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Stuart Day May 2015
Now I've tried creating something from nothing,
But nothing is all I end up creating,

By definition by writing this down is contrasting to what I'm saying,

But Hell,

Something comes from somewhere,
But nothing, nothing can come from anywhere.
Nonsensical babbling.
Nikita May 2015
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refridgerator.
Destre' May 2015
My Words
My thoughts
my lines
None of it works
Some of it rhymes
is it even supposed to rhyme?
It takes up so much time
wasted time?
Maybe
But I like wasting my time
With little notes and little rhymes
A thought here
And a doodle there
but whats the point?
Does there have to be a point?
Cant we just be
Cant we speak and laugh and doodle and rhyme  
And all chime in together to have a good time
Without there really being a point?
I believe your rambling again
Yes, yes I know
My apologies and good day
misses and misters
Good sir's and good ma'am's
Oh goodness, im making no sense again
This should probably go directly into the trash
But ill share it anyway, simply because I can
Mike Essig May 2015
I cannot not how you smell
so I project my own desire
onto your unknown skin.

Patchouli. A scent that
makes him instantly goofy
and transports me at once
to the decade before
you even drew breath.

Even now that scent
on a crowded street
turns my head in wonder.

Scent, taste and touch:  
our first mammalian memories.

Do not be troubled lover,
I will love and linger
on any olfactory lingerie
you care to wear or none.

My second favorite is just
sunshine on bare skin.

But any whiff of you will
become part of my heart
and I will inhale you
deep into my soul.

~mce
Paul D Apr 2015
You drive each sense wild.
Touching you
Seeing you
Hearing you
Smelling you
Tasting you...

Each sending vibrations through my soul,
as if yours is reaching for mine.
Holding on
Loving
I see it:
In your cautious movements,
From the stillness in your stare,
On your skin.

I hear it:
In stifled hisses of pain,
From metal tinkling in your bag,
On the playlist of songs that scream-
YOU ARE BROKEN

I smell it:
In your sleeve- desperate bleaching,
From your bag- antiseptic,
On your skin- salt and iron.

I taste it:
In your food- why won't you eat?
From your drink- tepid and untouched.
On your lips- cold...
Salt and iron again.

I feel it:
In your summer-sweat long sleeves,
From your stinging tears on my chest,
On your skin-
Sunken lines raised and rising.

I know it:
In our skin,
From from our past,
On flesh that will never let us forget,
But will always remind us to forgive.
Neex Apr 2015
The times we check under our beds for monsters,
We don't realize that they're inside us,
They eat us from within,
While the world eats us externally,
It's all part of a dark melody.

Our monsters aren't all so vicious,
But it's a competition,
Because the world is undoubtedly ferocious,
They battle for eternities,
Until either is victorious,
And all that is left of us,
Are idle piles dust,
Oh it's all so delirious.

If humans could only understand this,
Earth could be an ideal,
No more cravings for cosmic space,
Life,
Possibly surreal.
I'm delirious...
naming the world
is our daily task
temporary and forever new
challenging and ambiguous

   like the name of the rose

only few names last
most are forgotten
the young ones usually
do not understand

   a rose is a rose is a rose

names can move masses
   Oedipus Napoleon ****** Ghandi
   Jesus Stalin Mohammed Rockefeller
or just a few
  or one or two

names are what
remains of us
   aids to some fleeting thoughts
   in the dear memories of friends
imprinted on official pages
   and electronic discs
strange signs for future generations

to name
   against the flow of time
   what we see hear feel taste smell  and do
   our dreams and visions and desires
   the thoughts we have and those
   we do not dare to think
   and to name those we love and hate
fills our lives

  the rose is

             * *
"a rose is a rose is a rose" is a famous one-line poem by the U.S. avantgarde author Gertrude Stein in the 1920s.
realrampage Mar 2015
wind in the branches
I close my eyes
the raven's cry
i think it's a kind of haiku
Afra Al Zaabi Mar 2015
I can see her smile
But no longer feel it

I can feel her touch
But no longer sense it

I can hear her whispers
But no longer heed her voice

I can feel her cold skin
But no longer feel her warm skin

I can feel her heart
But no longer sense her soul

I can hear her heartbeats
But no longer read her pulses

I can taste the bitterness
But no longer sip the sweetness

I can believe that she’s gone
But no longer conceive that she’s dead

I can no longer see the light
Because it got dimmed the day she died
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