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jay Apr 2019
A Simillacrum Feb 2019
Factions dance blade
to grindstone
Scholars scratch pen
to paper
Thinkers mash pride
to danger

What have I done?
Oh, I've lived
Meaningless & Ill
Longer than expected

What all have I done?
Ejected myself
From womb, to wooden womb
my yellow
basket went
mash and
my tissue
twinges thee
there on
ring but
bard in
mine 'twas
graft that
mud came
a peace
fulfillment that
didn't regret
intake of
grizzly and
movable feast
Em MacKenzie Jul 2017
I once heard that suicide was painless,
especially if you use the steel that is stainless.
But when you go, you're bound to die nameless,
and everyone is helpless but no one is blameless.

I once heard you could determine your life with a game of MASH,
from who you would marry and if they'd have cash.
The future was written out but the ink gave me a rash,
and the destination was plotted to come to a crash.

Now through early morning fog I see,
every regret and every memory,
grasping a hopeful visionary,
that in this life we can be free.

I once heard that suicide was painless,
and with tragedy you can become famous,
but the outcome is always quite heinous,
and we all have pride but the release is shameless.

Now through early morning fog I see,
the line between truth and reality,
and with every wish and every plea,
I beg the world to just let it be.

Yes suicide is painless,
it's a route of living chainless,
but it only leaves destruction in it's wake.
Yes suicide is painless,
it's skies are always rainless,
but the rays of sunshine are extremely fake.

Yes suicide is painless,
It's outcome is very gainless,
the only thing that's gifted is heartbreak.
Was watching MASH and felt inspired by the show's theme.
b e mccomb Feb 2017
suicide is painless
but injustice isn't

it's not fair
it's not fair

i've had a migraine
and a song to match
stuck in my head
for two days

and now
i'm crying

it's not fair
it's not fair

and oh but every war
is in color blazing
bright calfornia sun
soundstage color

he was so close
so **** close

but i don't think it
was the war's fault

you see some people
just aren't destined
for happy endings
and that's not war's fault

wars are needed
to keep things
too much calm
leaves mundane
trenches in us

but it's still
not fair

not fair he had
to die and not fair
that had he died
another way
it would have
been painless

take or leave it
but do i take
or leave it?

he didn't get that choice

suicide is painless
but death still hurts
i've never been this upset by a show before.
Copyright 2/26/17 by B. E. McComb
Poetic T Nov 2016
My daughter fell in love with a potato,
                        "A potato.......
My mind was confused and my face was a picture...
of why would someone ever love a potato?

I asked this myself in my head then out loud.
     My darling how have you a fondness for a potato?

He is the only one for me he is so soft and never
has a chip on his shoulder..

A chip? really, how did you meet my little lady.
He was just mulling around in a mash pit,
The music was the spud rock and he was my root.

I will have to meet you new boyfriend,
Dad, I love Barry, he even let me  wear his jacket
it was so fluffy inside...

Fathers out there would have the same look on
their face as I do now!!!!!
"OK,  as I was waiting impatiently to see this lad.

She walked in hand in hand, I just gave the daddy
look, hi Barry he stared in a starch looking gaze.
my daughter spoke "I'll just get my bag,

I spoke in my sternest voice,
"Barry if you don't treat my daughter right,
"Lets just say ill mash you up, understand....

And then they left not the gentlemen of before
no jacket to lend her, just walking out the door
like he had just been roasted by my words...

Hours had past worry in my thoughts then my
daughter came back, tears in her eyes.
"What ever was the matter my darling?

"He had steamed off because I wanted to know
why he never leant me his jacket,

"He said I was being a dumpling with him,

"So I told him you were right and that he had
a chip on his shoulder, he replied I was fried,

I told her that potato's can be a little mashed, and
a chip they will always have, because you cant change
a potato they will always have a little starch inside...
Wrote for my ten year old :)
Kerri May 2015
She's so ******* amazing and beautiful in every way
I couldn't imagine if we grew closer
She's my sunshine and my rain,
but I just can't afford the rain right now
She knows the power she has over me
and is taking full advantage

Will I ever be redeemed from these ashes?
I have faith even though it's shaky at times
but I'm tired of showing her all of my weaknesses, it drains me
She still has my heart and seems to crush it daily
I was used, until she felt whole again

My sunshine has been stolen
it's all tainted now
The emotional love has been severed.
But, I need you to know I don't resent you
This poem was written by taking a line from 13 separate journal entries I had written over a span of 5  years.  I chose a line and flipped to the next entry and chose another line to add below it. So this is what the result is: A Mash-Up Poem!
JoJo Nguyen May 2015
One Sunday Morning,
Josh & Nicole woke up
to find they had metamorphosized
into Jellyfishes.

As rosy fingered Dawn met
their night breaths and stirred the Sea,
an intense Grace sighed,
dreaming effortlessly on misty
shores still wrapped in silky
emerald sheets of caught
infatuation, hooked
on tasty morsel
twisted in loves net.

Their waking sinfulness
forgets the vast Ocean
even as their jellied skin glides
and melts together
under gentle undulating waves
and watchful Sun eye.

For the rest of their days
together, Josh forgets
to stare at lonely lands
and Nicole imagines
the next day together.
I'm following Nicole (freeyourminddd) & Joshua Ohmer (joshua-ohmer).

As an exercise, I've mashed their poems, Sunday Morning & Jellyfish, together! It's how our brain works. Events that are juxtaposed close together in space and time merge together and cause us to look for meaning in their random closeness! It then makes us remember that specific day better!
Christian Ek Jul 2014
The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.

I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.

We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.

— The End —