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old willow Oct 2020
A leaf drifting thousand miles,
against the wind, it live.
A mountain stood arrogantly,
against the withering time, it live.
Therefore, those who persist are alive,
the dead dare not struggle.
Struggling is life, persisting is life,
but life is not struggling or persisting.
The Red Woman Apr 2019
i could make lines somewhere else

but i'm too persistent

and a little too proud

so i'll just type a little harder
Acina Joy Apr 2019
And so, how are we to move on from a love we desperately hold on to?
So, I've past the 100th poem mark. XD
Breanna Stockham Jul 2018
I’m not tissue paper,
Despite what you think.
I might crumble,
But I won’t break.

Won’t fly away
In gentle wind,
I won’t dissolve
When the rain hits my skin.

Steadfast through
The hurricanes,
So do what you will,
But here I’ll stay.

I swear I’m stronger than you think,
Might be weighed down, but I’ll never sink.
My wild ambition loves to slide - ye all must understand
But fortune's ice prefers only the most virtuous of hand.
In Malaga I grew weary and wanton to possess
The most colorless canvas, one easy with a lazy happiness,
Disdained by golden fruit to the viewer be
As I passed the crowd to gently shake the tree.
Now manifest in paint, inward contrived and long since
I stood in bold defiance with the heart of a prince,
Held up on the square by one wanting to buy my latest cause.
Against the wind I held it up in spite of all the laws.
Do they wish to thicken my lot among all their other mistakes?
What circumstances find you this? -This is what my mind makes!
The buzzing of my emissaries fill my ears
With many solitary jealousies and fears,
Arbitrary thoughts brought forward into the light,
Contemplating existence, must it prove my vision right?
Weak are the arguments! Which the true artist knows full well,
Where weak minded people curse my renderings or are easy to rebel.
For am I not governed by the moon and by the far off stars?
Tread lightly on me and don’t put me behind your own bars.
And once in a shard of time let the Annunaki’s scribe record,
That my vision once rendered could somehow affect their lord.
The unrecognized Enki still wants to be a chief, yet none
He created was found as fit as barren Adam.
Not that he wished his greatness to create,
For leaders should wish not to be called great.
But he like I know our titles are not to be allowed.
For titles are useless and only dependent upon a crowd,
Those are kingly powers, thus ebbing us out, they might be
Drawn by the dregs of a falsely acclaimed democracy.
But in my paint I attempt, with studied arts to ease,
And shed the unholy venom with visions such as these.
On the other side of the canvas, not much escapes my eye –
But once in front of it – nothing escapes the me that I call I.
I have several prints of Picasso's work and sometimes I ponder their true meanings. I'm like that. I wonder what was the artist thinking as he created this or that piece. Picasso was/is a hard nut to crack. Born of influence and trained mostly by his father he should have had a life of luxury. But such was not the case. For a time he lived almost penniless and hungry a lot of the time. But even in those years he not only refused to conform but he defied all reason to conform to what he was being taught as an artist. Instead he blazed his own trail. And today more people know the name of Picasso than any other artist, I dare say. So - in this piece it is my hope to show you how original he truly was. To me his magic is found in his ability to reflect his own thoughts into - if not inside of - a particular piece of his renderings. After just a little study - you can see him in his drawings, paintings, etc. Here's a last bit of trivia for you concerning Picasso. Were you aware that in his earlier young adulthood that he was so poor that he actually burned some of his own art just to try to stay warm? Think of what any of his burned renderings would be worth today. Now I call that perspective.
Benji James Oct 2017
Plant two feet firmly where I stand
You'll never move me from here again
I never wanted me and you to end
Now I've got to find another way for us to begin
But I like the sensation I feel
It makes me believe what I've felt is real
I'm standing strong and firm
This hurricane won't ******* from here
And you can pretend
I don't mean anything at all
You can believe I won't find a way
For you to react
I thought it came down to all the memories
But now I realize there is so much more
Out there for you and me
I didn't want to give in to these emotions
But I see the girl
As more than what we are now
I see you as apart of me in everything
And I thought there was no chance.
But now that I've had another glance
Your my future, your my world
I'm changing my ways for you, for me.
The story doesn't end here
There's something deep inside
That brings me back to you
It's more than just your beauty and grace
Baby girl this must be fate

©2017 Written By Benji James
D Aug 2017
still even now I'm left to wonder
because you keep making yourself seen
when all I've been trying to do
is forget you existed
you're so naively persistent
having no clue what I am to you
yet still trying to clean up the mess I made
well there's a reason I made those mistakes
it's because running away
is easier than facing what I don't know
and never want to explore
Sharde' Fultz Jul 2017
Folded ripped and unfolded
You see the symmetry and its beautiful
But when you take a step closer you see the emptiness in the tears.
You see the valleys left behind in each crease of every fold
The rugged edges of the rip
Fingerprints left from a sweaty hold
Yes, upon closer inspection I am but the sum of my parts
And often all my parts appear to be disasters
And often they are
I trot around like a work of art
But few see what it took to get that way
How I was folded ripped and unfolded
Few can't see past what it took
They see the holes left in me but not the pretty shapes
And some see the shapes and I wish they'd acknowledge the holes
Still even fewer can comprehend the resulting work
And frankly, Sometimes I'm not sure I do
But I manage
A crippled work of art made beautiful by how neatly she was torn apart
I struggle to hold my new form in the wind and amongst viewers
Try to look like something relatable
And not like life spent too long on me
Worked till it got weary and persisted when really it should have rested its eyes
I try
To uphold my form as though every overworked corner and tear isn't centimeters away from destruction
As though the slightest snag or tug won't leave me hanging
Noticeably Deformed and mishapen
But I stretch and I retract with grace
Perhaps this is how I dance now
my life a pas de deux of trying to hold it all together
Just folded, ripped, and unfolded.
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