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I am not a sailor.
I desire to run.
Confine me not to a puddle dependent on the wind.
Direct me to the forest, the hills, and I will create my own draft,
as I speed across the ground,
flying over earth to distances greater than the confines of your wet berth.
No, I relish a solid state of matter beneath my feet.
I am a fire sign.
Warning: do not get wet.
Jenish Feb 5
miles and miles I stroll
without an inch of tiredness -
distance runner mind.
Jenish Jan 30
miles and miles I stroll
without an inch of tiredness -
distance runner mind
Samantha Feb 2019
Run down the street Feet patter
Flip Flops, Running Shoes, Bare Feet.
Quickly, Slowly.
Plip Plop, Hip Hop.
TD Jan 2019
You’re were,
A father?
You were a runner.

You can’t run anymore.
You hid your heart while you ran,
So it never got stronger,
When you finally did use your heart,
Your heart was weak,
So weak that it killed you.

Now I’ll wear it,
Your ashes,
In a heart.

A badge dangling from my neck,
A sign,
A remembrance that shows how to use a heart.

-For, if you use it incorrectly it’ll **** you, I’ve learned.
Bryan Sep 2018
I want to feel the rush
of a thousand winds
incessantly pushing my sternum
back against my heart.
I want to taste the adrenaline
in its most natural form
as it flows through
my veins swelled with life.
I want to smell the carbon
of the passing drivers
concerned only
with the color of a light.
I want to see the sweat
cloud and sting my eyes
Blind me, I am unconcerned
my being suffers
as I push
my body
to the edge.
Momin Apr 2018

I sat alone in the bleachers
On a Friday night
I saw the ghost of my brother
Saw the ghost of my fallen kite
And I met you for the
6th time
Because when I'm with you, time stops,
And there's nothing but the air and us
And the city lights, and fast food stops, and gas stations
You give me tingles across my body, ecstatic sensations
And I'm sorry if I'm fixated,
On your big, beautiful...

Aspirations, and dreams
Because they involve me
And, and
I love you!
But what is love?
Baby, please don't hurt me
Because my heart can't take anymore breaking
But there isn't anymore love,
It's all about internships and college and jobs
My body yearns, and throbs
For your touch
A little too much

I'm drowning, in my feelings
And the noises
The ocean is washing over my grave
The ocean is washing open your grave
In my heart, you're the one that keeps me safe

We're mixing the palettes of each other's colours
I love you,
So will you be my kite runner?
For U
The Devil himself

…..he read that online
mine poetry about poverty
that poverty was about
the grammar mistakes in many poems

the stupidity started chasing me
declared instantly me-moi as his enemy
his words, so absurd
a lunatic so terrific

I thought he could read poetry
but….I was mistaken....

my beloved one never knew
the alienating appearance of this blind male

I wrote about true poetry and its poverty
he associated with politics and its tactics

I thought he could read poetry
but….I was mistaken....

thought he ran the marathon
but....I was mistaken,

he was chasing me constantly,

God said to me: " Have never fear, Sylvia
I am with you all the time"

all my fears disappeared instantly

from far I heard the thunder
and I saw the brightest lightning
a man fell down shouting for help

on my way, I passed his burnt body
terrible smell of burnt blood
Hey! That was the one who was constantly chasing me
The devil himself with his poker face

Thank you, dear Lord,
you have helped me in Your Time....

that resonates with mine,
oh Lord, You are sublimest!

© Sylvia Frances Chan
Tuesday AD. The 20th February 2018-
@ 14.30 hrs P.M. West-European Time.

Sheer poetry 2018.  Hurray! © Sylvia Frances Chan
Copyright Protected. A parody poem.
Ashley Chapman Oct 2017
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.

Good, and so you ought.

Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.

Millions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world; know how dead, inside, I feel.

You, yes, you:

Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind in here,
In hair, hear her: har, har, har…

A box of lies...

A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.

The real thing, the men, the women, their animals,
Made in the wild, wild desert, in the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea; now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
This comes from my fascination with Philip K. **** and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. In this, his future dystopian vision, androids are retired, a euphemism for terminated, when they have passed their legal age limit after four years. Humans, us, have by now ruined our environment and become enthralled to a false religion, Mercerism , a fabricated make belief, spun by an actor, Al Jerry. The empathy boxes plunge the followers of Mercerism into a shared virtual hallucination. I was also enthralled by Jude Law in AI by Steven Spielberg who gave what I thought was a mesmerising portrait of a *** robot, the ultimate Lothario and so tragically programmed to flaw.

Earlier this year Mercerism was the theme of The Tunnel, an art collective to which I am a participator, through poetry.

Blade Runner, the film, now Blade Runner 49, is based on this dark interpretation of where we could all be headed.
Graff1980 Jan 2017
Darkest black treading dirt
Left impression for their worth
White stripes across the side
Streak into the evening sky
Like a flash when I run
Flickering becomes a dying sun
Potential of what will never come
So I run, I have to run

Old laces dusted *****
Push them through the holes
In a hurry
Rushing now because I’m worried
The sound of sneakers pounding dirt
The sound of how much it really hurts
So I run, I have to run

The soles so loose
Sound funky when they flap
Still I love those messed up shoes
Which is why I’ll never take them back
When life is hard when it starts to sting
I turn around and start jogging
I am not a prisoner, I was born to be free
Even if all I have are these old shoes
To chase away those heavy blues
I will run until I am done
I had to run, I always run
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