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Sai Kurup Apr 10
Head spinning
Heart aching
Torn between worlds
Like cloth being ripped apart

One of tradition
Speaking my native tongue
Wearing my culture
A dress adorned
With the tales of nameless ancestors
Lost to history

One of modernity
Pursuing the passions
That burn like a blazing sun in me
Eyes sharp, voice echoing

Trying to find day and night
In search of me
Debbie Lydon Feb 3
I'm told that feeling and love are innate,
So why can't I communicate.
I'm despairing and longing for human connection,
But I'm met with indifference or even rejection.

Internally I harbour thoughts of kindness,
But they wither in the wake of external blindness.
I'm obsessed with truth and authenticity,
And this comes at the detriment of anyone knowing me.

An extreme fear of misunderstanding remains,
Despite me knowing that this is my ball and chain.
A depleting hope lingers on in my dreams,
So fragile and weak, a mere ember it seems.
A poem concerning the anxiety surrounding the difference between the way you are perceived and the way you perceive yourself. A fear of misunderstanding is ever present in a society that is fueled by facades and a cold approach to eachother. It causes pain and this is becoming more and more overt in our day to day lives.
Taliesin Dec 2018
There are those who’d curse the paintings
That held the highest beauty
For being formed from something
Impermanent as oil and paint
Intangible as light.

There are those who’d curse a romeo
Cast in stone relief
For such vanity, and hubris
For how could such a man
Begin to know such beauty and
The truth of open feeling?

There are those who would cut this holy wire
That tethers us across the world
For fear of some lurking evil
Some banging in the dark
That’s bound to take our souls away
Some lack of love or depth

There are those who’d see the flesh on flesh
And cries like angelsong
And **** it for it’s fleetingness
For their father’s love was purer.
For their father’s love was strong
Their poor and lonely fathers
Cursed to loveless love

Oh brave new world that I have seen
That has such people in it!
Who cry for long-forgotten men
Yet **** the ones before them!
wrote this in anger after the 50th poem I saw pass by which complained about the evils of modern technology and society
Rohan Press Nov 2018
amass, the flesh.

we're just spinning brains
without a central axis.

and i thought that you would
steady me, i thought

you would expect more.
towards the centre, like an earth.
Ellie Wolf Aug 2018
I could hear a pin drop.

No, a ball of cotton lightly float and touch down.
Upon a silk sheet.

A speck of dust land on another speck of dust thousands of light years away,
where the colours are inverted negative,
and creatures communicate in a way that doesn’t require poorly worded drunken blurbs
converted into electrons
travelling from one annoyingly loud metal chip to another.

I can hear the electrons converting
and I can hear them laughing at me.

I am a speck of dust upon a speck of dust.
Ungracefully, heavily falling onto my creased sheets.

Alone.
Larry Kotch Jun 2018
Our minds, our dreams they built a noise;
The men that played with little toys;
The houses, castles of muddy boys;
Towering now they could empower all;

We scream and **** and hunt through malls;
We stamp the weeds through cracks, in awe;
Driving fast to make the trains;
It's those before that take us home;

Past the blocks of all the mighty;
Past the seas and trees that bow;
We end up back to wood and stone;
When they kick us off our thrones;

We let go of a force that needs us;
A swelling pride that really sits beneath;
We sheath our swords our pens our teachings;
Their silence cuts our crowns to pieces;
A meditation on the propensity of the contemporary human being, specifically men to march progressive values over tradition. The principle metaphor being nature, representing the timeless and much more ancient source of value and responsibilities humans should intuitively feel but seem reluctant to confront.

Thus the swelling pride actually comes from the immense pride we subconsciously have for the human project thus far, 130 000 years of basi9c human existing with its traditional family units. and its humble but established origin, not the fast paced castles and toys and malls that we think we derive values and empwerement from.

Men march through life stamping in the weeds of that ethic that goes just noticed underfoot, one human lifetime is not enough to fully appreciate the swords and books and values our ancestors developed over thousands of years so much so that we evade thinking about them completely. That silence, when we truly recognise it, when it looks us in the face when naked cuts our ambitions and glory down to peices.

Or something like that
Brent Kincaid Feb 2018
Smoking butts from ashtrays
And twice-cooked coffee grounds,
Bumming coins from my neighbors
And searching for change on the ground.
Mayonnaise sandwiches daily
And buying ramen by the case
I switched from Coke to iced tea.
I like the difference it makes.

