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Ottar Dec 2014
out
wire coils with evenly spaced teeth,
shredded the clothing from beneath,
experience is a teacher, tangled and torn,

out,

getting no where, so no point to seethe,
fabric strips draped on a concertina wreath,
technique is a quality, better used and worn-

out!

lost!, lose!, loose!, free the beast, free the beast!,
into the rabble, into the pen of fractured plates,
***** the grey, matters not, just find that ten per-

cent!

wounded heart, bent aging knees, cannot rise,
to run away uphill against the wind, no surprise
no one will answer, the silent cry, or the loud sh-

out!

empty places, empty faces, reflected sour silhouettes,
every fifth bullet traces and arcs in the night sky,
why can't violence be allowed the right to die

out-

right? Left, right left, get in step with techno sounds,
dance all night, while the para-military do the rounds,
around the wire obstacles, to keep her away, keep her

out!
when you know, let me know, that you know and we will both know
Silence Screamz Dec 2014
Feast on my words
for I am the dead poet.
Ink to the paper
the past is my moment.

Written down to the second,
the minutes might say.
History's forgotten
the battles will rage.

Sentenced for crimes,
my expressions are free.
Lock me up in the cell,
nothing taken from me.

The thoughts in my head
will always remain.
Touched by the emotions,
the abuse and some pain.

Pent up with the silence,
speak up with the truth.
Explode with your pen,
no moment is mute.

Now I lay in the ground,
dead as the others.
Remember my words,
fellow poets,  my brothers.
Freedom of expression shall never be taken away
Sombro Dec 2014
Ark
I walked through a Spanish city
Or through Spain, certainly
At the end of a walk of pity
A church rose up before me
I went within to see

Inside the walls were printed
Gold was in the air
No idol left so tainted
By blandness in its golden hair
I left as soon as I would dare

Beside the church I spotted
A shop that wanted gold to pawn
My trepidation jotted
Words from which this poem’s born
I saw a doom of gold forlorn

Should men who see the value
Of all the things they shouldn’t touch
Take their fill, then **** you!
We’d lose a past worth twice as much
History, the present’s crutch

Leave the gold of past alone
For it is the moulded lives
Of so many who gave flesh and bone
To ensure our world still thrives
Gold is God that fate derives

It’s not the rarest thing
It’s not magic, it’s not free
But gold was loved by men who bring
The past to you and me
Lessons, love and history

So do not melt it into bars
Don’t hide it in the dark
For nothing holds forgotten scars
Like the art that makes its mark
On time’s metal shining ark.
Haydn Swan Dec 2014
The great bird is conceived in a glistening eye
a mythical wonder waiting to be formed
coiled in patience under palest skin
waiting to unfurl its majestic wings
a cold steel blade unlocks its cage
blood must flow to bring it life
its freedom found in fragmented bone
the bars that block its sight are pulled back
hands reach into the great cavern
grasping the wings to set them free
at last in splendour and magnificent awe
the blood eagle is seen to take flight and soar
The blood eagle was a mythical and particularly gruesome form of execution by the ancient Vikings.  It involved carving the shape of an Eagle into the victims back, exposing the spine and ribs,  the ribs would then be severed from the spine and bent to each side and the executioner would then reach into the back and pull out the victims lungs and place them in such a way that they would resemble the furled wings of a great bird.
Ezra Dec 2014
I would have been happy (perhaps, maybe)
If the entire, um, sympos-i-um
Had tasted her sweet and sour body
Screaming, loving, digging into flesh; yum,

So long as I was left far back in the dark,
In ignorance, in blissful illiteracy,
The stage of Mystery versus History

But now I know, and now I just have no choice, I have to say goodbye, I have to say adieu, I have to wave the white flag at the black ship leaving the harbor forever--"Evrémonde!", I cry out, but the ship just keeps sailing... Now the flag is in tatters and so is my mind, now the window is shut open and my heart is open shut. Why would you tell me, why would someone have the audacity of being so genuine and honest and truthful? Why wouldn't you show some humanity? This generation has no tact, we have too many good values and I'm losing faith in humankind as it becomes, sadly, far too human!
In Shakespeare, the degeneration of a character's speech from verse to prose represents a mental breakdown of sorts.
Ronald J Chapman Dec 2014
I am peace and purity.

I am the sky,
I am the sun,
I am the moon,
I am the earth.

King Gojong proclaimed my birthday to be March 6, 1883.

I am spring,
I am summer,
I am autumn,
I am the winter.

I died in the year 1910
The winter of Japan.

I was born again on October 15, 1949.

I am the father,
I am the daughter,
I am the son,
I am a lonely mother.

I was torn in half in the year 1950.
So much pain so many tears I have seen.

I am some bad.
I am some good.

I've seen so many miracles and other amazing things.

It's all about balance!

I am beautiful, and I am loved.

Do you know my name?

© 2013 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Some answer Korea others answer Taegukgi.
Both answers are correct.
C X Rutledge Dec 2014
Once again, 7 years later, Im faced with these Lights.
The music changed but the mood still the same.
I relax.
Head tilted up I watch these Street Lights whistle a tune by my memories. Strange  people, the car an anomaly from times known, but this feeling... Still so much the same.
No curve this time, no speed limit; like we cared then or now.
Instead of school tomorrow it's a job, instead of teachers it's higher ups. Regardless.
I ask myself the same question now as I did then, "Can we make it?"
Recalling a poem I wrote back in high school,  long gone now.  But the premise is still the same.  Will I ever find what I'm hunting for?
Graff1980 Dec 2014
Once freed from the prison of the sea
The reptilian flee to see what they can see,
Hopping stones to find new homes.
Soft clicking cartilage bones.
Hot waters burping up bubbling sands,
Sipping the dripping goo,
Primordial ooze,
Protein potential,
For me and you,
From it to us,
A sweet but bitter tempest.
Alex Higgins Dec 2014
We are bound by the sins of our fathers,
forever seeking a pair of scissors.
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