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S I N Dec 2019
In a posture of a Thinker i do
Sit; my head perched on a fist which is
Attached to an arm which concludes
In an elbow which rests on my knee; the
Tile is aquamarine; the door is ajar for
There is some problem with some hinges;
Not enough-ajar to see but sufficient
Enough to notice some discontent on
The visage; the pipe is running through
My place; beginning and ending though
Beyond my sight; so the rest of it does not
Exist; and so my head is proped up and in
My bowels the strife not for life but for
Death cannot come to the conclusion;
No truce is possible i presume; as if
Someone wrings my intestines both large
And small; the wamble or a growl crumbles
My entrails and shakes them trying to
Displace then; all exertions are to no
Good ******* right was Tolstoy as
Always that there is only two truly
Important plights: good health and clear
Conscious; ******* the old man was
Right all along; though when I imagine him
In his loo of the 19th century doubling up
On his throne holding perhaps to the walls
In the moment of the endeavor to push to
Push to push O God to push forward O
Man that connotés to you something
But doesn’t change the fact that you are
Still in that tiled room with no means of
Escape but to fight and push your way
Through Oh there it goes like in the
Hospital they say to you Don’t go to
The white light but go now you must it
Is your time my man come on we’ve been
Through so much so come on go and be
And throes are in the way but that is okay
For This is the Way **** let it be and ohhhh
Bloop; Friction; Flush; off we go and may
Our paths shall never cross
Tony Tweedy Dec 2019
To take a thought or some emotion,
and to convert it to the written word.
To have a voice unspoken,
and to know it yet may be heard.

To place before the audience
some learning or to simply share a view.
To tell of things, of love or pain,
and to give a glimpse of you.

To remove an outer layer,
or remove a mental crutch.
To open up your soul,
and expose it to their touch.

To etch into the mind,
of someone never met.
A hope a dream or some idea,
that they will not forget.

Each and every poet,
writes of what they feel.
And from their own experience,
they change our world to real.

Through conveyance of the written word,
that great poets have expressed with rhyme.
Casting forward thoughts of love and wisdom,
to become, not forgotten and to outlast the test of time.
The power of words.... surely man's only true pathway to immortality.
cecily Aug 2019
I wonder what they wonder
These people same my age
I wonder how they think
Is it deep like my depth?

or maybe
I'm just an old soul
trapped in a young body
shout out to all old souls
Maziar Ghaderi Apr 2019
i promise ill betray you
the more you hold on your to assumptions and emotions
the more ill play with you
all those ideas from faceless voices in the maze
you’ve inherited happily
because who has the time to think on their own?
Always Ally Mar 2019
You convince yourself to stay where you are
because you're afraid of wading in waters you don't know.
You believe it won't be better than where you are now,
but you know you're not happy
You deserve better.

You feel ungrateful for what's be given to you,
but you matter too.
Unhappy is unhappy.
Don't let it sit. Don't let it dwell.

You convince yourself that certain things outweigh the others.
The small things matter too.
You're allowed to be upset,
but you'll never allow yourself.
You deserve better.
Chante Hinsey Mar 2019
He was very much mentally exhausted from the three previous rounds of word play that we had. But I was very much still aroused.

I needed to grip on his large cranium as he inserted his think logophiled member into the creases of my cerebral.

I wanted him to feel my muscles tightening around his fingers as he caressed my mind.

I needed him to use his tongue to make my brain drip wet like a leaky faucet. I'm wondering if he lost it. Grip on my medulla and massage my grey plump jewel.

I could of done something else to stimulate my brain like reading a book about trains. But what fun would that be when my mate is by my side willing to start mentally ******* me.

I think I went overboard. He has his thinking cap on like the supreme overlord. Should I grab 100 words you never heard. Or just take my defeat and get back to the sheets.

Baby as the pendulum swings
We exist in moment that escapes time
Let my lips service your soul
with great rhetoric when i bend on my knees cause baby about to blow your mind

Should I make his toes curl by the vigorous word use I'm about to hurl.  No I'll just sit back and play defeated like the nymphal  bad girl.
Jessica Stull Dec 2018
In the case of a senseless reality
Those who may indeed happily lie to me
Sly with a grin a twerk of a smear
You can lie for sure dear
But you’re just giving me more words to play upon a spindle of voices soon to be longingly forgotten
My strength only grows from the disdain of long slow days that take away from the beauty I seek
Perhaps those who thirst, prey upon the meek
Lies are fun indeed to play on...
But I dare not play with karma, for I’ve learned she bites back harder
So play me your lies for nothing can sure hide forever
I dare you to phase me, spare me the excess, except that is the truth.
Even truth said too soon
What would phase me even more,
The actions to match
But that’s just my thoughts a-running
I’ve got other things awaiting
I was taught,
Open your mind and protect your heart

©Jessica Stull
I’ve been through many friendships and relationships that have ended with dishonesties I knew were truths when I dared to believe  reality
Janna Nov 2018
I’ll write my concerns

Down it goes,

On the perfect crisp white

In between the lines

Can you read through them

But down it goes either way

Lodged in my throat

The words don’t come out

Like the way I want it to

The pen is dry liquidation

It worsens my condition

I can’t seem to write

Write down these concerns

Stuck and caught

In the moment

The pen hits paper

My words choked up

My vision is blurry

The dry ink got wet

Now I thank the liquid in my eye

some days our worries are well above our heads, high in the clouds, we can't see the start or the end, we have lost our voices, choked on our own tears, we lack understanding and wisdom, the left is right and right is left. some days we can't speak but try and write your concerns down, let it go, burn the piece of paper, pray on it, but let it go, let it out.
a o karenin Jul 2018
but your way of
v a n i s h i n g
has the power to question
my own existence.
was it real? or was it just an awfully

- анна о. к.
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