At around this time of year I would usually
start dreaming of girls with shoulder high hair
racing their way into warm summer crossings,
under midnight white skies,
following the shadow of giants ahead
that would never ever fade in the distance.
I stared again into long halcyon lights
shooting straight up from dying cities,
and every street corner turning slowly into the night,
enough time to feel I would yet be missing
another love story this year.
©2018 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net
How more lavish can our lives be??
Smoking dope, lying in sand enjoying the cool ocean breeze;
Not a care in the world; no deadlines to meet;
Who can stop me?  I’m the king of my own imaginary fleet.

As the time passed by and my cravings started to grow;
I was an addict in a tiny spark of time
And that is the only thing I know;
They showed me how to blow rings;
They showed me how to get high;
But they never told me that this habit will hit me like a rip tide.

I was just a young soul, with dreams in my mind;
Look what you’ve done to me, now I don’t even have time.
This journey has been short and easy,
Just like the first Kush you take;
Smoking was all that I did.
Please;
Now let me take a break!.
That first Kush you take, it's a beginning to your short end. As addictive as smoking can be, we all just start it under depression or with the influence of some friends, but soon it becomes a life style and in the end it kills us.
collect the idol gems.
have them fall again,
one and one in the seas.

call the great beast
that harbors the mysteries
in the deep.

and come forth,
and take back
these watered minds.

take back the breast,
the baking pocket,
and flushed tongue.

ban them to the depths of
blue Neptune, and
never bring them back again.
As vibrant speckles blotch the azure ceiling
And rainbows inhabit the sure ground
And beings of all kind, swarm, kneeling,
To the lion king, now crowned
The seeded oak doth grows for might
Struck with awe, day and night

Then comes the darkness, spreading the night,
And creatures of purpose and creatures of spite,
Lived with in peace,without quarrel or battle,
Herding amongst the lands, cattle,
The mighty oak forth stands by lives
Seeing all with watchful eyes

And hues of pink, orange and yellow,
Shed its light on many things, my fellow,
Building its houses of grey and black,
Though yet some wish, time would go back,
The mighty oak doth stand and sigh,
Having seen all with watchful eyes.

And thus time and tide go by, no more
Yet nature recurs, and recurs evermore
29.01.2017
Obviously, about time. And the whole history of man.
I wish I would have been a nomad,
I would have travelled to the places no one had.
I wish I was a voracious reader,
Books would have helped me to forget her.
If life would not have been such a mystery,
It would have been easy to forget my history.
I wish I was another wanderlust
In a world which seems to forget so fast.
I never wanted to be like me.
Oh, how I wish I was not me!








Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.
Another simple poem from this small and simple person. I hope you enjoy reading it. Cheers!
Rebecca Yong Jul 28
step 1. have a thought or question that is meaningful in one way or another
step 2. forgo capitalization and punctuation for the sake of poetry and irony
step 3. make sure the lines are spaced out by pressing enter
for
each time
your
heart ached
over
not knowing
how to write a poem.
void
V Exeter Jul 20
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Elle Jul 20
An open-form poem


We stand up and speak out, in voices scratchy and riddled with slang-we cry
                                                         “consent, consent and equal pay.”

Those older than us, scoff and pull our knees off the ground, they tear our signs and say,
                                    “don’t you have another boy to throw away?”

“You don’t know your rights, who do you think you are? You work as a waitress  and have acne, you must be mad to think your voice counts.”

But don’t forget to vote on Election Day.

“When I was your age I was steady- with a good job, a steady girl, and those loans paid off.”
“You are not steady, it’s because you are lazy. Too much sleep and rap music is what is making you unsteady.”

Pastors and preachers and priests, say this generation is violent and lazy
                                                           and video game sales have risen.

These kids have no sense of reality, they are emotional and gay and trans and lesbian
We cannot block their cries out any longer
Because they are us.
They are black and white and brown and feeling.
And they are us.

Our sisters, our brothers, our friends, our lovers,
our people are dying.
In shootings, hate crimes and in standing up.
                                      
         “all these young people are killing the brick and mortar stores”
you are killing my people.


We have tasted reality and we will not hold back.
And we will stand. We will rise.

Our feet will be unsteady,
but we push
and pull
and advance.

No more we will be silent.


I have a dream.
If no man walked the streets, I’d wear a pretty dress at dusk and stargaze in the park.
                                
                                 But my fear of jeers and violence holds me back-
the dreaded “hey baby,” pounds in my head.
                                   Let me wear a dress and let me not be catcalled.


“You cut your hair.”
“It’s just a phase to cut your hair.”
“What if your future husband likes long hair?”
“Are you trying to say something with that hair?”
“Boys don’t like girls with short hair.”


As sad as it is, my story is not unique, all my friends have a story like mine. We sit at tables and drink our nonalcoholic drinks, carefully watching for the man who saw us come in.

We share tips on how to fit our keys between our knuckles, on how the elbow will hurt the most, in
                                                                 the face, stomach and groin.

