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Kendall Seers Jan 2018
a young warrior fulfils a dream,
one on one combat, and his foe
folds like wet parchment.
a wounded musician, has his back
even as the javelin impaled
in her arm (her spoils)
drips with life.

the clatter of a die.
a number announcing if she survives
is softly reported

[or how Oscar’s help was neither wanted nor needed, thank you very much]
This is part of a series of vignettes from my first Dungeons and Dragons campaign.
Rajas Nagpurkar Jan 2017
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.

Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.  

Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.

A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of  rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ******* of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
AM Snyder Feb 2016
And just like that, the two most impossible things happened.

1. We were over
2. Leonardo DiCaprio won an Oscar
AM Feb 2016
burn your playlist to an empty CD
wish I could just burn our memory
here I lay in my room, all lonely
only got you in my mind now, baby

I close my eyes, imagine you in your car;
smoking, driving further, driving so far
meanwhile, I still wish for the last falling star
patiently, like how Leo waited for the Oscar
Vert Clair Sep 2015
Oscar Wilde, where do you get your inspiration?
Tell me, do your muses dance on the stars,
can they be heard by the sea?
Poetic and tragically romantic,
words strung together on the dewey webs of little black widows,
poisoning me with a cracked rosy vision .
What visions dance to create such imagery?
What do you see, in your time, to create vivid color?
O, Oscar Wilde,
the question haunts me.
Where do you get your inspiration?
I'm gonna do a poem-a-day kind of thing probably, and this is number one about how much I really like Oscar Wilde's work.
Sara L Russell Jul 2015
( July 16th 01:10am)

Dear boy! The love that dare not speak it's name
which caused you suffering, expounds these days;
no golden sphynxes fold their wings in shame,
there's pride in gaiety and all it's ways.

To think that tiny window on the sky
was all you had, to show the world was real!
For bigotry and hate will always try
to break a butterfly upon a wheel.

Bereft and broken, still by love possessed,
you were vanquished by prejudicial law;
and yet, with trusting candour, you confessed
to all the passion you were fighting for.

From Paradise to gutter, behind bars,
Oscar was always looking at the stars.
Carla Blaschka Jul 2015
Fig Pizza melts on my tongue
Dark Chocolate lightening my mood
I could be squashed on the street
Run over by revolution
But I’m not
I could be shot in the abdomen
1…2…3 times for not paying a bus fare
But I’m not

My mood is blue
But my skin is white
I am fed, housed, clothed
Owe debt but cannot be jailed
Don’t have a job but have friends
I am not desperate
Just sad
I am not in isolation
Just a witness to those who are
I am not sick
But see its effects everywhere
I am not rich
But I am, I am
Written 1/24/15. In honor of Oscar Perez Giron fatally shot by police over a bus fare.
Dominique Torrez Jan 2015
" I love your positive outlook on life. It's like you're never
depressed. Or at least
I wouldn't think so,"  you tell me.
Maybe that's why DeCaprio never won his Oscar;
they're  savin' 'em all for me.
unnamed Dec 2014
Her Voice by Oscar Wilde
THE wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing.
Her Voice by Oscar Wilde
THE wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing.
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