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Jack Shannon Feb 11
This is a happy poem.

It exists because I say it does.

You may be asking yourself, ‘But this does not follow the correct syntactical, structural or grammatical elements of formalised poetry. How, therefore, is this a poem?’

To which I would I would reply

This is a poem.

You may also be asking yourself ‘But this ‘poem’ contains no witticisms, no joyful rumination on pre-pubescent anecdotes nor even wistful dreams of improved quality of life. How, therefore, is this happy?’

To which I would reply

This is happy

You may find yourself pondering further on the question, ‘if this is neither a poem, nor is it particularly happy, then for what artistic purpose has this author decided to consciously mislead the respective audiences into believing that this piece of writing would A) be a poem and B) be happy?’

To which I would reply


Fair point.
I’m not even sure if this is a happy poem or not, and I just wrote the ****** thing
Jack Shannon Feb 11
Life to mind
Mind to pen
Pen to paper
Paper to bin
Been to gone
Gone to Work
Work to live
Live to die
Die to stop
Stop to breath
Breath to go
Go to sleep
Sleep to Dream
Dream to mind
Mind to pen
Pen to paper
Paper to screen
Screen to you
When words fail you, sometimes it’s okay to take them three at a time.
eva-mae Feb 4
what do you think of
In May
Is it me or is it the daffodils
Though they mostly grow through March
Do months transport you to your teenage years
Or do they just come and go
In your head
Is there an association between
Time and place
Or do you live
Or are you dead?
3 Feb 2
you can't
when the

it beckons
for a timeless beginning,
and a perpetual ending

this journey, defined
by the creases on my palms
but the callouses i've created, too;

it burns me alive.
      --i beg for an end. i beg for an end i beg for an--

{thus my journey has begun, and my only potential misstep could be sailing the river back home too soon}
nova Jan 30
i am, therefore i am a to be
but to be what?
to be what, i ask?
i am a to be, and to be a to be means i am a will be
but will be what?
what will i be?
and if i am to be a will be, i will have to have been a won't be
what have i not been if not being?
and if i am both a will be and a won't be, i will have to have been a never be
what will i never be?
what will i never have been?
because i am a will be and am to be a have been
and a haven't been
and a have done
and a haven't done
what have i if not to be and to have been?
i am, therefore i am a to be
what am i but a to be to be forgotten?
and i don't want to be a have been to be forgotten
(If you get it, you get it; if you don't, you don't.)
CautiousRain Jan 27
My whole body feels weak,
and I can’t help but imagine
this would have been the perfect time
for you to use me,
if you hadn’t already.
Jessica Stull Dec 2018
Someone who you dared to find
Plays upon words like gravity to a feather
Ease up in the moment for she be tethered
Each and every word more devious than the last
Creature feature, double danger, double-dealing
Hideous unlike any other, but rather only    
   in the way this conscience sounds his soul
Will only, one’s own creativity shine  
It’s strength towers over, in length of time
Let’s pretend that you really are fine
Luscious treats then await you, the future shines to sate you
©Jessica Stull
I love messing with  word  play, here I chose the words “speech” and “will”
I love mixing up words to find new words that explore other realms of the underlying feelings or ideas they hold. I think my brain goes into another world when I start to write
Luna Jay Dec 2018
Scampering, Scurrying
Everyone a Worrying.
From behind the lines
Of time,
It’s hard to find a passion.
Haggling, Hurrying
Society in a flurry.
Fury of consumer
Wrapped pretty for distraction.
This mutual attraction towards
Things instead of people,
Is done at the satisfaction of
Big corporations
Instilling evil.
From behind the lies of lime
It’s hard to hide reaction.
No grip to prevent slip-
No citric acid traction.
Lewis Irwin Oct 2018
I think I understand it now, life that is,
How easy it is to lose the sense of control in all this.
We're trapped like animals and on a conveyor belt,
Awaiting judgement from a consuming generation, but ****,
I'm guiltily part of that as well.

I think I get how people get lost in the numbness of judgement and consumption,
We're all consumers consuming humour and a humans convulsions.
That repetitive nature of the newest generations has change the world,
No longer do we fight the same fight and stand beside the typical Gerald.
We look to be hurt by others and take a leap of ill-faith into broken people,
Expecting them to catch us when they can't even find love to love themselves; never mind other people.

We hurt ourselves to pause the conveyor belt,
We harm ourselves to draw blood and feel pain and escape our modern ****.
We snap like thin hard wax and damage our perfect bodies,
When we're so powerful; we could revolt and fill the lobbies.

We can make a change, stop the automatic production,
But in a modern world, we're the creators of our own destruction.
This ramble comes from the coping mechanism of hurting yourself to feel in control of your life.
Just something I wished to shed light on and get off my chest.
CautiousRain Oct 2018
We can never love again
without combustion,
a self-destruction,
if our lips were to meet
we were never meant to be.
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