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Once upon
a nightmid dreary,
there once was a man
from Nan
named Pym.
That one lim
Eric?k is about him.
**** it.
Stephen James Apr 2019
Through these writings I'm finding more than just myself on these pages. I'm drawing a new sense of balance across a pure white canvas like roses intertwined with white laces. Never mind the heart I've left within the spaces of these phrases. What's clearer is the feature that draws the eyes of each reader. It's you who I find hidden within the truth. The heart I wish to speak to and soothe. I take pride in watching your eyes dance across the thoughts that animate each line. You're the discovery that pulls this soul through to recovery. So...It's not all about me...what you see here is merely a well-woven tapestry. Your experiences linked with mine forming a long lasting legacy.
a poem
Stephen James Apr 2019
scrolling and scrolling—
callused thumbs searching for the
"profound" on this site
...and i have yet to find it.
a haiku
I know that I
don’t possess the
beauty of a rose,
the ones before you
taught me so..

do you think you could
find a way to love me
for my words,
and for how I survived
through all of the things
that hurt.

I don’t need your help.
I just need you to love me
while I learn how to
love myself.
Bryce Feb 2018
Do not sell your words to devils
who will trade your wisdom for gold and trinkets.

Do not sell your love to any random house
They have no interest in the maintenance of your meaning

Do not sell your heart to strangers,
if they do not have a soft hand

Do not jump into the sea,
If you have yet to find comfort on the land
Tommy Randell Dec 2016
So, sat in a field drawing on a feeling of space
Until it’s time for the hordes of tourists to force me back
To the corridors of earth and daub called house
Where cobalt is a rhyme for orange and the things on the wall
Are windows onto embarrassment
Sometimes called 'An Artist’s Work' or 'The Picture Zoo!'

So, sat in the field, though it is still Summer
And I may as well invent pictures from words
As gravity from apples, believing the boat coming through the piers
Hugging the inside line, has Indigo from the Indies
Perspectives from the latitudes - being that distance and space
Are important - As Sir Isaac Newton told us why!

So, now throwing the horizon around, in theory
And on paper testing out such geometries and rhymes
As tourists leave room for in a field beside the sea
Until suddenly the boredom of not caring for it all kicks in
And the Black Hole ******* and stretching out my brain these years
Collapses into Light leaving something picturesque, an aesthetic?

So, the triangle, the circle, and the square become fancies
Of adjectives, nouns, and verbs, at once a metaphor of what I mean
And then a simple sketch of a moment, an impression
That time is passing and the field is where a record of it is made
That a poem of words becomes an artifice of chicanery
An intaglio where the space between the words is what matters!

Tommy Randell - 10th December 2016
Are we artists or poets? Things made by men are an artifice, a deception of reality. The sentences uttered, just so. An Art-Poem then ...
Jo Baez May 2016
I rather dip my toes in both sides of the pool and keep myself arbitrary.
Rather then pretend to be the arbiter. Swimming in life's plurisignifications,
as the questions mutate into a frenzy of hungry sharks.
Rendering my limbs till I give in and give up on self-actualization.
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