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ConnectHook Aug 2019
Butter-baste in haste
For better poet-taste
Reposting pastry
Pronounced as mastery:

Past repast
It goes down fast
Poetic firsts shall be last
Poetry's straitjacket, unlaced
Lack of meaning showcased
I just vomited it up
(for your erudite perusal)

*** I'm like SO totally embarrassed.
Just found out how "poetastery" is actually pronounced.
I'm all LOL just like ***.  
Fer reelz.  ☺♪☻☺☻ ♪♫
Jupiter Jan 2019
don't inflict me with your

dangerous, idle, self-reflection,

tap out of my headspace

my cerebral territory is not a good place

I don't need to think about my thinking

metacognition is a fruitless mission

I'm telling you now

get out
get out
get out
an award winning poem
Stefania S Apr 2018
inside of my mind

where no one else goes

darkened and shady

brilliantly posed

flowers run wild

while fears plant their seeds

i quietly sit

spaced out and relieved

empty voices speak

notes too high to hear

other times louder

than a scream to the ear

windows glow yellow

the moon sometimes too

mostly alone, unless i think of you

i’m walking down roads

alone and afraid

an empty hand

a shovel-less *****

toxic is the blood

that feeds off my thoughts

memories and wishes

destroyed and distraught

a kiss far too much

an embrace miles away

waking and sleeping

night turns to day

victimless mind

how quickly you fall

under the spell

cast by the call
ConnectHook Nov 2016
Be careful all you free-versin’ poetic hook-up artists and practitioners of unprotected textual *******. There are pernicious poetic maladies out there online. Casual cruising of ****** sites might infect your soul with bad verse. The wages of sin is death; but I would spare you AND your muse any viral  regrets.

Random coupling with unstructured lines you just picked up at some postmodern poetry site is NOT a healthy lifestyle in the long run. Go ahead–-call me a Victorian *****. Make fun of meter and rhyme schemes. Hoot at message-oriented versification. Throw inchoate drivel in my face… but when you come down with a compromised semantic system or an embarrassing case of nihilistic verborrhea, don’t come crying to me.

This has been a poetic public health reminder.
A poetic rant for HP.
Jasmine Skye Apr 2016
Meta cognition
is what's in my heart, why
did you promise till death do us part?
Play the tape through
I'll keep the possibility
in my back pocket
Behind the black line is where I stand
Outside the context is where I am lost
ConnectHook Sep 2015

When painters who paint about painting
meet writers who write about writing,
self-conscious redundancy
bordering lunacy
ends in esthetic in-fighting.

These modernists, right about nothing
(mostly nihilists mad about something)
are so lost in the process
they vent all their excess
in metacognition: dull writing.

You poets who muse about musing –
unaware you are reader-abusing,
provide a terrific
verbose soporific,
yet not of the hearer’s own choosing…

I long for some righteous verbosity –
but I’m stifled by all the pomposity.
This dull erudition,
is but an artistic atrocity.

You thinkers who think about thinking
drag my spirit far lower than sinking.
What we want is a Word
which we haven’t yet heard –
so till then I’ll just drink about drinking.

Lauramihaela Apr 2014
I have always been a writer.

When I was younger
I thought my ability to write
Was finite. I thought
My creativity would dry up
Like a pond in summer.

Now I realize the number
Of stories you write is not limited
To the number of pages you have
Or the amount of ink in your pen.

Creativity is the wind around us:
Although you can never really catch it:
You feel its presence on your skin
Even though it's not always present,
It's always certain to return.

I will always be a writer.

— The End —