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GL Thompson Mar 12
Bob Dylan’s hats mean more to me than a requited lust for fame.
On our screens over the summer months,
with it’s logo slapped obnoxiously onto the water cooler -
covering more pressing concerns.
As people rant and rave, the so called stars of the show are prominent for a matter of days.
In their fifteen minutes of fame they become better recognised than a man called Dave.
Some are hated for things they have said or done.
trending on twitter and being memed from day one.
But as the winter solace rolls into place
Everyone forgets the familiar face
that pranced and clapped on morning TV
What was his name again who was he?
What once was a Dave is more like a Huxley or Mort.
He was far too easy to replace, when fame hit abort.
GL Thompson Feb 27
I’m starting to think she may have died
gone up to blue tick heaven after being verified
Caught up in a mockery of an internet led democracy
World wide fame to blame for the tragedy
Her Tightened grip on reality was merely a saga of concise works of fiction.

She tried to Reach out for profanity and found a hundred degrees reality.
Well It all means nothing to nobody now
Here comes latest trend you’d be mad not to bow.

Been inactive for days lost track of the newest craze
Whilst her exploits were insightful
They ultimately led to her downfall
Spin the wheel line up to play the game
Because nobody remembers your name
Only your handle.

I’m starting to think maybe she lost her mind
all of the tape unravelled when she tried to hit rewind.
There was no filter there when she opened the window to look outside
without the second source she was unable to decide
she went offline to go backpacking in the sky I wonder why?
It all seems so alternate
With her curtains drawn at the break of dawn it seems so analogue.
She had a shockproof phone case but I can’t say the same for her mind
GL Thompson Feb 26
Gary met Sally for some backseat bingo
because she’s the lucky one that razzed his berry.
The word from the bird is that she’s past her prime
The sort of girl whose personality is cheap chocolate and wine.

He greeted her with gimme some skin
She thought it was too formal of a way to begin.
Because sally still lives in the past
Sharing chain posts on facebook
To keep her from things in the dark
Sally’s a bit backwards but she’s well meaning at heart.

You’ve got to make it to this party it’s gonna be a gas
Sally said she’ll think about it, but really she just wanted to pass.
She’s got ice cream in the freezer and an appointment with the mad hatter
(with a special appearance from his twirling tip).

Gary looked rather gloomy, realising she looked quite different from her profile.
That, and he thought the way she chewed was vile.
Nevertheless he thought he’d place his bet on a submarine race.
He reckoned for the price of lunch and a bit of sweet talk, he’d be left with a smile on his face.

Sally was blind to Gary’s plan
She was off in training as a space cadet
Thinking this date was quickly becoming an experience she’d forget
But back on earth things started to pick up
Unlike Sally’s self esteem, which was left in a rut.

And to this day Gary and Sally are married, with a kid, a cat and a shared checking account.
here I have used a combination of out of fashion sayings with 21st century issues in order to convey a duality and a reflection upon today's society
Chris Lazzaro Feb 18
Upon that bench he gently sit
A cigarette in hand, Two-Liter in fist.
A local legend he is, to all around,
All know his name, in and out of town

Billy wears clothes from a Goodwill basket
Stone washed jeans, a torn flannel jacket
His face, red from the biting cold
And hair matted, grey, and old

His journeys, repetitive and often short  
From his bench to the local corner store
Where he finds crisp Marlboro cartons
And a two liter with the Coke label on it

Accomplished, he ventures back to the bench
His walk, fixated and shuffling on the cement
Hugging his soda as if a newborn
Many snicker with scorn

“his deeds are worthless and few,
Sitting, watching, waiting...nothing new”
“Lazy,” they say, “he nary lift a finger all day!”
“Why should we have to work hard and pay?”

Billy knows what everyone thinks
But continues to sit, smoke, and drink
He does what he pleases, regardless of “cost”
Knowing that he is a legend, merely in his own thoughts
Atoosa Kourosh Jun 2018
Even before our first date
You make sure we have the conversation
Heaven forbid I should mistake you for a man of honor
That I should have any expectation....

That you know how to treat me
As a friend .....or a lover
As a woman of substance
A lady not a *****

Your immaturity doesn’t surprise me
But until that moment that you Showed your hand
I was willing to suspend my disbelief
To give you the benefit of the doubt
To let you set the bar higher
But you succeeded in lowering my expectations
Even further
a noble
dap in
Naples note
his fascination
was joint
and drew
the line
with paint
but her
****** will
batch his
tweed jacket
furthest along
the map
that she'd
wed post
modern here
a post modern dap in Italy
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
k, let’s go!
     Kanye told us to leave Radiohead behind and after class Josh
     will buy scotch
     The hound in our area won’t bother us no more.

      Nah she’s a dude, chill

Aight, let’s go!
     We have Bluetooth,
     We have Post Malone and Bernie Sanders still rite?

Adeleine's letter will eventually find its way to his post,

k, let’s go!
     Video games are a virtue.
     Mr Hoffman, science teacher,
     nearly scored a goal on Tuesday,
     he's so...[[lit.]]

Watch here:
     Tv anime girl with candy butchered by a man-turned-robot...

