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(Land that doth marry mother lode
of sublime earthen land and sea).

Age of exploration
   ushered cruel fate
   against “red” men living
   in bliss by agents

   patch of eden north
   o Mason Dixon line
   latitude: 39.64839
   longitude: -75.95591 alee

perchance designed
   by divine providence
   with dyslexic humorous bents
   Cecil county Maryland

   lies like plump backward letter “e”
witnessed topographic erosion
   pocked imprimatur marked
   meteorological dents

   thru inundation of
   oceanographic propensities
   melding coastline like Galilee
in particular by Chesapeake Bay,

   that body of water
   abutting like natural fence
   first witnessed by captain
   John Smith in 1608

   mistaking himself tong tied
   in sole of Italy
learned faux pas, when crossing paths
   with Susquehannas hence,

   offered tobacco sticks to natives
   while recovering
   from injured wounded knee
said other sundry tribes curiously eyed
then (I utilized poetic license)
took smoke from packet of Kents
   which twist on actual
   historical facts manipulated by me
but more truthful account awash
   and replete with more

   than interspersed nonsense
   and incorporates tract situated
   in so called Fertile Crescent – see
settled by Europeans of English stock,

   who emigrated with nary a pence
   “taming” shrew like “noble savages”
    plied Leviathan sized ukuleles
whose might exploited for felling forests,
   which timber built cabins with vents.
Alaina Moore May 2018
Learn how to talk!
Type out a message
Erase it.
Chemically induced paranoia.
Marooned by burning bridges,
I fear starvation.

Just surviving life right now
minutes or hours at a time.
It's not pretty.
Poems don't lie.

Perhaps that's why
I can only gush feelings
in some rhyme or pentameter

Not really pentameter,
to much work and time.
This **** has no flow other than
how I think I'd speak it in my mind.

Can't call it slam.
It's just word *****
so I can read it over
and over and over.

Send it to a friend.
Narcissistic desire.
All positive reviews,
so it doesn't matter.

It's easier to remember the feeling this way. (I guess)
Jaded poems of a jaded mind.
My issues are simple
relapse, replay, rewind.

Chain smoking simply for the high,
Et Cetera, et cetera, along those same lines.
Got all this to live for
yet that **** still remains?

Are you ******* serious?
I thought I served my time!
Regressed back to a default state of mind.

I thought I was better than this,
control seemingly was mine.
Normally I'd meditate;
not in that house of horrors

I barely eat,
Not drinking water.
Nothing but making it worse.

Escape: all available options.
I joke about it.
Reminiscent of Lennon:
Help
This poem was sparked by a chain of events that lead me to a state of total mental instability. Since I was 13 I have flirted with thoughts of suicide. When hard times come around, even decades later, I still revert back to those thoughts. This also goes into how I often write poems, send them to friends for their reviews and then the poem essentially dies. However, I find it hard to articulate myself in other forms. Text is where I find my solace.
Cedric Apr 2018
I fear the unreasonable indeterminate,
Anxiety that gushes over like a fountain.
My body is trapped in lethargy,
Naught an ounce of motivation to move.

I begin to step and prove,
That my anxiety has turned me petty.
My thoughts trap me in my pain,
I begin to question my fate:

Why do I fear the unknown?
Why can't I escape?
Why haven't I grown?
Why is there a hole; a gape?

I enter into another phase called apathy.
It turns into blatant antipathy.
It exhausts my soul until I become empty.
I get filled again due to hypocrisy and piety.

I wake up; wanting to go to bed.
I can't sleep; my anxieties cover my head.
I get frustrated and I ache.
I give into despair and break.
I get fixed; inescapable, I said.

~

Repeat.
...I can't escape
Hopeless Outlet Mar 2018
"Jaded eyes, are the hardest to soften."
SeaChel Mar 2018
I always find myself
in the same frustrating predicament.
There’s something my heart wants,
though my brain can’t figure out what it is.
It’s like a wild goose chase;
My mind thinks it’s on the right track
My heart seems to agree,
then my pursuit comes to an abrupt halt
and my heart runs away maniacally laughing.
This is why I listen to my head over my heart always.
melanie Nov 2017
a broken lover's promise
turns from an act of randomness
into one of normality
as days begin to fade along the edges

bleed me dry in the quiet moments
& take my love for granted...

I'll leave my mark when I'm gone
Matt Shepp Nov 2017
It's been about a week since the divorce finalized.
Sleep has fled my eyes, and I've wanted to cry
So emotional tension can leave me and let be myself and I.

Is there any other reason to steer clear
Of my co-worker's relationship troubles and fear
While on the outside I smile and pretend to hear
Than to continue being friendly over a beer?

At least I've got a financial break.
I've got a lot of money to make
Waiting tables for five days. It can take
A lot out of me, but it's worth the physical pain at stake.
My knees are sore, and my feet might break
From all the walking. And from putting up with all kinds of stupid requests and complaints
It's a wonder I don't get baked.

At the end of the day, I may not thrive,
But I'm lucky I still got a will to survive.
So this Thanksgiving week I didn't crash drive
When I could have, and it makes me glad to be alive.
I think this poem is modeled on Eminem's a capella rap format and style.
The Dybbuk Apr 2017
I am sickly, weak and broken,
From all the words I leave unspoken.
I am plagued, hurt and deranged,
From the curses I leave unchanged.
I am full of expectations,
I have fully crafted plans.
I have names for operations,
I won't achieve with my own hands.
I walk through worlds and I'm displeased,
But it isn't these lands that are diseased.
Bryan Oct 2017
Men have scoured the earth
In search of lesser women than you.
Wars and famine,
In veneration,
Have been stricken in pursuit
Of the likes of half your substance.

Lain waste, the kingdoms of men,
And religion alike
In the name of madonnas
A mere fraction of your awe.

Tearing hell through this earth,
Here you stand before me:
Never prostrate, but exhilerant!
Sparks flowing from your hairtips:
A woman scorned!

All for the adoration of a poet:
The subject of your wrath
For his perception.
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