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please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
   especially, encountering
   the following conglomeration
   in matthew scott harris patois).

He readily admits writing inventive
   attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
   Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
   courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
   gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
   and certainly less
to impress.

Gnome hatter intent toward
   cogency, fancy ingenuity,
   levity, the inevitable
   resultant wrought gobbledygook
   fascination for Lingua Franca
   feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
   and splatters Asia Yukon guess.

Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
   sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
   finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
   swimmingly enervated
   via ****** laced sentiments
   perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
   hollering, gesticulating floundering,
   (in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
   to avoid drowning at sea
   perchance comprehending passionate influence.

   Upon espying a signature poem of mine
   forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
   tib hush anonymous re:
   dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
   taking him/her to the brainy
   (briny) deep brink
   Icon fess

this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
   aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
   alphabetic wanton soup,
   or figurative egg drop bub
   bling broth (el) doth brew)

   pronouns Sibyl affectation
   affliction sans plethora,
   where each ladle full adrip with
   richly flavor Verdana Font lee
   and sincerely textured vocabulary.

   Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
   (blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
   suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
   particularly expectorating flashy

   hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
   hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
   might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
   vis a vis plagiarize plethora
  amidst storied plentiful English droppings.

Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
   temptation to bask exultantly,
   professed glorious unrequited love
   announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
In the park
Out for a walk
And the fellow joggers on the track

The gym equipments all occupied
Heavily working out
For sure the users
Were thinking out aloud
While working out

Maybe it's the neighbour
Or the bossy boss around
The equipments
Facing the ire
The users all on fire
Vikshipta Jul 2017
Words theyv been feeble
Waves much unstable
Wallowing on the spectrum
Of overruling phantasm:
And eye have become...
Nothing.
Nothing but an oddball-
| Certifiable |
tenebrous influence-
| Socially unacceptable |
Day by day getting more and more..
un..available.
And All these Stoicism
All those optimism
Now have been
Swamped away by the skepticism
While every destructive mechanism -
They
Swift..
along..
The throat level
( choking )
And It is all inescapable
For them Crus are Tethered 
Catatonic and unfeathered
Aaand 
I am
choking
on
Every hit
of ripples
That I swallow
For this pond is 
narrow
Way too shallow.
For me...
to
Sink.
Vikshipta Jun 2017
These frail mane still smells of coffin nail.
Hands..Struggling with metacarpus to trade the manus ..
stretch. scratch. Twirl.
Orbs: wide and wrathful:
Fluctuating the pupils
left and right
| Mad mad |
Concerntating on these screams..
screams into le noir lughole .
THERE!
I grasp your fluttering wings.
Oh you flutterer !
fluttering on C.
Fluttering hushed ..
Fluttering hasten..
fluttering to strive for nooks and blood.
Oh you flutterer!
erroneous target thee choosed.
Smash. Squeeze.
Alas!
now ease into mine ichor palms.
Death is inevitable. But somes, they are meant for it...THE EXTIRPATION
Lizley Jul 2016
(haiku)

Stars burst into flames
–a death of the little sparks
Evermore ablaze
© Lizley (Maria Flordeliz Yamog)
|07.27.2016|
Anger burns a long time.
Justin G Dec 2015
He spoke it all into existence and now he dreadfully merits his quiet.

Words do nothing for me
He quietly echoes
They leave him lost
Like dismayed homes       
You cannot heed him 
For he is the silence
Which reeks of ire
Do not try and plead him
For your abjection
Is his sole desire
In opposition to the will
He held her hands
Like a broken clock
No time for compromise
No time to stop
Words are nothing to you
He loudly utters
Words are everything to me
She struggles to mutter
Intrusion proceeds
Denuding her garden
Walls shadow
A penalizing truth
He cannot be pardon.
What heinous acts
happened in Paris
so recently
happen all over the World
(yes, with a capitol "W")
every single day
and no one ever seems to really give a single ****
until it's a "civilized nation;"
that is to say
a western nation.

Oh, please.

Lest we forget
NATO, the UN, and countless other nations or groups of people
commit far greater atrocities
on a perhaps much larger scale
perhaps much more regularly
and no one talks about it-
yet if they do, and they're of the West,
it's glorified as saving the civilized world
from injustice, tyranny, bloodthirst and corruption.

Why, then, is it okay
for the West to transgress against others
for our own political, economic or simply sadistic goals
and for others to transgress against one another
(and for the West to bet on their strife and rig the odds too)
but then when it's done unto the West,
they're unforgivable evil warmongering savages
whereas the West is just innocent?

What the ****?
Why do we in the Western cult of the World
get to be Judge, Jury, Executioner,
Press, Victim, and Beneficiary?

