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Jack McShea Apr 2016
When you have an idea
They say “That won’t work”
When you try to be cool
They say “You’re a failure”
When you try harder
They say “You’re not good enough”
But
You can overcome
Overpower
Become more
And they will say
“You win”
Liam C Calhoun Feb 2016
When the “100” departed,
Four turned ‘round,
To carry on and away
From that bloodied dusk,
Sojourn and sought last Saturday.

It was a solemn evening, for even I,
Upon the scent of spent beer,
Soiled socks and job well done,
Albeit, half-assed, but good for me,
Since money’s the modern paradigm.

Beholden gallant, I returned to rebellion,
This satiated dish tantalizing the four,
And only four – painted traitors,
An opposition to the flock christened
“Listen” and assumed safer skies.

Souls atop intrepid –
The “4” would learn alone,
So whispered, “insurrection,”
Savoring a certain comfort in solitude,
A stiff chin come rules abundant others,
And freedoms never realized.

I’m sure they’ll fly, they’ll mate,
I’m sure they’ll die and fly once more
Whilst I smirk, smoke
And take note of the next fool
To forget the heavens and allowed,
Became the heathen’s promised.

It’s an epiphany’s echo as
The fall’s a salvation in and of itself
And the four’d that opted flounder,
Beyond an already withered earth,
Bet on fortunes unknown,
When they, themselves, were gems,
And certain paradises, lay in wait.
Are you one of "the Four?"
Paul Butters Feb 2016
Pleased to meet you.
But you better be pleased to meet me!
For I am the only one who is Me.
And I’m the only one who counts,
For I’m the one who’s experiencing all this:
For me.
Get it?

Doesn’t matter if you are the US President
Or Putin,
Or anyone else “Important”.
Nobody can affect
That what I experience
Is what I experience.

Nobody else will go through
Whatever I go though.
Nobody else will die with me,
Unless we happen to meet the same fate
Together!

You may be Royal
Or Rich,
Or All Powerful,
But all that matters to me
Is Me.

Maybe I’m Mad in saying this.
Perhaps the Whisky has taken hold.
Better than being depressed
I have to say.
Euphoria is better than gloom.

You too can be
As crazy as me.
Just free your mind
From the daily grind.

Never let those *******
Grind you down.

Love yourself
And Love
Whatever there is
To Love.

Paul Butters
The Whisky sits well with me......
105D11 Feb 2016
This building is so new, and yet there are already

spills on the ceiling.

How could something so pure, so full of potential, have

spills on the ceiling?

This baffles me.

If the people inside wanted to ruin the beauty and the goodness of this place, they would spill on the floor, the carpet, or even the walls but they would*  never

spill on the ceiling.

How could this happen?

We did nothing wrong!

These

spills on the ceiling

are staring me down, daring me to run, to give up.

But  I will stand my ground

because I know that

Someday,

these

spills on the ceiling

will come crashing down. And though it will hurt, there will finally be a way out, through the hole that appeared where the

spills on the ceiling

had been.

And we can run away, where the  spills  can never

hurt us

*again.
Seth Milliman Jan 2016
Tyranny, tyranny,
Thy flinching tyranny.
Broken houses and broken walls,
Seeking truth in crumbling halls.
Neither blind nor deaf,
Nor lame or *******.
Can escape the destruction,
When tyranny falls.
frances love Jan 2016
the morphological differences
between you and i are that
i keep dividing and you keep
swallowing your tongue

not everything in the same skin
goes by the same name

the closest thing to my definition
is that of the drugs you hear about
on the television and how your
sixth grade health teacher feels
about them
on being no one to nothing
Bianca Reyes Dec 2015
My soul has started a rebellion
Against all the things I know
Because I laid eyes on you
My heart was dormant for ages
Now every fiber in my body
Rages inside until I lose myself
And decide to never live without you
Liam C Calhoun Dec 2015
Severing fingernails, so to, chopped the
toe’s, ate some berries and snuck in a nip
or two. I assert myself, “this drink’s if only
to steal, or seal one last scream,” but,
“decadent’s,” quiet for once; A calm
christened, “collateral,” the parallel plight
and pale ear nigh, if only doors down.

Left to my own devices, I’d imagined
every bad, “thing,” and how they’d
happen; Exact and unlike random
aneurism. So I checked on the plants one
last time. I checked on the only flower,
once again, if only doors down, and one
last time. I abide impatient and remain to
question eternity; This twiddling of thumbs
and silent sliver of sun peeking upon one
and opposing, my alien, “East,” –

I long for my only, “West,” and if only
home, but its love, the other love that locks
my only gate.

And with that I’d lay awake and be, a
guarantee, malcontent, remnant come only
one reminder; A twitch under my right eye
and promised son but days later. So
continued my sequence, my defiance, my
only anything; Come one, “Oh!” and two,
yawped not for Walt, but for me,
“Onward!” awake and in an awkward
avoidance of complacent.

Ensued, were the acts of rebellion, the acts
of life, the acts of desperation in the face of
an already dead incarnation. One day to be
labeled, my suicide, at ends wrought
insurrection and beneath the twin flags,
insomnia added anticipation – Perhaps my
last, should the wolves cull come the hours
next when beds are made, supper’s sooner
cold and once more, the stars are allowed to
sing for someone, for something, else.
*Note - The stars sang for her, she'd eventually sing for me.
here is something they do not teach
in school, that is why
    Juaniyo put a bandana around his head
in red and like a sturdy kalasag, he raised
    his hand high, championing all —
nobody shall strike this country with
    impunity.

Juaniyo was an anarchist — a decibel in the  voice of this nation, standing strong
   for the deprived, the voiceless,
    the pithless. this was inscrutable force
       awakened — they did not teach this
  in school. they taught us that we'd
    be winners, hotshots,
millionaires, tycoons, dogs and slaves to
    capitalists — this total equation
  they didn't tell us together with the
   suicides and the extra-judicial killings,
the limp democracy of the state,
     summary executions, the displaced
groups, shelterless mothers with children
   suckling their ******* while seeking
alms, the downfall of all economies

for Juaniyo, a hurled rock is the imperative as a thick wall of alloy
   and fiber glass drive him to the edge
of the street where somewhere in the periphery, a bombardier of water is waiting with a steady aim;

      they did not want their powers
challenged, they did not find it appealing that their oppressive authoritarian stance
    is put to the test and is at the verge
of being dismantled to be replaced by
   freer, egalitarian structures.

   Juaniyo leaves the class in total pursuit,
  heeds the call of heartland.
For my cousin, a propagandist for a rebellious group here in the Philippines.
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