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Simon May 14
"The Swindle", is a possible escape plan in order to divert attention completely away from the VAST majority of preying eyes!
"Why!?" And..."why now question it...?" Whatever the situation, you need to be wary of totally undivided attention...,since you are not alone...of an obvious disguise (upon an even more obvious "swindling" act).
"The Swindle", is a countermeasure towards shameful results (for oneself). That is...if your simply caught in the act...
Lee Aaun Mar 9
erasing my existence,
to make a mark of your existence
isn't a permanent solution.
because those who are meant
to stay forever they won't
try to end up someone's life over this.
they know their value,
that's why they will wait
when you will create a hurdle for yourself
which you supposed it is for them.
they will think, you are gone forever.
but that forever is theirs end.
as when their breath will end,
karma will rise me up from the ashes
where i have been sleeping—
to live my life for eternity.
from the start, it was their lose.
so fool to understand the schemes of life.
fool will become a fool, of he will fool you
Ken Pepiton Jan 24
Ein Bisschen
Un poco
an arbitrary bit of art as intuited.

Did you defy the order of life's proper
sequence, by knowing next begins after
the Hallelujah, right and proper,

that's the stopper.
There, dear reader, we pause and ponder,
as in
Right and proper.

A bit off here, a bit from there, pack it into
a classical schema, which
was a word I learned after learning scheme
as the core concept used to form conspiracy,
you see,
if you were, in an immaterial sense, feeling
we are similar,
perhaps we are common, good thought of
as a type of person any mind may make up,
to tell a long and winding story as if it is
this one,
life on earth, 2021.

After the changes, when we remove the masks,
we see others of my kind, mit **** sapience sapience-augmentated,
we be, in a greegri state
seeds of former
things informing
us, subjects  of all we know as good or evil,
good for us, not evil for me, once
enough is realized.

Realizing just enough to manifest a will to make good.
Aye, AI, there we have it.
Make up, test.
You bit, you chew, you bitchew. Life is fun, once,
for a little while.
Seventy or eighty years...
who knows how long our words remain.

schema (n.)plural schemata, 1796, in Kantian philosophy
("a product of the imagination intermediary between an image and a concept"),
from Greek skhema 
"figure, appearance, the nature of a thing,"
related to skhein "to get,"
and ekhein "to have, hold; be in a given state or condition,"
from PIE root *segh- "to hold."
Meaning "diagrammatic representation" is from 1890;
general sense of "hypothetical outline" is by 1939.

From <>
Make fun when we find none. Then make sense, to see if it feels
right and proper, like art intent on making peace where only its memory was;
Matilda Nov 2020
Where is the Messiah?

Are you there God?

It’s me, your pariah.

I’ve become something of a liar,

a mystifier, a cad, a fraud:

Where is the Messiah?

To deliver from brimstone and fire?

Against the one wielding the iron rod?

It’s me your pariah,

son of the dawn, prince of the nebula

the gates of Judecca have thawed.

Where is the Messiah?

I’ll take silver, like Judas and Delilah

their feet are swift; to shed blood.  

It's me, your pariah.

Your ***** for hire,

Oh, how I await the flood.

Where is the Messiah?

It’s me your pariah.
Please Critique! I would love to improve!
the dead bird Nov 2020
The first time you kissed me,
set fireworks off in my soul;
with an explosive passion
that struck like a lightning bolt.
My once-cold heart went up in flames,
and the blaze swallowed it whole.

Now, my heart is burning up,
‘cause you set my soul on fire;
Engulfed by flames of emotion-
an inferno of desire.

