writing poems is pretentious they say,
did you know?

apparently I'm stuck up my own ass
if I don't

sorry you act to good to express how
you really feel

you think its 'gay' and 'pathetic'?
well okay

say what you want
I dont care

it makes me feel alive
do you like feeling dead?

it's like your thoughts come to life

and it feels so real

I feel sorry for you,
if you think you're too good to express

or maybe on the other end
you're just too insecure to address?
He sits low,
But he rides high.
Their heads turn
When he drives by.
He won't stop
Unless you're trying
To buy,

The Man with the silver rings.

When he gets a call,
He'll drive to your house,
"Whatever you need,
A gram to an ounce,
It takes a bit longer,
If you want a pound. "

He'll bring you anything...

The party began
When his backpack arrived;
And when it was emptied,
It withered and died,
It took him one phone call,
To get resupplied,

And back on the scene of things...

The door's always open,
In case he stops by,
With Haze or Rhino
Or Widow or Thai
Sometimes he'll bring presents,
He doesn't supply,

The Man with the silver rings.
One of my best friends is a former drug dealer who used to work like this every night.  I wrote this after his arrest.
I excel
at the sport
(in love)
Riley Myers Feb 13
It wasn't your fault at all
I didn't know who to call, But
You were still in my logs

Always think of your face
An animal I couldn't tame, Yet
I know that nobody's to blame

Working on making it better
Know that it only gets better
I might never let you go
You always make me better
Help me out, under the weather
I might never let you go

I didn't know how to do it
Guess it's only true if the shoe fits
Can't we just watch a movie?

You always think I'm a player;
Got some things I ain't said yet.
Do you really want a relationship?

Working on making it better
Know that it only gets better
I might never let you go
You always make me better
Help me out, under the weather
I might never let you go
Just about the passing time between building trust and having a relationship.
Lucy Wooding Feb 11
The yonder above is forever bruised and opaque
Reigning over glum faces
Complexions washed with a bloodless shade of dispassion
Robotic, disengaged.

Material desires are quenched with vast shopping centres
Credit Cards hold on for dear live
As every last drop of sweet money is rinsed from that plastic rectangle.

Living beyond our means
Whilst simultaneously refusing to give up on Sky TV box sets and liquid lunches.

Hooked to our phones, but not for telephone communication
Rather, for self validation
Defined by the click of a heart or pathetic thumb.

The once friendly communities
With blood coursing through their veins
Are husks of their previous life form, gentrified beyond recognition.

Filtered faces with protruding spines and modified features
Infiltrate mass media
Corrupting the definitions of success and beauty.

Plastic personalities reign supreme
Vacuous minded socialites profess women’s empowerment begins with the flaunting of skin
Rather than the possession of a strong mind.

Many bury their heads in the sand
Residing in ignorance
As mass genocides and civil wars manifest every second.

Or worse, they read the TORYgraph and THE SCUM  
Believing immigrants spawn white genocide
And white conservatives suffer oppression.


I have deep contempt for those behind these dirty tabloids
Murdoch and his monsters
Orchestrating lies and bile
Destroying lives or scaremongering the impressionable
Committing the most savage, sycophantic crimes
In order to extract Monday’s headline.

I do not suffer fools
Especially those who make up the tapestry of dystopia
A failing age of doom.
Here I sit, the modern day,
With cares and worries, I can't wish away,
A child of four yet a lonely soul,
no one with me as I grow old.

While music plays I feel no beat,
Depression's heavy hand keeps me in my seat,
"What will I do? What will it take?",
"Must I keep wishing my life away?".

"You need a girl!" The father says,
"She will put your fears to rest",
The mother preaches, "You need your health",
"You need to look after yourself".

They do not understand the pain,
This new world is not the same,
Their old world in which they lived,
Was filled with joy and glee and bliss.

In my world, the current, the new,
Shame, gloom and death run true,
Friends are few, the trust is gone,
What happened world, what went wrong?

This life is hard, this life is tough,
I know now that I've had enough,
My time has come, I cannot stay,
Here I sit Reaper, come and slay.
The less you say,
the safer you are,
the more you say.

or always safe, few words
This says it all
James Khan Feb 2
The tenement buildings are grey like cement,
Unsavoury vertical mortuary wombs
With penitent sorrow as part of the rent,

Defeatist distemper inhabits the rooms,
Impoverished vanities stalk through the halls,
A social sepulchre of self-contained tombs

Awash with graffiti and piss up the walls,
Pervasive, the reek of relentless despair
Inseminates all as its influence crawls

Past flickering neon on narrowing stairs,
Infected by zombies with tracksuits and hoods,
Complacently hustling their contraband wares,

The penniless paradise, misunderstood,  
Where poverty poisons as poverty would
Terza Rima, this one and thanks to Dante again for this form which is in The Divine Comedy, I do recall. Eleven syllable lines, rhyming tercets with a carry over to the following verse in terms of rhyme scheme. I put the couplet in to finish it off else it might run forever.

I've lived in some real shit-holes in England and this poem is dedicated to one of them.
Dustin Dean Jan 25
Beguile is the way of the wine
Past those hillsides we climbed
Out of the forest
And into the land
Towards another festival
Of melodies within our reach

You’re so close
Yet so far away
As we dance in the front
But on opposite sides
Temperance and gaud
Affection and disinterest

Though it matters now
This too, will become trivial
Just give it a year or so
Before the secrets display
A forever changing idol
The cyclical ephemera
In the eye of God
erfection, once certain
eh..... just jesting
always certain
Just jesting.
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