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John AD Nov 2017
Help me again from this pain,
My heartbeat is beating so fast and
I don't want to feel this way again
My body is shaking and nobody came
No love from others , and my heart always get some stain.

I feel I was in the penitentiary,
Trapped inside a cell,can't find a way to set me free,
I'm alive but I feel I'm dead
Every second of my life I felt I was running in a thread
Those books I read , Still hauntin' my head ,
The Knowledge I received , Is it good or bad?

This panic attacks , Solution is Xanax
Very addictive , but Helps me to relax.
Is this the same way to begin with ?
Or choose "To be Alive or Dead?"
Panic Attack
John AD Nov 2017
Gaano ba kadaling ipagwalang-bahala ang isang bagay?
Iniisip mo parin ba ang kasiyahan,
O hindi mo na namamalayan , ang iyong kapalaran?

Marahil ngayo'y hindi mo pa naiisip ,na
Kinabukasan ngingiti ka parin ba o,
Palihim ka nalang sisilip.

Tignan mo ang kapwa mo kayod-kalabaw buong buhay
Habang ikaw nakaupo ka lang nakaharap sa modernong teknolohiya,
Sinusubuan ng pera at habang buhay ka na yatang magiging buhay maharlika, Ano?

Magmamasid ka nalang ba sa nangyayari?
O iisipin mo nalang ang ginawa mo nung nakaraan,
Malagim na nakaraan na dinadala mo sa kasalukuyan

Hindi puro kasiyahan ang takbo ng buhay ng tao
Kailangan din ng kahirapan,kalungkutan para makamit ang inaasam-asam,
Huwag kang tumunganga kumilos ka , Ano?

Hahanap ka ba ng paraan o ngingitian mo na lamang?
O iaasa mo nalang sa ibang tao , o sa pagod **** mga magulang,
Na nakaupo ka nalang hindi kumikilos naghihintay ng pera ni Juan?
John AD Nov 2017
Nandito nanaman ako sa isang silid,
malungkot , nagiisip kung anong mangyayari sa paligid
Bukas ba ay payapa muli ang isip o bibilis nanaman ang tibok ng dibdib
Sa bawat nangyayaring karanasan sa buhay ko
may mga bagay akong naiisip na lumalait sa sarili kong pagkatao,
sa pagkatao kong , pagiging mahina , na puro salita walang gawa,
sa pagkatao kong kulang sa tiyaga umaasa sa kasiyahan na napupunta sa wala...At

Paglipas nang taon sa kolehiyo , nanatili parin akong talo
sa pag angat , pinili ang kurso na hindi naman kasing bigat ng abogado,
Oo inaamin ko naiwan ako sa larangan ng akademika ,
alam ko naman na ginawa ko tong landas na to para sumaya pero,

Dati yon iba na ang nasa isip ko ngayon,
sana pala pinagbutihan ko nung mga araw na nakakahabol pa ko
Pero ngayon ,ito natupad nga ang mga pangarap ko sa sarili ko ,
Pero di ko naman naisip ang kapalaran na darating sa kinabukasan ko

Ano nga ba ang magiging kinabukasan ko ?
Kung sariling kaligayan nalang palagi nag nasa isip ko
Palagi nalang bang ganto ang buhay ko o isang araw ,
babagsak ang katawan ko katulad ng pagbagsak ng utak ko
Tuwing naiisip ang mga malalagim na nakaraan sa buhay ko

Mula sa palangiting tao na nakikita nyo ,
Maganda lang tignan parang takip ng libro,
Pero ang totoo ay iba ang nilalaman nito,
Magulo ang takbo ng buhay ko ,
Pero salamat narin may mga tao na nagbibigay ng halaga at pagmamahal
Upang magpursigi pa akong mabuhay dito sa mundo...


Salamat Ina,Itay,Lolo,Lola, Kaibigan,Katunggali
Salamat sa walang hupay na pag intindi sakin sa lahat ng galit , panunukso
Pagmamahal , pakikisama at sa mga bagay na nakalagay dito sa memorya ko,
Isa kayong tagapagligtas dahil kung wala kayo
Wala rin saysay ang pagkatao ko...
Eleanor Webster Oct 2017
What makes a good poem?
Is it the rhythm? The structure? The carefully placed similes like dog treats and the restricted use of rhetorical questions?
Oh.
If that's the case,
I think I failed the test.
Oh please! Don't leave! Let me try this again!

(A cough to clear the throat)
Ha-HEM.

When one writes iambic pentameter
Doth that make his good prose the worthier then?

...No?

If I write a witty couplet in a rhyme
Does that make this utter **** more worth your time?

