Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Haueru Jun 29
The skilled user of words, the wizard conjurer that provoke your thoughts.          
I ought to be  sentenced to death.    
For an enlightened mind such as mine for the crime of influencing young minds
You see the Government hate visionaries like me, so they call the disciplinary, to disrupt revolutionaries, COINTELPRO, look them up if you don’t know, for all you conspiracy theorist, I am the head of realist ****, shot calling
You might as well call me Shon the abolitionist.
When it comes to such a wicked being such as me, they call to question my thought for knowledge and I tell them
As the practitioner of hard knocks, my quest for power is almost pestilent; people say knowledge is power  
But what they don’t tell you, is power comes from applying the knowledge
To acknowledge the most dangerous man in the room isn’t the man with the gun nor the thirst for power
But the man in the shrouded darkness waiting to pounce, call me Rockefeller and Rothschild.
I am almost out of time but please forgive me, my mind sits in an higher dimension
My mentality is overpriced that’s why the naïve mind is as common as head lice
As I am the sole provider to the zeitgeist.
There a piece of me that's missing
I'm not sure how to begin
but there a piece of me missing
It's lost with no way to retrieve it
It's missing in the endless sea that is me
trying to be someone i'm not
I've gotten so lost
I feel like I've just tossed
my life right out of the window  
there's a piece of me missing
I can feel my heart break as I breathe
all the while the world keeps turning
and the piece of me keeps yearning
forever lost in the sea that is me
do we ever look deeper
deep enough to see
what's missing inside you and me
there's a piece of me missing
I can't but weep
let a little tear seap
to grieve the lost
of something so pure
that I feel has been thrown on the floor
there's a piece of me missing
as my heart beats louder
and memories become cloudier
there a piece of me missing
do you ever look inside
truly deeply inside
or are you scared of what you will find ?
Ed C Mar 14
Its hard sometimes
to feel the lust.
To feel the genuine gaze of longing
from eyes that see passed flesh ripping pulls
and grasping fingers. Your nails
leave trails along thighs that disappear
into the hairs. Like rivers on a map
where streams are crossing
violently and parallel.
Think about it
jdotingham Sep 2018
/  she looked at me from across the table;  her eyes barely still, her thoughts barely able.
i looked at her from across the table; the me she once knew, the eyes are a fable.
                   she asks questions
"how you been?"
"doin' much"
yeah. you?
           you can boil the tension and it wouldn't dissolve on a spoon.
            she asks why i chose what i did all them years ago. there's no nuance on the question. there's no 'wavering remorse that things could and should and would have been better' because we both know it probably would've been. unless i got AIDS or some **** like that. she asks the question for closure. thing is though; some doors fail at the one ******* job they are given, like the one in the caravan; sometimes, they can't help but stay open.

i don't know.
"that's not an answer"
i don't know.
"for **** sake! just tell me why you chose that path"
i don't know.
"... but you ******* picked it!"
            her voice raises. people look. she quietens down. nobody likes public displays of drama. it makes people feel uncomfortable. a bit awkward. the little ******* sin of 'i feel a bit uneasy in this social situation'.
i know i picked it. i do. i don't why. why the hell would it. it just sort of happened.
"it just sort of happened?"
"you've not changed have you"
changed a bit yeah.
"but not really"
i have a bit yeah. we all do. it's what happens when time mo-
"shut up, please. i'm asking you why you picked that over me all of them years ago and why i still can't ******* escape you. just tell me why, don't turn it into a parade of ******* again. that's your problem is *******, just comes out of your mouth in heaps and heaps and ******* heaps, you hear me?"
you want the truth?
"yes, of course i ******* do. of course... the truth and nothing but the cunting-god-****-truth. swear by god if you want. i still ******* love you, after all these years, i just want the truth; that's all i'm asking for. not the *******"
i don't know why i picked it.
stand alone (as of yet) draft excerpt from "awhiterose".
Benji James Jan 2018
He's lurking in the shadows
with bloodshot eyes
A smell of bicardi and wine
I'll put down the knife
When these images
Stop playing on my mind

No, no I'm not afraid to die
I'm on the road to hell
But I don't care, OH!
Smoke another cigarette
And kiss your lips
Back to the room
And it's time for *** OH!
This is my escape
This is how I deal
To make believe these issues aren't real, OH!

