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Seazy Inkwell Apr 2018
----
Yes officer, they left two weeks ago,
The woman killed herself, is that so?
I don’t know much but
Seeing me by the market, she always said hello
She was pretty but never petty
She’s a lady who ended in a tragedy

Well, you see the husband was rich
He made a fortune in his business
Money, diamonds, roses, rings,
Whatever she wished.

So they were together for a while,
Her body was his fancy,
Her love rooted in the money.
But she was not mean, mind you,
She only cared for the materials
Like a house to shelter in,
Like a car to shield her from the rain,
Like jewelries to make her seem vain.

But how time flies,
The lines dug around the side of her eyes,
Extending underneath her cosmetics,
Wound around her expanding body.

But how love lies,
He was seeing someone else,
Keep exaggerating her faults,
Her ever-growing doubts.
I know, it’s a useless story to tell,
After all we did not want to see her fall.
Her jewels ripped out her neck
Shredded were the silks
And a house left in wreck.

But, sir, I’m truly sorry for her
A someone stripped down to no one
Her life unstrung, her story unsung,
And all her things undone.
I am thinking of writing a short story based on this poem. Any feedback/ advice is welcome. Thanks
Merry Mar 2018
105
I want my name up in lights
I want my legs up in skirts
I want, I want, I want

I want my name in the stars
I want to drive fancy cars
I want, I want, I want

Glitz and glamour: diamonds and dust
Magnetism and egotism
Connect the celebrated cosmos

Bright lights and bright eyes
People are gonna know my name
They’re gonna scream my name

I’m ready to take my chance
I’m ready to get up in stage
And I’m ready to rock my little heart out

Gonna take someone by the hand
Gonna give it a spin
Gonna see if I can win

Maybe people are just being mean
Maybe people are just being polite
But maybe people do see something
In my blue eyes
But maybe people so hear something
In my singing voice

Call it fate
Call it destiny
Call it anything ya want
But I reckon I got something
To back up the fact
That I got to stake my claim
In the game of fame
Graff1980 Jan 2018
To be a caged animal
and illicit stares
of shared despair
while trying to
clear the air here
of that ***** stench.

The populace passes
by my caged display
as I try to play
pretending that my pain
is not so real.

I dress myself up
in nice new things
watching how
the other animals swing.

Reality shows,
sports events,
and other
things
obfuscate
how human beings
isolate themselves.

My cage expands
to fit all my pretty things,
while my mind shrinks
and stinks of sinking fools
who are also drowning
in their own stool.
Liz Carlson Oct 2017
Voices in my head influenced by society,
telling me I need stuff in variety.
Materialism slowly suffocating me,
minimalism too hard to achieve for free.
Juju Aug 2017
Things, can't make you happy.
I fear,
I want a start a life.
But am I not living one already?
So I am I really just asking for a Thing,
In hope of happiness?

Even if I know the difference,
Can I live it?
Lucius Furius Aug 2017
O Babylon! Your God is a sport-utility vehicle, a VCR, and a two-car garage!
You delight in images of killing and artificially-large-breasted women!
Your arteries are clogged with Big Macs and a thousand pieces of Kentucky-Fried Chicken!
Your God is Technology.  Your God is Progress.

Your skyscrapers rise to the heavens!  Your astronauts fly to the moon!
You clone sheep! alter genes! make a mountain into a parking lot!
Your fields flower!  Your grain-bins groan under the weight of the ripe corn!
But the land of your soul is a desolation.

O God of Henry Ford, the Wright Brothers, and Bill Gates,...
All the nations adore Thee!
(Pretty soon they'll be ordering Papa John pizza by cell phone in New Guinea....)
Your God is Mammon.

After the movies, after the Quarter-pounders-with-cheese, super-size fries, and a large Coke,
after the evening news, the Hostess cupcakes, golf, beers, and swimming 20 laps,
the hunger will be the same as the day you first felt it, O Babylon!
the thirst of the soul, O Babylon!
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_068_babylon.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
you have stones and rocks to play with
clothes hanging from a tree
a *** of rice to portion
and you barely think of me

i have popcorn in my pantry
coffee ready to brew
clothes with all their tags on
and yet i'm envious of you
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