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A B Faniki Jul 16
Last night I told me niece
she is not paying
attention, she said she is

that she just paid
it a dollar. By jove
kids are now produce

like beautiful smartphone
and She 3  only.
I pray she remain smart.

Last night I taught my lovely
niece how to draw her finger
on a board by placing

her hand on it drawing
it, now everyone is running away
From her after having

their fingers drawn for hours.
now am afraid of teaching her paper ship
for she may flood the house with water
Niece has become my muse these days. I just wrote this poem for her © A B Faniki 7/15/2019
Laokos Jun 28
don't you dare smile
in the face of the
day.  don't think for
a second that
you are in control
of your feelings.  
see that person ahead?
don't acknowledge them.
head down, eyes forward,
mouth shut, heart
closed.
...good, now you're
getting the hang of
it.  now, accept everyone
else's authority but
your own, amass financial
debt, relieve yourself
with the proper drugs,
find someone under
the same
enchantment as you
and call it love.  
have kids because it's
the next step.  raise them
in your image.
then,

watch them repeat the
same cycles
and as you're dying, have
a flash-thought-
  "did I even notice who I was?  what I wanted for this life?"
and as the thresh
ceases to be held you
light a candle of hope-
your love the spark,
your children the fed flame.
you say,  
     "they will sever the momentum I couldn't, they will
          see it."
-after all they are made
to be better than you,
not simply blind copies.
yet as the kaleidoscopic walls
usher you on you wonder,
     "how many of my ancestors have lit this same vela del lecho
         de muerte?  how many were hoping it was their daughter or
            son?"

the security of tradition and
the risk-reward of novelty
played out across
lineages.  both correct
and incorrect in their
own ways...

which one reaches through
the ages and hums
in
your spine?
Anna Jackson Feb 21
Weary eyed shop workers curse the sight of dawn,
A drunken Hen stumbles and her tutu gets torn,
The smell of burning chip fat invades my nose,
‘Chips for breakfast?!’ I cry, chewing marshmallows,
I venture towards the tower feeling free as a bird,
When SPLAT on my shoe lands a seagull ****.
Rough with the smooth - that’s what this town’s all about,
I think as a man pulls his Jokebooks out,
‘It’s for charity!’ he lies. ‘I live here mate..’
‘Oh right, soz love, fancy a date?’’
I ignore the geezer and gaze out to the sea,
Wondering where the Lochness Monster might be..
Soaking up the sights as 2 drunks start to fight,
‘OI’ I shout, as a kid sets a bin alight.
Skaters jump like kangaroos on the bandstand,
As health freaks tut, running rapid on the sand.
Children charge like apes in supersensory mazes,
While parents eye arcades with terror on their faces,
Suddenly crisp packets dance in the air,
As the wind picks up and whips at my hair.
‘It’s hometime for me!’ A hailstone hits my eyeball,
And the blue sky runs behind some grey clouds of storm,
There’s not many places with 4 seasons in a day!
So don’t let the weather throw you into disarray.
‘Blackpool’ I say, ‘a town of stark contrast…’
As a horse driven carriage then a rat stroll past.
A town to make memories no matter how worn,
That time never erases as new ones get born.

Back in Bispham, where the prom’s a bit safer,
The oldies don’t buy 3 Hammers, just pies and papers,
I step off the number 11 bus and shout ‘Thanks!’
The bus driver grunts, takes his hand out his pants,
Then speeds down our beautiful, glistening prom,
Full of lights that probably shouldn’t still be on.
Emily Nov 2018
Pursuing new things.
Focusing poorly on life’s routines.

Losing the novelty.
Struggling to maintain new habits.

Missing long conversations.
Craving unceasing attention.

Struggling now.
Disappointing failures.

Fearing novelty alone drew me.
Longing to know what’s best.
Most things seem perfect at the start, but when the novelty wears off one starts to wonder if they’re worth pursuing after all.
Ricky J Oct 2018
Novelty delays fine work.
A lack of interest in persistence as it were.

Oh Novelty you and your cousin Naivety
wrap me in delusion and play on my vanity,
You tell me Rome was built in a day,
that riches come quick to those who simply play.

Oh consistency, are we here again?
The constant whip to push through the day,
I'd rather just theorize and think my way.

Yes, a lazy poet I am, I rarely speak of grit.
Such a millennial they say,   I think therefore I can.
zen Sep 2018
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,

Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ******,   in the shambles of the moon,  
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in  favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
    behaved haughty and in disdain,  
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
                 to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
   roving like noble patrolsmen.

Traveleres and trainees at sea
   humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
           volatile and toiling,
           tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
     hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.

Hence the heroes heed
   to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
 seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
      in the murky shadows of doubt.
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
We were once seventeen,
When everything is at its finest
With our first taste of champagne but
We prefer lemonade instead;
and our
Bodies with so many hormones,
o ****!
To learn we are naively in love;
with some boy who outwits you.
We play
Video games and eat too much.
The finest seventeen days were when we gave our fears a beating.
After two music festivals,
we would walk around the hills,
and then go to beach where we would talk in the cafes in the evenings.
At night,
we would be in her house with the windows open,
and the stars bright,
and after that we would say goodnight.

It'll all end in April.

We were once seventeen,
When everything was at is finest.
Inspired by Rimbaud’s poem Novel.
Ananya Kalahasti Sep 2017
Growing up, I was never trained to love Wonder Woman,
So when everyone threw her praise,
I knew I had to connect with her on my own.

I was never taught how to love her.

In the late hours, I found comfort in an
unmade bed, curled under her arm, over the curve in
her chest, slowly moving in from her shoulders.

She was raised hiding her heartstrings behind her ribs,
carrying an iron fist,
naturally trained to always protect emotion more than herself.

Bending structures and norms in society.

We always had the same gaps, yet somehow in other ways we
fit perfectly together.

Surrounded by others, we lived in a world on our own,

arms tangled like earbuds strewn across messy notes of pristine ideas.

Instead, we spent nights eating chocolate, playing cards, the background of
cliché yet novel sitcoms drawing us closer together.

Dissecting our hearts and minds in the early hours of the morning before
putting them back together and going back to another day.

See, we're never actually taught to love the people we seek to love more.
Here, I failed to understand how to connect, how to fuse two hearts together,

how to stop something right from going terribly wrong.
I'mnotreallysurewhatI'mwritingabout.
MaybeifIstartto slowdownitwill startto
makesome kindof sense.
There, that's much clearer!
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