You don't know
What the hell I've seen
And you ain't been
To the places, I've seen
You ain't heard the screams
You ain't see it every night in your dreams
The violence, the anger
Blood is running down these curbs
Insanity in motion please observe

No, no I'm not afraid to die
I'm on the road to hell
But I don't care, OH!
Smoke another cigarette
And kiss your lips
Back to the room
And it's time for *** OH!
This is my escape
This is how I deal
To make believe these issues aren't real, OH!

Let me paint a picture, clear
Place my voice inside of your ear
Hear the whispers that I call
For what you thought you know
You never knew at all
And there are voices carries within the winds
And demons have been asked to spread their wings
Eerie vibes are running down your spine
You try to dissect the world line by line

No, no I'm not afraid to die
I'm on the road to hell
But I don't care, OH!
Smoke another cigarette
And kiss your lips
Back to the room
And it's time for *** OH!
This is my escape
This is how I deal
To make believe these issues aren't real, OH!

©2018 Written By Benji James
The last trailing tendril filaments
of moon beams nocturnally trace
fashion an illusory gilded chariot Ark,
whence upon celestial runners,

the approach of dawns early light
illuminated terrestrial space which
nebulous solar city flanges revisited
since time millennial hubbub of human

race nsync with Zodiacal constellations,
which appear to shift as planet Earth
axis place alternated in accordance
with inexplicable universal teenage

mutant Ninja turtles joint pact with
power rangers assumption sans
quotidian play station remotely
controlled by aliens upon oblate

spheroid figurative stage set whence
commencement nudged village
people foment quiet riot rage and
rant against uncontrollable catastrophic
frenzy, when cosmic creator rehearses

another page from playbook, which
color coded cobbled Bible
emanates with radiant hues of yellow
and osage nonetheless, no mortal

adept to predict (only within plus
and/or minus some marginal variance
of error). oft times punishing
atmospheric phenomena incarcerated,

pistol whipped (if anther incorrect),
whip lash unleashed, oppressed,
imposed challenging condition flora
and fauna could thrive, whereat most
hardy plants and animals didst abound

linkedin upon terra firmae asper a
murmur of orchestrated organisms
found plentiful glory vis a vis La'Chaim;
gnome hatter outlook required sprinting

thru uber vanguard, where zero sum
game pitted disadvantaged Feng Shui
living things poorly sparred mismatched
against it ching attired egghead, kickstarting

netzero beastie boys indeed emulating
hotmail prodigies holding greensward
ground. scrimmage fostered, elicited,
dictated, commandeered nature going full

throttle with pings across biological labyrinth
positioning glommed, peeved, mis tweeted
seeds of life, and white lily, within soil lent
green grubby business whereby herb and

woody stemmed recalcitrant proto flings
wrote toe root er bakers gave Gaia a run
for her money to buy Buffalo wings chasing
miscreants nimbly outwitting, out-rigging

outsmarting nettlesome stings, and sage
protuberant fungi, released messengers
where rise home spore ports left nada
mushroom, though symbiosis wood
bark a roll a cord gingerly sidestepping traps.
Adrienne Toles Jul 2017
It'd be great
To not feel stupid for caring.
It'd be great
Not to be put on top of the world
And then left there
It would be amazing
To have something more
         C o n s i s t e n t
Than water
And more solid
Than anything known to man.
It'd be breathtaking to have my breath taken
And returned
Rather than left gasping
For an air that
                       Okay to breathe
With you.
But it would be tragic for me
To write these words with an unbridled hope for
Those great things
         And those amazing things
     And those wonderful things
               And those breathtaking

All because its a comedy
To think you care.
I couldn't explain the title if I tried it just feels fitting for my experience with the subject if this poem. It's been a while since I've written anything so please tell me how I did.
leolewin Jun 2017
What if people valued connections over wealth?

What if you didn’t need to worry about nutrition to have health?

What if humanity was the first time the earth had cancer? And with every brick the tumour grew.

What if we’ve gone too far, way beyond repair. 

What if…
jdotingham Jun 2017
stop and smell the roses, radical punches with **explosives.
Next page