Being poor is a decision I made
It affects virtually everything I do.
It took away some of my decisions
And life is suddenly quite new.

I lay my shirts and pants out flat
Between box springs and mattress.
I’m learning how to cook for myself
And to do better laundry I confess.
I use my friend’s laundry room
And bless him every time I do.
It’s a lovely thing he does for me
So I try hard to reciprocate too.

Being poor really teaches me
What is necessary in my life.
I learned I can survive quite nicely
Using a McDonald’s plastic knife.

I don’t have cable or a cell phone.
I walk and take whatever bus is near.
When I need something like socks
I scrounge and play things by ear.
I go to second hand stores a lot
And yard sales with my few dollars.
And yes, my clothes are getting sad
My shirts have rather fuzzy collars.

Being poor became my choice
When I realized I didn’t have skills.
I catch whatever jobs I can now.
I sure hope poverty doesn’t ****.
~ Ommm ~

I'm attempting to find inner peace on the top floor
of a down town community hall.

                   ~ Ommm ~

I can hear the anxious siren of an ambulance;
its tone stretched out by the sound waves
that fail to keep up.

                  ~ Ommm
       Focus on your breathing... ~

For an apparently relaxation endorsing pose
right now I feel very uncomfortable.

                  ~ Ommm
       Look towards your inner eye.
       See the beam of bright, white light shine
       From your third eye.
        See the bright light...  ~

I can't see it, are there special opticians
For people who can't see through their third eye.
Maybe I don't have a third eye...
Oh no, I don't think I have a third eye!

                  ~ Ommm
         Focus of your breathing...
         Focus on the bright light
        radiating from your inner eye... ~

Okay I think I've found it, is that it?!

          ~  You should follow along
               towards the golden temple,
               Step forward.
              And with each step
              focus on the feeling
              of the fresh, green grass
              beneath your feet. ~

My right foot has serious pins and needles!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!

        ~ Your left foot is your Karma,
           Your right foot, your Dharma
           With each step focus on the feeling
           of the fresh, green grass beneath your feet... ~

My Dharma has serious pins a needles!
Ouch, ouch, ouch!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!
                              
                            ~ Ommm ~

I need to move but I don't wanna disrupt my zone of inner peace.
Ouch, ouch, ouch!

                      ~ Step into the pool
              and feel yourself melt within it.
         And lose the sense of having ****** form
                 Float into the nothingness.

                   Drift off into the water...  ~

I wonder if there are inner eye lifeguards
For the little imagination people who can't swim.

              ~  Focus on your breathing ~

Pins and needles!
Ouch ouch ouch!
Maybe if I wiggle my toes a bit...

       ~ Gradually come back to the sense of having a body.
                 Feel yourself being bought back to life.
                                  You are re-born. ~

Re-born?! Well, if you say so but
My right foot is proper dead right now.

                             ~ Ommm
                   Keep gently breathing... ~

And now I better brace myself for
the many uncomfortable, complicated poses
that we will manipulate our bodies into...

                             ~ Ommm ~

That distract us temporarily from the manic metropolis chaos
that's buzzing right outside the windows.

                               ~ Ommm
          Stretch out and breath in that beautiful prana ~

The dusty air, choked with car fumes
and the diesel engine hum of the noisy dockyard nearby.

                                 ~ Ommm ~
Written April 2016.
Though it was not a time of religious musing,
it was an escape from the spirit bruising
of the telescreens and jingles,
the buzz of invisible,
the noise of the motorways.

We could natter in the pub,
on a Pilgrimage, of sorts;
to sort, to find a beginning.
Or at least to open a book up
somewhere near the start.
Written July 2014
Kagey Sage Sep 2017
We're forgetting the art of talking on the phone for hours and hours
It was better than texting because you could hear each other's voices
in near real time
without having to show oneself
Now you can hide your voice too
and overthink everything you say

It's texting or video chat
You're either the most remote
or as close as you can get
from a near human reaction

You're yourself after you think long and hard?
Not who you trained to be on impulse
Who trained me I wonder?
Me, commercials, parents, environment, or destiny

It's my goal to be a fractured self
that can immerse themselves in the entrails
of any one of these cubbyholes
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