Sounds kinda ethnocentric to me..

Maybe these attacks
are to violently prove a point
that we are not so different or stratified or separated
as we may wish to think we are.

Maybe they're angry
we refuse to allow them to sort out their conflicts for themselves.

Maybe they're frustrated
with our domineering and permissive Western-world-centric
commodification, dehumanization, and globalized ****
of any resources, people, or land we wish to own
which is so graciously sacrificed by our sacred Mother Earth
for all and any to use-
so many of which so happen to occur
across petty and mortal geopolitical lines
drawn by fingers of Devils
in Gods' sands.

This type of ire and violence
should never be condoned
and I am deeply disturbed and ashamed
by our irksome and shameless
double standard propaganda.

All lives matter.
Period.

Regardless of
ideology or nationality.
Regardless of
***, sexuality, skin, dress, or hair.
Regardless of
language, culture, or material wealth.
Regardless of
geography, education, religion, or politics.

Besides,
I'm certain we've already spilled
at least just as much blood in retaliation.
How many of the dead would have to be innocent for us to even care?

It's a vicious cycle we Humans are pretty "good"at.
--
--
Please know that this plea is neither intended to downplay the very real pain nor to legitimize gruesome and tragically inhumane events, but simply to empathize and show solidarity with all of Humankind;
not just our fellow 'Westerners.'

We are all equally Human.
Every ******* one of us.
No exceptions.
Period.
Ever.
Period.

Our enemies are extensions of ourselves.
We must allow them to teach us.
To keep killing one another
is to perpetuate our self-inflicted purgatory
as a conscious species.

If we refuse to change,
perhaps we've earned this Hell.

Hold people accountable
for what they do to our planet
and to her life- our lives and those of everything around us:
animals (including Humans), plants, ecosystems, economies, philosophies;
no matter which side of which line they're from
or what name they go by
or what title they hold,
for the Devil's face and name must be known
beyond a shadow of a doubt
to be able to confront the Evil
and have the knowledge, courage and integrity to resist it
and in so doing transcend into Heaven.

I love you all.
Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Paths.
none entity Oct 2014
Just what was love to you, sweet darling of nothing but bitter
what were its intentions
what reason was it there for
what wonders did it long to see
How many desserts did it wander
how many oceans did it swim
how many infernos did it dare enter
Darling, just what is love to you?
Was it as visible as your crystal-clear mirror
or was it as hidden as the flaws you tried to bury six feet under
while she was enveloped well in layers and layers of your pockets
in her gravestone, written, “Suffocated”.
Darling, just what is love to you?
Was it as long-lasting as the stains you’ve left in every room inside her house
or was it as impatient as those almost-adventures to deep seas, warm sunsets, and high mountains
she was just as ready and as packed as you were but you were already-distant when she went out the door.
Darling, just what is love to you?
Was it as understanding as the sea is to the shore
or was it as frustrating as a thread through the tiniest needle’s eye
you covered her in you salt-water and embroidered on her skin as if it was paper.
Darling, just what is love to you?
The truth is, darling; love to you was no one and nothing other than yourself.
That was all you ever cared for.
That was all you ever sheltered.
That was all you ever loved.
You were the desserts she wandered,
you were the oceans she swam and
you were the infernos she burnt in.
Darling, which was love?
Love to her was the mistaken-beauty in you
and you were so twisted in your paths to even
see how astonished she was that
one day her heart died loving yours.
You slapped heavens out of her and
ripped her silken being
whilst love for her was you.
Darling, you aren't much of it, are you?
George Cheese Oct 2014
My spirit soars in the squall,
tempestuous wind howling my body away,
a frenetic ire known only to me, all-consuming.

Then comes peace, bluster departing.
I spin silently through troposphere,
feeling the sudden gravity as I plunge.
storms and all that. can't get enough of storm metaphors in my writing. thought i might as well go the whole hog.
Bethany Davis Oct 2014
Dark and cold and howling wind,
My ire hot and anger strong,
I walk the streets and long for blood,
A lioness whose prey is gone.
My skin is cold but blood is hot,
The need to rip, the need to hurt,
I know I can’t nor would I try,
But hurt and anger are deadly food,
And I eat upon it in the dark,
And all that’s past and all to come,
I know I must step back and calm,
To calm and settle and fight no more,
To return to peace, to cool my blood,
And in the dark and cold and wind,
I try to calm, I look for peace,
For ire cooled and anger dropped,
For waning fire and waxing calm,
Back to myself, I turn once more,
And let it go and walk beyond,
The lioness back to her cave,
And warm my skin and cool my blood,
And let Fate do what must be done.
~Heated Blood by Bethany Davis, October 5, 2014
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