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Aa Harvey Apr 2018
Forward


Under moonlight you can lose yourself;
Set your inhibitions free and cast away your self-doubt.
The fear may guide you if your life is Hell,
But only you are able to lead yourself out.


If you need somebodies help to save your own life,
Then beg them to aid yourself and let them soothe your strife.
If your future has always remained hidden from your eyes,
Then build yourself a new destiny and make a change.
If everything you used to love, you have now grown to despise,
Then search for a better way to cure your pain.


Hope has always been there, all you need to do is believe;
Nobody can steal your future from you,
If you can keep your eyes open and somehow see.
The happiness you are waiting for is beyond this door;
When you pass through it, close it behind you
And your misery will be with you no more.


Know the score and dream of being loved;
Wishes are created to build a better world for each of us.
Throw down your gauntlet and challenge anything bad, for you are good;
The superhero will never lose,
So face your demons and lift your head up.


Nightmares are just dreams that haven’t morphed into day dreams yet;
Live your life like it is all that you have got and have no regrets.
You will never be able to do enough, so just do your best;
Positive will always end the negative, so always take a forward step.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Silverflame Apr 2018
Open your eyes and see the world;
it's been here the whole time.
Free your heart and free your mind;
loving yourself is no crime.

Take off your mask and just be you;
it takes courage to come alive.
Let the light fight the dark away;
you don't need to be disguised.

Tell the world you're here to stay;
drown your doubts in the river bend.
Believe in yourself and you'll realize;
you're your own hero in the end.
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
With you


My love can I send you this hero?  
He’s in need of you and feeling low.
So pick me up my love, I need you to know,
I’m here for you for good, until the end of the show.


I want you to be mine,
Because within you I see me doing just fine.


I need a girlfriend to call my own;
I want a woman I am yet to know.


If you only knew how I feel for you,
Would it change the way you see love?
If I was able to show you I mean it too,
Then what would become of us?


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jack Torrance Apr 2018
Listen to my story,
and you might think twice before,
you proceed to judge me,
and show me to the door.

If you only knew the fear,
and the courage this took,
maybe then you would listen,
and give me a second look.

An alcoholic father,
who puts his hands on me,
is what I come home to,
everyday at three-fifteen.

A mother who blames me,
for the abuse that I recieve.
Never raising a finger,
to pack me up and leave.

A day full of insults,
as I walk through the halls,
and a foot in the aisles,
and laughter when I fall.

I never learned morals,
through all of my abuse,
nor the love of a parent,
so what is your excuse?

Does it make you feel better,
to make me feel small?
To just keep on pushing,
until I break down and bawl.

I never asked for this life,
for this heartache and shame.
I have enough problems,
without being your game.

I can cover up the bruises,
with second-hand clothes,
and I can walk with my head down,
so the guilt doesn't show.

But I can't ignore the fear,
that lives within me.
The fear of going home,
of how bad today will be.

I'm asking for help,
and for someone to stand.
For someone to listen,
and do what they can.

I understand rules,
and just how they work.
But why do the rules,
neglect someone who's hurt?

You can see all the bruises,
the scars and the burns.
Each one a lesson,
daddy thought I should learn.

So don't look at me,
as if I'm burdening you.
Because you only know a little,
of what I've been through.

I'm begging for help,
and for you to save me.
So please be my hero,
before three-fifteen.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
Stuporstar, he’s a Stuporstar
He counts on how dumb you are;
He says a lot of stupid things
He wears them like diamond rings.
He doesn’t really give a stinking fig
He’ll rob and gut you like a pig.
He just assumes his fans are dim
He is sure it is all about him.

He believes he is so very smart
He drives his fancy golf cart
And decorates his home with gold
Being wealthy just never gets old.
He thinks we’re all fascinated
With the legend he’s created
That he was saved by the sea
By a queen when he was a baby.

He doesn’t really give a stinking fig
He’ll rob and gut you like a pig.
He just assumes his fans are dim
He is sure it is all about him.

He’s sure he can shoot you down
And his ratings won’t go down;
That he says the best you ever heard
Because he has the very best words.
He’s smarter than all the generals.
First in his class, we all know his name
Thinks the world is his computer game.
Thinks all his dupes loves all he’ll do.
The truth is, he don’t care about you.

Stuporstar, he’s a Stuporstar
He counts on how dumb you are;
He says a lot of stupid things,
He wears them like diamond rings.
He doesn’t really give a stinking fig
He will rob and gut you like a pig.
Julian Delia Apr 2018
THE DILEMMA OF A GENERATION

Mohamed Bouazizi
Represents not just the struggle in Tunisia
But of an entire generation –
His life was a consolidation
Of a series of injustices
Of economic apartheid.
After all, let us not hide
And call this tragedy what it really is.

Mohamed’s life and death
Was one of many terrible examples
Of the depth, the breadth
Of the gap between the rich and the poor.

If you think to yourself,
“I’ll never be that desperate,”
Think again;
You are fortunate
If you’ve never worked and worked until your fingers chafed raw
Yet it was not enough.
You are sheltered
If you’ve never experienced
The yoke of the owners of the world.
You are blind
If you do not see that we have ‘freedom’
That is built on top of mass graveyards.

