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Jaicob Apr 13
The cursed number
In bone and blubber
The taste inescapable
My thoughts are nonsensical
Shrink it further
To be skinny I'd ******
The burden of weight
All myself I hate.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2020
I would like someone to care enough
Be brave and at least try
Find a ladder taller than treetops
Climb over my wall and say hi

That would be miraculous
No one dares come close
Cannot seem to attract any company
Too much wicked water around my post

How do you dam moat protecting
Parts hidden from the rest of the world
Do you let down the gates surrounding?
Fortress leaving carpet unfurled

How do you open organs up?
When you make walls shutting out
Spiral into solitude
One day you'll be happy without

The answers you will not find in yourself
At least never on your own
Won't discover our purpose in life
Until we put down the cell phone

Maybe it is the technology
Distracting from walls each must scale
You need to hit the power button
Reach the top without fail
Àŧùl Sep 2020
The absurdity of modern poets.
They don't use the rhyme scale,
But they use many cuss words.
And they think writing suchlike,
They look cooler than their peers.
My HP Poem #1885
©Atul Kaushal
Seranaea Jones Aug 2020
One day i had a detailed look
at a 24 inch machine scale and
pondered some new ways to
relate to the sizes of things

some "inch" scales are in gradients of
decimals and i see them divided into
tens, those tens in turn divided to
even smaller tens, thus~

1.00 =    1               inch    
0.10 =    1/10  th    inch    
0.01 =    1/100th    inch    

1/100th of an inch is very small but i see
certain things that my mind can measure,
like the size of the Earth— a little less than
eight thousand miles in diameter.

i can see a mile, but not thousands,
so my magic scale says:

1" = 1,000 mi, thus
Earth = about 8"

i imagine holding Earth in my hand
like a small beach ball, then i figure
that the moon is about 2 1/4" big.

how far away is it, i wonder ?
let me grab a tape measure :)

given what i have on hand, now there
is a basketball and a tennis ball lying
some 20 feet apart from each other
in the back yard

i look upon all this and fathom it in—

but this vision now zooms upon my "Earth" ball
with the scale situated conveniently next to it.
detailing the texture of its surface, my eyes
become disproportionately larger than my brain—

observing the Space Station
cruising about 0.15 above it,

the clouds hovering at 0.01,

and further still through the winds of upper distances,
descending between the smallest of lines to my
mere figment of a presence at
1/100th the size
of this tiny

— leaving me to wonder how
i could possibly have even
glimpsed all of this—

from way down

© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
originally written
March 2008
Seranaea Jones Jul 2020
a large hand from outer space
descended to the Earth's surface
and with a finger and thumb,

grabs me by the belt at the seat
of my pants,

hoisting me straight up like
a fish out of water for
viewing with a great

He turns my tinyness toward Him
and looks me eye to eye, frowning
in disapproval—

"I dunno, maybe You should
                 toss me away??"

His face then smiled a little,
and with a sigh ,

i was gently lowered
back down...

©2007-2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
originally published on
myspace blog
05 aug 2007
Nylee Jul 2020
i expect today a sad day
a silent day
a tiring day of waiting
it is calm
with its restless way
the unknown
creeping up on my face

the first half, left up
the next right, the second call
a building floor
every home in discord
a frozen time
clock moving its hand hour
the patience
is just a thread long

the work is third cup done
the coffee cold
a look into cynic's mind
it is hopeless pit
wonder when star's align
and time be right
it has turned out plain and trite

a bare notepad,
my current head space
working for what
the life is continuously stale
it is mundane
at boredom's highest scale
i should shut down.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
by Michael R. Burch

your gods have become e-vegetation;
your saints—pale thumbnail icons; to enlarge
their images, right-click; it isn’t hard
to populate your web-site; not to mention

cool sound effects are nice; Sound Blaster cards
can liven up dull sermons, [zing some fire];
your drives need added Zip; you must discard
your balky paternosters: ***!!! Desire!!!

these are the watchwords, catholic; you must
as Yahoo! did, employ a little lust :)
if you want great e-commerce; hire a bard
to spruce up ancient language, shed the dust

of centuries of sameness;
                                            lameness *****;
your gods grew blurred; go 3D; scale; adjust.

Published by Ironwood, Triplopia and Nisqually Delta Review. This poem pokes fun at several stages of "religion," all tied into Eliot's "Fire Sermon," albeit elliptically. (1) The Celts believed that the health of the land was tied to the health of its king. The Fisher King's land was in peril because he had an infirmity (lameness, infertility, it really didn't matter in those days). One bad harvest and it was the king's fault for displeasing the gods. A religious icon (the Grail) could somehow rescue him. Strange logic! (2) The next stage brings us the saints, the Catholic church, etc. Millions are slaughtered, tortured and enslaved in the name of religion. Strange logic! (3) The next stage brings us to Darwin, modernism and "The Waste Land.” Religion is dead. God is dead. Man is a glorified fungus! Long live Darwin! We'll evolve into something better adapted to life on Earth, someday (if we don’t destroy it first). But what do we have now, except a hangover? Strange logic! (4) The current stage of religion is perhaps summed up by this e-mail: the only way religion can compete today is as a form of flashy entertainment. ***** a website before it's too late!  Keywords/Tags: god, gods, religion, saints, icons, images, imagery, update, scale, adjust
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
by Michael R. Burch

Eagle, raven, blackbird, crow . . .
What you are I do not know.
Where you go I do not care.
I’m unconcerned whose meal you bear.
But as you mount the sun-splashed sky,
I only wish that I could fly.
I only wish that I could fly.

Robin, hawk or whippoorwill . . .
Should men care if you hunger still?
I do not wish to see your home.
I do not wonder where you roam.
But as you scale the sky's bright stairs,
I only wish that I were there.
I only wish that I were there.

Sparrow, lark or chickadee . . .
Your markings I disdain to see.
Where you fly concerns me not.
I scarcely give your flight a thought.
But as you wheel and arc and dive,
I, too, would feel so much alive.
I, too, would feel so much alive.

I don’t remember exactly when this poem was written. I believe it was around 1974-1975, which would have made me 16 or 17 at the time. I do remember not being happy with the original version of the poem, and I revised it more than once over the years, including recently at age 61! The original poem was influenced by William Cullen Bryant’s “To a Waterfowl.” Keywords: flight, flying, bird, wheel, arc, dive, nest, scale, eagle, raven, blackbird, crow, robin, hawk, whippoorwill,  sparrow, lark, chickadee
s y kalindara Nov 2019
I don't know where to lay it;
all this rain,
this flame that I had for him,
still kindling my heart to the brim.

I only know it's tipping my scales,
an anchoring trail,
and every compass I hold asks me to pick.

Will you swim or will you sink?

Copyright © 2019 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Hold on to you and all the memories whether good or bad, or let go once and for all?
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