Have I got the tempo right?
I need an exclamatory tone!
Rhyming feels better somehow
But it doesn't make trombone.

My jittery jilted stream-of-consciousness different-line-length punctuation-less word-***** onto a page-
Pause for breath-
Can never match the likes of Donne or Keats;
But I've bled my soul and fire onto this page
And surely, that is worth more than conceits?
This is my attempt at humour. Apologies. The title is a play on 'A Good Friday, 1613, riding Westward', a poem by John Donne, who I was studying at the time. This was prompted by reading all the great poets and realising that, technically, I will never be as 'good' as them. But I like to think that art isn't quantifiable, and that so long as you write with truth and emotion, you'll create something beautiful.
TexasRambler Sep 2017
As Heaven and Hell filled your glass you gave me the the gift of laughter and raised my spirits several times.
Those stories about a plethora of assess, wild crazed friends, and a hard painful life intrigued me for countless hours.

Never are you just a simple shade of black or white your always that insane drunk artist that mixes up the paint.
Your advice and experience taught me new colors that I would have never been able to imagine before.
Unlike me your a true writer that’s unaffected with the STD of being just a poet, but you still just might have the clap.
Your works are ****** great so don’t you EVER stop trying to get your stuff out to this twisted world……..

Because if you quit I will seriously be obligated to punch you and I know you’ll still be able to easily kick my ***,
even though you probably broke your hip after you got out of your walker and unplugged your dialysis machine.

I’m not a mascochist  (Unless I get a *** of cash or your a pretty Asian girl) so please for the love of god never make me do that, and hell I really like a lot you so I’d really prefer not to put a .38 special deep into your chest cavity.

Keep staying crazy you ******* and although more than likely as your future attorney I’ll sure as hell stay busy,
but your my big brother and I ******* love you man so don’t you ever change.

P.S. Don’t hog on all of the good runoff ***** unless they are too chubby.
Heres a poem dedicated to probably the most interesting person that I personally know.
Mikel Sep 2017
You knew that for such yearning thirst

No sunlight rapture would suffice

When you created these poor eyes of mine

You were thinking of that eternal gaze

Enraptured by the endless deep
Though this was not mine. I just love the guy so much.
Andrew T May 2017
Thu used to live in Saigon. When the war ended,
she had fallen in love with a boy who lived next door to her.
He was her first love. He would write love poems to her.
Sometimes they would hold hands.
Once they shared a kiss.
They were young and deeply in love.
But as the war finished, they moved on from each other.
The boy went to live with his family in Australia, while she moved to America.
After they broke up, Thu would still think about him.
He was the one who dumped her.
The breakup crushed her heart.
But she didn’t let it mar her dignity.
Time passed, Thu moved to Virginia
and she went to high school in Fairfax County.
The letters started pouring in from the boy.
But she had too much pride and she didn’t respond until one day.
That was the day that John Lennon was murdered
in cold blood.
She was heartbroken like every other person in the world.
Yet, she also thought of the boy and how much he loved John Lennon.
Thu remembers reading the newspaper, seeing John Lennon’s face
on the front page of the paper.
She took a pair of scissors
and cut a square around John’s face.
Then she wrote a letter to the boy.
And then she sealed the newspaper clipping and the letter in an envelope.
Begged her mom over the phone to send the letter to the boy.
Her mom was still in Saigon and somehow she made contact with the boy.
And she gave the letter to him.
A month later, she opened the mail and there was a letter from the boy.
She read the letter, stifled a cry, and then proceeded to write.
The next day she sent the letter.
Thu was happy to read his words.
It was as though she could hear his voice through his sentences.
Like he was there next to her, looking at her,
speaking to her spirit.
Days passed.
Weeks passed.
And then after a month, she realized he wasn’t going to respond back to her letter.
She couldn’t believe that he didn’t give her a response.

“And that’s the end of the story,” Thu said to her son.
“What do you mean that’s the end of the story? That can’t be the end!”
“Well you’re the writer, right? Think of an ending.”
Nora Apr 2017
Two camps, divided;
On which one will I stay?
Little did I know
The road I took
Would **** me someday
inspired by Humoresque (1946)
Nora Apr 2017
Irreplaceable you,
Drifting into my world
With so little a care
As the heat of the evening
Turned into a sordid affair

Irreplaceable you,
Riding me gently, tamer
Of heavy waves
Tangled together in shadows --
For you, I’ll always misbehave

Irreplaceable you,
Slipping from my grasp
And into another’s  --
Trembling toward your kiss
Tell me I’m your only lover

Irreplaceable you,
But replaceable me
Left to wilt at the shoreline
While you sailed off to sea.
inspired by Humoresque (1946)
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