shoots,
Sea level rises,
Agriculture fails,
Drinking water shortages,
Tsunamis show their might,
Landslide kills,
Pandemic thrives,
Fishes stop breeding,
Insects go out of sight,
and, human beings exit, stage left!
On a dead of winter day
our footsteps in the snow
melt too quickly
for anyone to follow

In drops of steady rain
we picnic beside the lake
and watch fireworks
fizzle out with summer

Riding the crest of fall
but stalked by spring
and so, in the throes
of such invisible connections
we're preserved

And sitting on a shelf
awaiting our turn
to be pried open
and spread like jam
for someone to consume...
Moomin Sep 28
She was the most beautiful one
She could take the breath away and leave you without words  
From sunrise to sunset, she sparkled and mesmerized
She was a Princess, of royal lineage
Bedecked in multi colours
Her flowing gown was the brightest, purest azure
Sprinkled with precious stones of diamond and Amethyst
Her touch was soft and sensual
When she sang, the birds listened and the storms abated
And her heart, her pure heart, encompassed all who dwelled with her
She opened her house to nourish strangers  
And fed the poor with rich delicasies
She poured cool water into the parched mouths of the weary
And joyous wine into the cups of the downtrodden
Her own ******* gently suckled orphans
She made her scented gardens available to those who roam
And prepared the softest beds for those who were without abode
She never stopped giving
Yet, this world and strangers did not value her, did not love her
They were not grateful
They used her for their own ends
And plundered her belongings, even her own heart
Men were not content to gaze upon her loveliness
But siezed her violently with soiled sinews
They tore her adornment from her body
And leered greedily at her nakedness
They beat her prettiness into blood and smears
And burned her skin with torches
They mauled her ******* and drained them dry
They penetrated her and violated her
Leaving her in shame and degradation
And when they were satisfied, and their vile ***** had taken root
They left her **** and weeping
In anguish and near death  
And in her agony and death throes
She cried out for her Father
This world has come full circle
From darkness and watery surface
To darkness and smoke
This home which we call earth
Has filled our every need
This luxurious dwelling place, alone in the vast cosmos
Was perfect and pure  
It was a residence unmatched in the known universe
A home with all we need
The Landlord prepared it well
Built to the highest standards
With all amenities
And so many desirable things to please
And some of us tenants complied with it's demise in ignorance
While others, daring and arrogant
Used it, abused it and vandalized it
We have sullied the neighbourhood
And disrupted the peace
We have let it run into disrepair
The greatest property neglect of all time
We have gorged ourselves on the feasts that were left in the home
And tore up the fruit gardens and flower beds
We have turned it's garden into a ******* tip
But our tenancy is about to end
The lease has run out
And we failed in our stewardship of this beautiful world
For this pretty planet cries out for justice
For restoration
Who will save our earth?
Will the great and wise men of politics take a moment from their lunch meetings to act instead of speak?
Or will the gods of science humble themselves and refrain from tampering with nature,
Finding ever new ways to produce new things?
Do the entrepeneurs and mass producers still have conscience in their soul?
Or will they forge ahead advertizing yet more junk that we “need”?
Can protesters and hate-mongers breath new life into our world's lungs?
And will we accept our complicity, and repent?
Will the childen see tommorow, through the smoke and ash?
The earth cires out
She languishes and weeps glaciers that flood our lives
Her spine snaps with violent thud of explosion and shaft
And finally, she calls His name
For the “Ancient of days” has not forgotten
The benevolent Landlord is watching, waiting
His fury is restrained, for now
To allow us one more chance to change
He saw this all from afar, from far back in history
And he warned us all
He knew what the tenants might do  
And he has sworn
“He will bring to ruin those ruining the earth”
And He promises that some of us will be innocent
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth”

All quotations from the Holy Bible
Jana Pelzom Aug 4
It’s getting a bit hot out here,
It‘s been my lingering fear;
Childhood blessed with mamas humming,
Now replaced by some mechanic droning,
Blowing cool air
This little white machine,
What powers it holds
Keeps going past midnight until I come around,
Then continues on
As summers background sound.
AC ©️2020 Jana Pelzom
The way we connected
The way we drifted apart
was just like XIAOMI global.
(During 2020 China India Relations)
Gerald Vargas Jul 10
Wear a covering made of gauze
          that fits over the nose and mouth;
          Protecting not to catch dust and
          particles for the work not to pause—
          Perhaps be thrown out, be discri-
          minated, and received some shout.
          Toil from saving, eyes go swollen
          sick from the unseen shark in the dark.
          Those shadey spots could be seen
          thick and thin that left lots of mark.
          Tears shall fall, hope shall not die.
          Weary sighs, never heard a lie.
          It holds them chain—sicks are
          cheered for their pleas are heard.
          It holds them chain—lives are saved,
          not themselves but those who're brave.
          Children are crying, waiting for them
          Hands are trembling, but there are
          musts of working.
          Things have never been solid neither
          have been veered;
          But the workers must be protected
          and be revered.
          True heroes—indeed!
This poem is dedicated to our heroes, our frontliners upon fighting to this pandemic.
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