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Honest,

that meaningless word left dangling before children,

a damoclean sword held fast in a gordian knot tied with scarlet thread,

finer than the spider's that once tied men's souls to an angry American ***,

birthed in Transylvania,

over the woods, and through the dale, no lie

There is a tale of lies told in Nobel houses, never reachin' ground,

Down here, we situations manifested to, vain, again, stem the tide,

We flounder, fish out of water, why are we sent if

wait



he hears, he listens, haps he knows, and

how such as we came

to be here,

Welcome and see, dare ye ask me in? Might I ply you with lies

and you, believe 'em?

I could make a mindless robot out of your parts, but

that would take forever and

that's not how

Wisdom's child would tend to be, for first,

You must believe a lie and I, amusing as can be,

can't tell lies.

Discernment, fine points, per-spicacity per se, the only way.

Good luck (Luc, said luck in many tongues, said Luc- as in Luc-ifer.

It means light, as in light, regular old granted light.

Lightifier, good, take some, good light, for the travail, in the night.



You see, not so long ago, for me, five years before I'as born,

my momma moved to town.



What was that like, I axed my old uncle, while back,

movin' t'town, in 1943?

Well, he says,

We had electricity.



USA, 1943, some folks still was poor, and all the good men

was gone to war.

Cities, it was different,

if the movies got it right, Bowry Boys, n'em.



In the desert we did, okeh, in town, though,



we had electricity.



He was ten back then. He'd been huntin' rabbit's,

to buy Christmas presents from Sears and Roebucks,



since he was five.

C'mon, I say. No lie, he say,

BLM or some gover'ment

whatsajigger, was payin' 2 cents a pair fer jack rabbit ears.



'Said he bought Christmas presents for his mom and dad,

and my mom, with his first rabbit money, at five.



Shootin' with a single-shot 22, 12 cents a box,

Jack Rabbits, 2 cents a head.



Three Christmas presents, plus postage, $2.56.

Do the math, I think, and go -



Five years old, at ten, he moves to town, 1943,

we had electricity. That's all.
An older man than me gave a thought to ponder. Thought I'd try to share the bounty. This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton
My head is a mess
Cluttered with random ideas
Wanting to come out
My first attemp at  senryu. Just a thought i had
girl gonzo Oct 9
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the names 'mark + bethany' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums  
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
Aman Dahiya Oct 6
There is a problem
When you dive too deep in analysis
When you **** and look at every little fact
And make sense of how to make it work.

There is a problem
That is exhausting,
When you know how something works
And you don’t see that happening in your luck

There is a problem
You know your smile is inversely proportional
To her frown and hate
And you cheeks are now hurting from pain

There is a problem
But there is no solution
Ken Voltaire Oct 3
Hm
Hm.
A thought.
Something resting upon the brink of something bigger,
That melts away into oblivion.
Anya Sep 28
You know,
The frustrating thing
Is that almost all
The good poetry
Comes to me
In the night

I try to sleep
As newer and newer
Pieces
Loudly
DING ****!
The doorbell in my mind

Then, of course
My body is inclined to roll over
And my hands are forced to
Pick up my phone
And
Begin typing
...
Argh!
What must I do to sleep!?
Anya Sep 24
I used to wonder if,
one who enjoys writing
and history
stories
and words
Is bad,
at math and science

I'm finding recently,
that it's really not true

Sure,
science may not be my strongest
subject

But I can take what is,
English
and use it to my advantage

I realized
I could make educational poetry
Funny
fun
strange
analogies
from the concepts
to the stories I love

And that way I remember them better

The world really is a small place
Not just,
among people
But also,
Among concepts,
ideas
Reoccurring patterns
...
Everywhere!
Anya Sep 15
They’re cheesy
Some of my poems I know
An imitation
Of ideas used to the point of being frayed
Tattered and in holes
No longer appealing
Until I take them
And give them a shiny new cover
Then they’re attractive...
To some
Who need the idea repeated to them
Or to those who truly appreciate poetry for its function as a medium
Through which ideas, old and new, are transmitted in
Attractive ways
So maybe it’s really the reader
What they
Need
Want
And see
ethan gaskill Sep 15
my thoughts are like a ball of yarn
i pass my time
unraveling my own mind

it's almost like there is a combination lock
the dial is hidden in my iris
come open pandora's box
and let loose the ocean blue

maybe it won't drown you
Ashari Ty Sep 15
the world is my canvas
motivation is my brush
**** where did i put my brush
This means deeper than it sounds (for me atleast ****)

I'd **** for brain stimulation right now hahahahaha jk ;)
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