This yoke
Has served to choke
Not just Tunisians,
But everyone who was not born with wealth
Or the opportunity to make it;
The millennial’s dilemma
Is common across the globe –
Do I lose hope?
Do I succumb
To a life of fast money and being numb?
Do I stop caring, focus instead on the life I can enjoy?
Do I ignore the stolen livelihoods, hushed, covered up and coy
Do I fail to think about the exploited labour
Of suffering human beings,
Of the ****** of my country’s neighbour?

Do I simply sidestep my knowledge of all of this?
Complacent, lacking the will
Unaware, perhaps lacking development of the skill
To realise that our world is dying
Not a slow natural demise
But of humanity-induced suicide.

Or do I, instead,
Pull up my sleeves, avenge the dead?
Do I sacrifice my well-being,
My opportunity to reach that thin demographic of the population
That fragment of the nation
Which lives a life of luxury,
In order to change the world around me?
Do I go against the swirling, swishing current of life
Give up all opportunity for power, leave this society that is rife
With abuse?
For if I don’t,
The sick world we were born in
Will perpetuate its unholy cycle of sin
I will be an instrument of that process,
Whether through complacency or an excess
Of loyalty towards the state.

If I don’t fight back,
If we don’t fight back,
Who will?
Our stillborn children?
The posterity that will be born
To a world that has no clean air,
A world that is built to be unfair
A world that separates people like an algorithm
Those above a certain monetary threshold
And those below it?

No.
It must be the millennial who fights for rights,
Before they are sold off completely and stocks run out,
Before men and women in power with infallible clout
Turn us all against each other
And make us destroy ourselves.
The final part of a poem I wrote to commemorate the life and death of Mohamed Bouazizi.
Randy Johnson Apr 2018
I fight injustice in the West and help people who are in danger.
When my brother was murdered, I became the Lone Ranger.
I bring outlaws to justice wherever I go.
I couldn't do it without the help of my Indian sidekick Tonto.

People constantly think that I'm an outlaw because I wear this mask.
They want to take it off but they learn that removing it isn't an easy task.
Tonto and I always beat the bad guys by using our wits and our fists.
When we're done, the outlaws have handcuffs slapped on their wrists.

I ride Silver who is my trusty steed.
We always help those who are in need.
I only use silver bullets and so far Tonto and I haven't failed.
We will always protect the innocent and send outlaws to jail.
Grand Piano Apr 2018
You know how when you’re trying to sleep
But your mind is racing
How you’re trying to be still
But your thoughts are on the move
Ideas, Regrets, What ifs, Fear
All demanding to be heard
To be felt
To be validated
You know how when you’re not ok
But you’re trying to be ok
And then someone ask you if you are ok
So you break down all over again
Sometimes you want them to read your mind
To know the answer before the question
You know that pain that’s so great it feels
Like a physical weight holding you down?
All you want is a hand to carry the load
A shoulder to leave tear stained
An embrace to feel safe and loved in
You know that feeling when you’re screaming inside
But still wanting desperately to be heard
The struggle of trying to save yourself
But still hoping for a hero
So I posted this before and I guess it glitched because I was posting from my phone. Here’s the fixed version! To the person that let me know. Thank you so much
Robert Ronnow Apr 2018
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map.
We approached the city known as Dis,
with its vast army and its burdened citizens.
At last we reached the moats
dug deep around the dismal city.
What destroys the poetry of a city?
Automobiles destroy it,
and they destroy more than the poetry.
Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils
Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, ***** . . .
Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers
interested in god and what man has done to man
to improvising primitive tools for survival.
Hope abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring
in the nuclear fire – excellent –
during the decline of western civilization.

On the other hand, I hope
our current problems are only temporary
and it’s just a matter of time before
the public ignores the 24-hour news cycle.
Bad news sells but the good life’s all around us.
One feels love and devotion
even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent.
Vaclav Havel said with a wisdom well beyond brilliance:
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t.
It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent
on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation.
It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart
that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well,
but the certainty that something makes sense
no matter how it turns out.”

It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief.
Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks.
Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity.
Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth.
When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands!
When the laws are broken, what of the city then?
We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope,
where history has been abolished, and a City of History,
where hope can be slipped in only as contraband.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching
outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
Two ancient female poets are a revelation,
the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.
www.ronnowpoetry.com

--Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, The Inferno, Canto VIII, Italian, trans. Robert Hollander & Jean Hollander, Anchor Books, 2000.
--Ferlinghetti, Lawrence, Poetry Flash, November 1998
--Havel, Vaclav, Disturbing the Peace: A Conversation with Karel Huizdala, Vintage Books, 1991.
--Iyer, Pico, The Man Within My Head, Vintage Books, 2013
--Sophocles, Antigone, Greek, trans. Dudley Fitts & Robert Fitzgerald from The Oedipus Cycle: An English Version, Harcourt Brace & Co., 1939.
Yulia Surya Dewi Mar 2018
In a quiet night
I listen to the strains of fantasy melody
Takes me by the imagination
A song sounds like an ecstasy
Gave me a spiritual splash
Nine ten
A little different
I let my heart melt
In this place I'm worried
I hate the silence
But not on singing
Singing song of silence
I'm stuck with loneliness
Days without you are lonely
You are present consolation
You're a hero
You came a volunteer
It's not bringing you places
Yet you live in my heart
You are here at the right time
Liberate from the silence that killed me
Hero in the silence night
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