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m lang Apr 2022
i feel like sylvia plath,
or james dean when he said
“live fast, die young, and
leave behind a beautiful corpse.”
except he didn’t say that.
but sylvia plath was volatile
to her mind
and a tortured soul.
the carbon monoxide
filled her soul,
just as the misery fills mine.
the burning desire to exit,
to end it.
the desire to burn the
fires inside my mind.
the poetic way of james dean,
and sylvia plath
lives in my veins
and feels like a raging fire
that cannot be tamed.
MSNewhadney Nov 2020
Voidward, Sindark, starknell, Seraphim
Wow! Weird words woven in each other
Neither librarian nor dictionary can help
To figure them out, you have to ask him
All against Imagist instructions
- Where is common language? –
Poem needs to alter its definitions!
Will intellect select help?
Can we get out of the vague cage?
Look! One of the words shaken
Burden of ambiguity, taken
Scorpions shout: send me an angel!
Calm down singer! I said
Look the last word, it’s indeed an angel!
Coming down from heaven with a mantel red
No one can’t help watching, even dead
This is Seraphim! Don’t hesitate to ask him!
Said player of Being wearing ****** red
But I extremely fear of him
It may be a devil in disguise
Like a child I take refuge in ***** of my mom, kim
Although it’s against what done by all other guys
1- This poem was inspired by Nightscape composed by James Joyce in 1915.
2- A seraph is a type of celestial or heavenly being originating in Ancient Judaism. The term plays a role in subsequent Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.[3] The singular "seraph" is a back-formation from the Hebrew plural-form "seraphim", whereas in Hebrew the singular is "saraph".[4]
3- Scorpions are a German heavy metal band formed in 1964 in Hanover by Rudolf Schenker.[ and “send me
Karijinbba Oct 2020
Where do I begin!?
Bohemian Rhapsody
Yellow Brick Road
Angelina Jordan loves
SanGutier Angelina
adores Courtney Hadwin
River deep,
Mountain high dancing feet!
Pretty Little Things,
America got talent!
James Brown's;
fantastic dancer skill.
Barry White lover boy!
Elvis M, Frank Sinatra's
sad song "My Way."
Marcelito Pomoy man-girl voice!
Lewis Amstrong,
"What A Wonderful World"
Dancing Monkey
John Lennon Imagine!
C-hamRk-rocks too
I'm loving them all.
Wish you had seen this
true inner singing dancing
Quee-bee-me within
for drone inner you love.
By: Karijinbba
Copy Rights
Opal Wood Jun 2020
I cried the day you died
I cried the first year
I lost my mind
I became anger
My bitterness became my only way
To lose myself seemed to work
Losing you, I lost my innocence
It's been two years
So much ******* pain
My mind tells me to study
But the grief is heavy
Poolza Mar 2020
These Hoes be fake

These Hoes be dead
TJ Radcliffe Mar 2020
Brightness, darkness, falling both
softly from the spring-time air
teasing dormant life to growth
turning green the golden hair
of grasses dried and brittle now
to the Pleiades they bow
in thanks for rain, which brings new life
to pools and ditches, dark and rife
with strange concoctions, shadowed roots,
tendrils fine exploring through
the muddy depths to find a new
embankment where they push up shoots.
Brightness falls, the rains of spring
Closing now the season's ring.
My wife has been painting "wetscapes" recently: local scenes of ditches and swamps and streams, filled with spring rains (February is spring here). The line "Brightness falls from the air" is from a poem by Thomas Nashe, mis-remembered as "darkness falls from the air" by Stephen in James Joyce's "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man".
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
I just read the first page
of James Joyce’s ‘novel’
Finnegan’s Wake;
Joyce makes up new words
and uses so many new words
that I could not comprehend
what Joyce had written.

Should authors make effort
to use words
which their audience
can understand?
Whit Howland Jul 2019
Dear Sister

Although right now
you're not too keen on memories

there was a time when it used to be

stories and memories
were our musical symphonies

masterpieces serving only
to pass the time and get us past

the dreadful weekends of our
chores and other drudgery

so let us take one more trip
down the red brick road
and reminisce
about the robot we tried to build

the end result being
nothing we planned
but more than we ever could have dreamed

for the eyes the arms
the hands and metal feet
of our doomed creature
that should've have worked

failed miserably

but what was successful
was our monochromatic journey
through lands
of pewter steel silver and
shiny chrome

and at the end the road
was this marvelous monolithic
impotent monster that I still see
in the wee small hours of the night
when I close my eyes

and let that be the coda
for this fantastic voyage


your fellow maestro of absurdity
and your brother

Whit Howland © 2019
Disclaimer: Narrator and subject  fictitious. This poem was inspired by the paintings of James McNeil Whistler, namely "Whistler's Mother".
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