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Nikos Kyriazis Jan 2019
There is a lack of coherence
in this universe, a pebble
said to me once

How can I be incorporated
to this forest which the
everlasting ages brought me to?
I'm merely a pebble...

The uniformity somehow
cracks beneath the wheel of Time
A new stimulus shall always appear
for the carriage to continue its course

None shall ever stop
the scheme between
God and Time
Pauper of Prose Dec 2018
She marched on herself
All battle lines and banners
Weapons reflecting one another
Horns howled
So that two sides packed into combat
Crushing, piercing blood splattered blows
Heaps of fallen bodies
And the mounting casualties
Castrated the confidence
Of the two sides of the girl
Who marched on herself
ruqayyah Dec 2018
Can you promise yourself to be happy
even when everything isn't meant to be?

Can you promise yourself to be happy
even when there's no reason to be?

Can you promise yourself to be happy
even when everything points to the other direction?

Can you promise yourself to be happy
even when it's means having to be like me?
life ***** a lot at times. sometimes, that's all there is--no life lesson, or whatever. sometimes life just *****. and that's the end of it.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2018
I don’t call you crumpet
I doubt you taste very good.
But you fit the name strumpet
Like I was sure you would.
A better name would be porcupine
The pork part fits you so much
But it would be so very awful;
You’re a thing I’d hate to touch.

I’d call your crew a clown car,
But, while you are surely on wheels.
You are more of a slow train wreck
Based on the looks and the feel.
Some fools call you Robin Hood
But I reject that whole twisted pitch.
Robin Hood did not rob the poor
Just so he could give to the rich.

You think you’re a smart cookie
But, you are nothing but a crumb.
You think we are all of us stupid
But only your supporters that are dumb.
You’re a ****** cake that has fallen
With a poisonous coat of frosting.
You are not worth a penny of what
A disaster like you are is costing.

You leave a nasty taste in the mouth
Of those who have to be near you.
There is nothing about you at all
That would serve to endear you.
It really would nice if you would go
Live for decades in a prison cell.
That color of orange, for once
Would suit you so very well.
Gianna Nov 2018
darling,
(can i call you that?)
how i wish that i could hold you again
how i wish that only you could see
that way that my heart is breaking
when you bring up the way you hold someone else
and when you carelessly remind me
of the way
you lack to feel
for me
how selfish of you
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2018
Sometimes think of happier days
How the sun shines brighter with your touch
All the desire sworn to me
Within confines of your clutch

As brain climbs up and down memories
Performing astounding acrobatics midair
What I want above anything else
For you to prove you care

This is my mind's obsession
Realize there's no turning back
Pills improve mood until effects fade
Then I am forced to deal with what I lack
I hate looking into mirrors...
Diana Santiago Oct 2018
Life can be a bore
A huge loud snore
Excitement is needed more
Mischievous adventures like never before

Life can get old
Makes me wanna fold
Need it to be bold
The lack hasn't got me sold

Life has become stagnant
Attracting lethargy like a magnet
The good old days just fragments
Day after day feeling so repugnant
Feeling like my life hasn't any adventure, reason, or purpose at the present moment. So I'll write to keep me from being frustrated.
Damaris ZA Oct 2018
there's no time for love
and no room for consolation

but

there's time for disappointment  
and room for failure
Julian Delia Sep 2018
Mingħajr flus,
La tgħannaq u lanqas tbus –
Hekk qalulna l-imgħallma tal-passat.
Nesew javżawna *** is-serq sfaċċat;
Lanqas ħasbu *** kif il-moralita’ ta’ pajjiżna spiċċat.

Qawl li jiżvela realta’ kerha;
Messaġġ li tassew iġegħlek tħares lejn il-mera.
Mingħajr flus, aqbad u insa’ d-drittijiet!
Dak li qiegħed ngħid m’huwiex sigriet;
Għall-liberta’ tal-pajjiż,
Bkew l-ommijiet, u mietu l-missirijiet.

Issa, minflok, il-liberta’ tmur għand l-ogħla negozjant.
Sadanittant, tefawha ghal bejgħ, u gidbulek;
Qalulek li għal ġid tiegħek,
Huma u jidħku bik u jdeffsu idejhom ġo butek.

Bil-flus, mela, tagħmel triq fil-baħar!
Bil-flus, ibni torri ħalli jkollok biex tiftaħar!
Mingħajr il-flus, insa’ s-saqaf *** rasek,
Ara taħseb li xi ħadd ħa jagħti kasek!
Mingħajr il-flus, ara minn fejn ha ġġib l-ikel,
Kif ħa titma lill-uliedek mingħajr ma jkollok tfittex fiż-żibel.

Bil-flus, pero’, tħabbilx moħħok;
Mill-maġġoranza tal-poplu,
Tistħix tigi alabibżobbok.
Mistoqsija waħda għad fadalli:
Gheżież antenati li ġew qabilna, li messew xtutna –
Hawn x’għamilna lilna nfusna?

__________

(in English)

Without money,
You shall receive neither hugs, nor kisses -
That's what the wise men of old said.
They forgot to warn us about shameless theft;
They didn't think about our country's morality,
In decline.

A proverb that reveals an ugly truth;
A message that forces you to really look at a mirror.
Without money, forget your rights!
What I am now saying is no secret;
For this country's liberty,
Mothers have cried, fathers have died.

Nowadays, liberty goes to the highest bidder;
In the mean time, they put it up for sale, lying to you;
They told you it's for your own good,
As they laugh and dip their hands in your pockets.

With money, then, build a road in the sea!
With money, build a tower so you'll have plenty to boast about!
Without money, forget a roof over your head;
Don't even think someone will pay attention!
Without money, figure out where food is coming from,
How you're gonna feed your kids without dipping your hands in trash.

With money, however, don't fret;
As for the rest of the population,
Do not be embarrassed to admit you don't give a ****.
I only have one question left:
Dear ancestors who came before us, who touched our shores -
What have we done to ourselves?
'Minghajr flus la tghannaq u lanqas tbus' is an ancient pearl of Maltese 'wisdom' that inspired the words you see here.
“death everywhere, not age or ancient, just an infiltrated lack of life”

a puzzling, troubling line in a personal message,
instantly isolated for further review,
needy indeedy for a second medical opinion,
for it’s a description of two,
an actual place and a state of being

a place where death seems more commonplace,
not from agedness or honor,
but from a madness drunk from a special cocktail of
heat, guns and pseudo-rock stars, with beer chasers

imbibed by those who imagine themselves INRL  
in a movie genre of specialized urban cowboys,
subset horror flick,
self-appointed angels

part of a world view
so pervasive that it infiltrates the mental water supply
and modifies the pure children early on

demeaning existence, with a sense, a sendup,
life is unreal, cheap, so taking it-is ok,
justice delivered, for we angels,
are subset,
angels of death

in a country where
seven out of ten believe in angels,
and one in four confident that
the sun revolves around the Earth

look to blame
polluted water
the ever-overheated atmosphere,
bringing typhoon and storm,

I do not know

how be sun and water,
the essences, the originations of all life
today come to the planet days still
clear and warm,
yet can not infiltrate our personal mystery,
respire, re-spark the notion of the spirit,


the simple sanctity of life peculiarly human
call me by my other name
mystified momma
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