"The parcel came in two days early for you Joe," mum said

Juniors flee to-

Enough, let’s go!
    Boy lovers; ily lovers
    Everyone dreams of Dumbledore's palace, his poetry breaks our


­Kanye’s gig went bam bam dilla bam
                               Bam dilla bam bam
Josh died of liver failure at 54.
The hound came back, limping in the grass,
The girl-boy became depressed.
Joe slept with Adeleine.
The boys got married in 2026,
Mr Hoffman cried w a book that night. &
The juniors ran away from home.
Experimenting with language in hopes to find a new language. I wanted to capture, not the entirety of the teen, but the essence of him/her.
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
I would imagine my shoes full of broken wineglass
     and I would bicker, shoot, hum, wring
     carefully take them all out,
     with my godcrazed sweaty hands
I would see hallucinatory men in love, all destroyed with jarring
     scars on their arms because of the Great War,
     wrestle each other to steaks in the dead beach
     moaning with their twenty year old cigars
     still in their tortured mouths
I would see children playing at Dawn,
     They never grow older, always the age of eight
     They all played games with me, especially
     In those Westfield overblown supermarkets
I would dream of a pure Strawberry Field's kingdom,
     With John Lennon’s flannel shirts and a picture
     of some artist’s wife wanting to jump off the Brooklyn bridge
     Thinking I’m related to Napoleon
     who I forgotten about, ever since we left Chinatown that day.

So I called the twenty four hour hotline, where all the suicidal people call in the middle of the night,
      groaning in my bathtub, thinking of my visions,
      knowing one thing, I cried,
      “ I don’t want to turn into a cockroach like Gregor did!”
Instead I turned into a Shakespearean agony girl in two days,
     and wrote dramas in my room at midnight
     hissing of the mistreatment of slaves back in 1821.

After, I wept of the romances of the guiltless terraces in the tiny
     exhaustible corners of the street, in the abandoned libraries,
     and went back to school half-insane filled with gibberish stanzas
     and academics that sounded like more gibberish.

Then, I was I crowned with pinnacle ‘Madness of Thou Brain and Sick Oblivion, with auditory hallucinations’

I gave my one synapse yell to my only friend in town, and they all
     sent me to some institution where I felt more belonging than I
     did in eight years.

I met a girl who was planning to read To **** A Mockingbird in an hour,

I met a boy from Juvie who smoked too much and took too many pills

I met a boy who was just as sick as me, we played Twister in the
     dark until the nurses caught us holding hands,
     I never saw him again after that.

I met a girl who completed her suicide two days before her

Can you see it yet? In the tiny inexhaustible corners of the streets?
     In the abandoned libraries?

In little time, my generation will beat their visions to the streets,
     their innovation will rise to daring freshness.
A poem that reflects the society of modern times, a hallucinogenic mess of questions, but still somehow surviving and standing firm in its ideas.
Alessander Jul 2018
Encyclopedic mainframes
Lap-top heads
Power-boxes for multitudinous outlets, plugs, chargers
Conduits manipulating
Fiber-optic arteries
Artificial energy
Pale lights
Computers aglow in dark cloistered bedrooms
Powered pacemakers stalling at microwaves
Electrocuted blood - cookied fantasies
Ads proclaiming everything free!
Pharmaceutical elixirs for limpness, lumpiness, loneliness
Snake-oil for suffering
Nigerian kings, Syrian refugees
*******, clever memes, whimsical gifs, shocking news, witty banter
Spewing on every thread

Existential *****.
Aroma-less cuisines
Vacuumed vacations
Youtubed communions
Suicide selfies.

Crucifixdrones - pedolandia
Jdate.POF.AshleyMadison.Match. Eharmony.SpeedDate.OKcupid
CG. Missed encounters...
Serial killers,
Pixalated *******, vein-throbbed **** shots, cardboard gloryholes

Instagramed I
Inviolate I
Internet I

I    I     I

No sweaty arm pits, cottage cheese, gray nose hairs or belly fat
Computer [ScreenShot]
While behind, posters hang: The Doors, Tupac, NIN, The Smiths, Hendrix, Joy Division, Nirvana


2D souls
144 word manifestos
Archetype emoticons

Doodled centaurs
Caged in matrices

Transcendental notes
Need a hit
Of internet smack

A line, a pinch, a drag
A like, a comment, a kudos
A reply, a thumbs up, a share, a poke
One measly view
Baby, come on, give me a fix
Just one
Notification: ding-beep-buzzzz
I want to dissolve like alka-seltzer in tap water
Otherwise I'm a used-up toothpaste tube
Sitting in a dank medicine cabinet

If not, I am
A stick-figure created from matches
Drowning in a drum of gasoline

Not buried beneath pregnant soil
No. dumped into blue recycling bins.

[Ctrl +Alt+Delete]
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Genius is forged by passion
It is this which never dies:
Transcendental elation.

So long as one creation
is moved to dance mesmerized,
genius is forged by passion.

Though stone hearts lack expression,
postmoderns aching to try
transcendental elation

Keeping "plebes" from their "mansions."
Speak this opaque truth as lies:
Genius is forged by passion.

The hive mind *******,
at shared expense they deny
transcendental elation.

Our yearning adoration
causes heaven's voice to cry,
Genius is forged by passion!
Transcendental elation.
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