That feeling when you kiss me
proves I don’t need any others,
my world was stuck in black and white
‘til you filled it with your colors ~

You paint my days with hues and shades
of violet, yellow and red.
You thawed out my frozen heart,
until it beat again.
But I would rip it from my chest
and hand it off to you,
if I knew
that if I did,
this would never end.
wheEeeeeEee proud of myself for sitting down and writing something, even if it’s only my second piece this year it’s better than none. Feel like I am finally getting back the passion that was stolen from me all those years ago
Trefild Feb 2020
some words go US Eng, some go UK Eng
so inside the word-dividing "[ ]" is the chosen sound

‣ strollin' o[ɒ]n some spo[ɑ]ts
‣ sa[ɔ]w some gyals
‣ bein' dolorous
‣ stole up O̲[ɒ]n 'em
‣ once I'm close enough
‣ I'm explodin'
‣ with that mind-blowin' stuff
‣ I've noted 'bove
‣ ba[ɔ]wlin' "lit morning, quit mourning"
‣ so ear-splittingly like my ba[ɔ]lls just go[ɑ]t
‣ torn apart
‣ they, sE̲E̲med to me, were in total sho[ɑ]ck
‣ unloadin', givin' 'em a[ɔ]ll I've go[ɑ]t
‣ which got 'em a little overpa[ɑ]cked
‣ each of 'em got a lethal 𝒸ℴ𝓇 atta[ɑ]ck
‣ overdosed, they dro[ɑ]pped
‣ on the ground like ja[ɔ]ws of cha[ɑ]ps
‣ at the sight of girls that are
‣ smokin' **[ɑ]t
‣ lyrically, these word-co[ɑ]mbs
‣ come close to those a[ɑ]cts
‣ frequently a ***** does
[once was told that I have 0 SELF-IRONY]
Trefild Mar 2020
hardest party with floozies and saddo
wrathful wifey is choosing bolt cutter
**** gets naughty with ****** at brothel
problem youngin threw toolkit at father
wanton hottie is looking for lovers
step-son keeps eyeing good-looking step-mother
some ****-dropping is pooping on flower
punk's just gotten caboose-kicked by copper
dumbest blondies as students of Harvard/Oxford
Trump went shopping with Putin for armor
[oops, the last one is risky]
US Eng
Kai Mar 2019
The phoenix burned, once more returned, from fiery pyre aflame
With wings outstretched, soared o’er land wretch’d, seen, by the bird, as the same
old forests of past, which never could last 'gainst nature's violent outlashes
Yet in dreams surviving, defiant, and thriving; though the air still reeked of ashes

The scorching sunset cast its melting gold net o’er the equally, if not more scorched earth
Night's moon and day's star hung above the earth's scar; two eyes judging the wasteland's worth
They deemed it as decent, though the charring of recent corrupted their judgement in part
And through the cloud's pain, the celestial rain cascaded down to the wood's heart

The tears of the sky rinsed the aching dirt dry, and quenched its desperate dreams
The caked floor, satiated, filled up and inflated with life bursting at its seams
Beneath vanished leaves, under wire canopies, green shoots had begun to grow
The Phoenix, all seeing, saw the passionate being of the young plants below.

The forest will burn as time’s wheels turn, evermore reaching its end
Everything dies, yet The Phoenix still flies, watching all birthed again.
This is sort of a first draft...? I might rewrite the poem and make it better one day but at the moment it's also technically a finished poem.

I guess it's about humanity, sort of- with the Phoenix as humanity, burning the forest down itself and then blaming it on nature; then regaining inspiration as the world is reborn.

I liked the idea of the sun and the moon acting as eyes which weep when it rains, so I kept it in- for now, at least.
neth jones Feb 2019
to the colouring book
and the maddening imagination
the insistence of the scribes
and the glandular power of our missions
of the dome and the species
the turn of the trickster
and the business being
within our clan
in our hand
in the span of our grind
a product of our natters
is there shared scheme in mind ?

                               - an inhabiter
Nikos Kyriazis Jan 2019
There is a lack of coherence
in this universe, a pebble
said to me once

How can I be incorporated
to this forest which the
everlasting ages brought me to?
I'm merely a pebble...

The uniformity somehow
cracks beneath the wheel of Time
A new stimulus shall always appear
for the carriage to continue its course

None shall ever stop
the scheme between
God and Time
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