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Zywa Dec 2023
My work is simple,

I too am averagely --

Poem "Arm" ("Poor", 2022, Koenraad Goudeseune), written on his deathbed

Collection "Over"
A M Ryder Sep 2023
"Am I evil?"
Youre smart
When you know
Nothing matters
The universe
Is yours
And I've never
Met a universe
That was
Into it

It grazes on
The ordinary
Creating infinite
Idiots just to
Eat them all

Put a saddle on
Your universe
Let it kick
Itself out
It'll never stop
Trying to throw you

And eventually
It will
There's no
Other way off
Zywa Oct 2022
The ordinary

is in slow motion simply --

nothing but beauty.
"Cashapona" (2022, Germaine Sijstermans) for bass clarinet, cello and *****, performed on October 30th, 2022 in the Organpark, by Germaine Sijstermans (bass clarinet), Marcus Kaiser (cello), and Dante Boon (*****)

Collection "org anp ark" #244
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2022
If you feel
Just an ordinary

I highly recommend you
To meet
Your own Picasso
Or may be Leonardo
Or someone like them

They all are
Best in their class
To portray
Out of you

There is something
Within you
That needs to shine

Acknowledge that
There: Alchemy
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2022
"memory runs back farther than mythology."

two years,
two months,
and two days,

in a cabin they built
near Walden Pond.

on a mission of gravity,
the heavens forming a spotlight
on centrifugal force,
abroad the hollow mind,

chronically untethered.

"I went to the woods to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms..."

this ship's captain was an architect,
but her starblazing failed
to break ground,
so this life is now a structure settled upon sand,

and way out yonder,
where there is
no blade of grass,
just weeds growing out from under the floor.

but her daughters are
grinning magnets,
passionate machines.

"copy that?...," asks Houston.

she takes a long, hard swallow,
the shadow of a bell
inspiring the astronaut in her
to shoot for incapable stars,
but the bell she hears now
is that of an alarm clock
telling her it's time to wake up:

shoulders straight.
hands free.
arms strong.
fingers stiff.
chronically untethered.

she's not looking for new days,
she is a new day,
compacted out of water,
tired of changing real estate
and showering with
other people's success.

those loud kids, her kids, play
down the hall, in the beehive.

radio jargon's on full blast too
and telling her where
to buy and sell today's instant pleasure.

she's busy now with self-stimulation,
Betty Dodson Method,
then mixing orange powder
with 100 year old whiskey
kept in the lunar module:

it's a spacewalk to eternity, faster-than-light:

she sees broken pool tables
and backyard swings.

she sees 'ordinary'
checked off on the calendar.

she sees 'happiness'
hiding in an old photo of Murphy's Camp.

she wakes to
her husband, Houston,
in a holding pattern,
she feels him moving, whispering,
and touching something
far off inside of her,
but not moored
in a specific time or place.

in search of where
she now exists
(if she even existed at all),
her memories feel artificial
in that she lacks
the emotional attachment
that comes with
actually having lived them.

there are no answers, no choices.
only reactions.
it is always going to be
that broken state of things:
these days of heaven,
chronically untethered.

"only that day dawns to which I'm awake. there is more day to dawn, I suppose. and like us, the sun is but a morning star upon being dreamed into existence..."
Koinophobia [key-noh-FOH-bee-uh]: the fear that you've lived an ordinary life.
Aislinn Vesper Apr 2021
What if I told you that happiness is a lie,
That love you think you have is swimming by,
Letting you know
You will never know how.

Emptiness is what surround us,
Don't let it get to you,
Don't let it get to you.
And if so, never lose that „you“.
Don't let the loneliness get the worst of you too.

I wish I could just walk away,
From the lies and dreams I've had about you.
I've imagined you as an innocent pure clay,
Who had no clue, no clue.

It's hard to admit it's here again,
the unexpected rain through my vein,
But it's the very same
Just with a different name.

I wish I would be strong enough,
To stand up and be myself,
Stay away from when it's rough,
Enjoy the time when you are not around.

I thought it's not possible.
Not possible to find someone, who could handle me,
So on the edge and yet, still so shallow.
I might be someone who sees a meadow
From a shadow.

They think when it's not visible
It's allright.
Then why I feel like
It's getting worse, more like.
The more they do not see
Becomes painful just to be.
Nikkie Jan 2021
I see a part of you deep within, that no other woman ever can.
When you walk into a room, my day gets brighter, and my heart feels deeper, because your very essence pulls me in.
I said a prayer about a year ago, for God to send to me a man like you.
I never looked at you in any way, other than just an ordinary person, I saw every day.
But one day I saw your shine; you began to glow, this masculine light.
You blazed like the sun, beating down from the sky, reflecting your power in my raging sea.
You’ve included me inside your circle, and given me a joy that I never knew existed.
You are the kind of man I can lose control with, yet trust enough to bury myself, inside your cave, inside your heart.
When I saw you today, as you walked across the room, that same light that pours out your soul, was bouncing off your masculine essence.
I hope I am the only one to see it, the brightness you exude, the light you are.
I want to be selfish, and hold you close, so no other woman can’t steal my joy.
I’ve prayed again, and asked God to help me, by asking him, is what  I’m really feeling is actually love.
God abruptly reminded me, that he is too good at who he is.
He gave you life, he gave you breath, he gave you the glow, that only I can see.
Your glow pulls me in, and draws me close, and makes me love you even more.
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