We share our shame the dirty feeling after a man purposely touches your arm as you brush past him,
the shame you feel after you decline him, and he mocks you with words like
                                                                         “you were ugly anyway.”

The shame you feel when he respects your instance that you have a boyfriend, more than he respects your right to say no.

The shame is better than the potential risk of him finding out you are single; a solo woman is easier than one who has a man.
                                                            “c’mon baby, I know you want it.”
A stubborn “no” makes him declare over you;                                          
                                            “prude, no man would love you anyway.”



The boys loved me until I learned to love myself.
And then I was labeled,
bossy.
stuck up.
prissy.

Then they grew up and found it enchanting.
A strong woman was desirable.
Attractive.
Sexy. Alluring,
A challenge.
They loved it until they realized it wasn’t a front, that I wasn’t secretly insecure, they wanted me until they realized I didn’t need them.

I was raised in privilege. No gangs to fight, no mouths to feed, my rent was paid, and clothes bought new.

Am I untouched?

Has my white-fair skin erased for me, the everyday danger my brothers and sisters of color face?
bulimia,
anorexia
and blades
they will not touch me on this pedestal of privilege.
Isn’t that what they say?
You have good grades and both parents, depression and anxiety don’t hang out in the Hamptons

Our boys are starving- abs are easier obtained with lack of food, then with diet.
Let them be beautiful.
Let them be soft.
Let them be boys.

Shame on us for telling soft boys to “man up” when they cry and then raging when our husbands and boyfriends won’t show emotion.

We are a generation saying
No more.
This must stop.
This is not how it’s supposed to be.
This is not how we will be.

We’re self-named, untamed, untouched, unridden.

Scandal. Closed doors and stilettos. Parking under street lamps and groups because there is safety in numbers.
Hiding their tears and fighting to prove they are men, toxic masculinity is all over them.

This generation of children is saying no more. We are labeled feminist, weak and selfish.
We are told
“don’t be so mean,”
“keep your pretty mouth shut,”
“you run like a girl,”

Weak, powerless.
Lazy, insecure.
Rebellious, fickle.
Ungrateful, unpatriotic.
These labels surround us.
But they are not us.

And we will stand. We will rise.
Our feet will be unsteady,
but we push
and pull
and advance.
No more we will be silent.




                              Paragraph of Explanation:
This poem is an open form poem in the style of Allen Ginsberg. I participate in a movement of using poetry as a voice for activism, hence this very political poem. To quote myself (is that even a thing) from my comments on the “what movement would you start/participate in” assignment; “Teenagers should be able to talk about social issues within the medium of literature without it being labeled as “angsty” or “moody.” This is a poetic rant against all the people who think that teenager’s opinions are not realistic or “real” opinions, on: toxic masculinity, school shootings, racism, bigotry, violence and sexism against women.
I used italics to showcase the lines that were supposed to be significant. I used alliteration, assonance, rhyme, allusion, slant rhyme and repetition. I quoted Martin Luther King's “I Have a Dream,” “and it occurs to that I am America” from Allen Ginsberg’s “America.” The “Knees off the ground” alluded to the peaceful protest of the NFL, “We’re self-named, untamed, untouched, unridden.” is from Moonlily by Marilyn Nelson. The scandal line is a nod to the recent rise in women speaking up concerning the harassment in Hollywood. Stilettos is for the issue of workplace harassment. And  I have made my open form in the style of Allen Ginsberg and from a few modern poets who have written things concerning current politics.
It’s a call to raise our voices, that we will not be silenced, it’s a call to understand that we can change the world with our words and the fact that we will.
Nachos Jul 11
Left Left Right Left
I swipe, hoping to find it  
A Disney story IRL
Alas, I've reached the pit of Hell

Countless matches and open chats
Oh the deep regret one has
A drink, a coffee, a dinner out
Charming, funny or a lout?

Days, months and a year has passed
Too many swipes, none of 'em last
Incredible sex one odd out
But then I'm back on the look out

Left Left Right Left
Fuck Disney and fuck this
I'm on my own, I have a hand
Sex with myself is just as grand
CeilingStar Jul 9
15 March 2018
09:33 PM


In everything there appears to be a pure crystalline form

Chiseled, clear cut, categorised

Perfectly defined


We're one touch away from knowing everything and nothing all at once


Machines of habit

We're predictable, we're sequences and probabilities on a screen

Craving what we don't have and ignoring that we do

Seeing what's directly in sight and dismissing the depth

Imaging intangible possibilities yet living them through a screen


We know and don't care

We have arduously laboured over assembling a fortress in protection from fluctuation that we have unwittingly forged a cage

Lit by screens

Ruled by 'don't's

Deviation from living to halt death

Abruptly it did come, now slow does it wait

A blessing perhaps but for the dying, a curse


We uncover love so easily, so readily

and yet we lose touch of it so fast, despite our ever growing connections

We have knowledge

We have our memories to scroll through

We have lives to read about

We have inspiration upon every touch

We have it all a second away

Yet we spend our lives whiling away

In situ

Constantly buffering

k.g.
...
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