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Karijinbba Aug 15
Pictures in the memory chip
woke me up from a long sleep
as amnesia's burried pain
unresolved takes flight

I woke up to see my beast
and did weep for way too long
I saw my beauty within silenced
my inner cores sacred seed
my tree of life chopped
I weeped harder then ever then
I loved myself dearly so
and lived
waiting for another chance
to bloom again
blessed with marriage's vows
and many precious kids
I sided with beauty to comfort my beast within to give it the love attentive it needed emergently so.

I survived a loving Mother
badly trashed
envied discriminated birthing
was torturous in the hands of evil jealous sadistic Medeas.

they were the snakes
in everyones paradise
angry I had succeeded
in all they've failed
surviving their many attempts

I survived chasing few boys
chasing me only
with their lethal horn
they lacked courage
heart and brains
to chase me
with heart and soul
I sought for a best husband
that had long passed me by
leaving me behind
to brew longer into
my mangled core
into his aged best
wine reserve

He quickly Married brewing
another woman's wine tougher
oh the pain he caused me!
the daggars deeper dugged.

I roamed the internet
singles sites ever looking
to fill in the void in my kids
A father figure I only sought
for my cherished beloved
young kids
and for a lifetime I did look
asleep in my pain failing again,
in all the wrong places I did look.

Unaware that two bad as* boys
had came pre-paid by my ex or his
consort ** to trash me, to use me
to video tape me just enough and
to continue with a look alike
***** player on sale
just to trash me more in his eyes.
just to abandon and curse me.
May the internet singles web
of vipers the bad boys
the shadow people entities
no longer thrive.
To the bottom of the sea drown
take the hungry wolves down
an eye for an eye
justice I seek

Later on, the stranger
pre paid **** asked me
to not look back not to crash
Written in a photo post card
depicting two handsome
well dressed men flying
their private luxury airplane.

Same image my lover
rdd had sent in 75
two decades back!.

I found only heartache, misery
and pain by greedy wolves
posing as safe gentlemen
seeking a wife to be.

I took a lot more dangerous risks
many protective Moms would fret

my happier songs unplayed
remained in Hollywood
tower high subsidy abode.

Our dream and my legal identity
in his safety deposit box hid
a lifetime too long
for our harvest to yield it's fruit

My poet lover found me
available unmarried broke
on the singles adds web
again and again in secret
with hope I rejoiced.

he seemed *******
on our old script
he'd cursed me with
yielding no fruits

I lacked resource purse to run
to chase after him kids and all.

He must have given his gold seeds
allowing her generic matrix
edged in greed and jealousy
to grow'm to tie him down.

How's this story poem mine
similar to pictures on the web
photos on an ancient script?

My story poem pictures paint
"a thousand words.*
By: Karijinbba
Copy Rights
when a picture paints a thousand words
the story takes flight across the world it touches someone's heart.
Iléana Amara Jul 10
they say that to love someone in a lifetime,
you have to attend a thousand funerals
of people who they used to be.

i stood before yours in disbelief,
as you stood before mine;
pale, cold, grasping for life.

Inspired by Priebe's words.
M Solav May 9
In a tectonic motion
Mountains have formed
Ridges deepened
In the blink of an eye
In the breadth of a gasp

I recognize myself
Asking why they assume
That we find who we are
Within the singular grasp
Of a mere single soul

For I feed a thousand of them
And they feed themselves alone

Your so-called meditation
Must be taken elsewhere
You must see that it was
Never yours to begin

Watch the rearview mirror
Who enquires the wisdom
I am but a multiple
Left merrily unanswered
Written in May 2020.

— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.
lmnsinner Apr 14
he melancholy muses, his hand upon his chest.

a thousand miles
                                        she replies, a thousand eyes winking lying
a thousand quiverings
                                        she denies, a thousand quaverings
a thousands hairs
                                        she sighs, everyone of a different color
a thousand songs
                                        she cries, not any but not the one
a thousand sensations
                                        she implies, by silence, not the same, sensual
a thousand touches,
                                        she asks, slyly, is it your tongue your finger?
a thousand dies,
                                        she contradicts, all mine, not yours, or ours!

and then she speaks, in Italian, a language so musical, it’s melancholy  at its very essence.

I’m no longer of surety possessing,        
Non ** più la garanzia di possedere,
is it my finger or my tongue, is it              
è il mio dito o la mia lingua, vero?
that my finger became my tongue,        
il mio dito è diventato la mia lingu,
all senses at attention, blurred,              
tutti i sensi all'attenzione, sfocato,

the love song enactment, touch
                                (recitazione della canzone d'amore, tocco)
I’m heading to a special wood.
A magic place to be.
Where whispers can be heard,
from swaying branch of every tree.

There’s Oak and Willow,
Ash and Cherry too.
Each has a tale to tell
and they’re whispering it to you.

I’m going to a special tree.
It’s been here just one thousand days.
At its trunk I sit to listen
to the branches in the breeze.

I pass to it my confidences
and tell it tales anew.
In the hope you hear me
through prayers I send to you.

They don’t just talk, you know.
They take the time to listen too.
If you’ve got a tale to tell,
the tree will pass it on for you.

So, find yourself a special tree
and tell to it your tale.
With a rustle in its leaves,
your story, upon the breeze, will sail.

Each tree, like a guardian,
stands tall and stout.
Giving succour to the ground
and all the flora ‘round about.

Their branches reaching to the sky.
Their roots the soil beneath.
A bridge ‘tween heaven and earth.
Giving faith to my belief.

I gaze upon this special tree.
Think back a thousand days.
‘Tis here you’re laid to rest.
The place I come to pray.

This tree brings hope, that much is true,
and like a conduit,
through it, ‘tis my way,
to commune with you.
a thousand days since my Wife was buried in a woodland cemetary
Moonlight on her sweater.

Alex took a 3rd.
Shot in her head.
Didn't know any better
She pins the 44 at the wall.
Skulking at the rain.
Tired of the poor of it all
The lie of the weather man.
The azure wind in her ears.
Saying that ran.
Behind the fears.
Left only foam from her mouth n her toes in the sand.

Garrett Johnson.
Only and not just.
A M Ryder Dec 2019
The problem with being happy
Is a lot like the problem with pluto
It was a vague way of
Describing a complex thing

Our sense of happiness is so fragile
It can be destroyed by simply asking whether or not it exists
Instead I'm busy
I'm interested
I'm fascinated

I want to build things
And then break them

I want to be busy and beautiful
And brimming with
Ten thousand moving parts
I want to hurt
So that I can heal

And that's okay
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