Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
False Poets Apr 2019
words conveyed with a mutual clarity parity for communication
will end only when the world ends first
and the communitas is no more,and words, exist purposelessly  
for there is no left with whom to communicate, precisely

but now, of this moment,
write words, sentences multiplied but circumscribed,
verses with mystical aura,
whose utility so suspect and multiple meanings hidden within,
taken by you for the specific utility you uncover and create

ah, to write of things clearly visible to all,
but possessed differently, by each reader, this is the greatest commonsensical commonwealth useful
for and of humans indexed by unique word tendons tenderly

when this passes, when literature no longer
can be messengered to 127 Persian provinces,
each the message same,
yet given up in 127 different languages^

when you understand my poems perfectly then,
their utility is inutile,
the usefulness is in the
nth reinterpretation,
a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth wired inner construct,
being pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
a lives paired wine tasting, together believing
in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our armed embrace at last

p.s. Pradip, be careful what you wish for....a poet false...

9:15am  April 3, 2019
^ Book of Esther 1:22 For he (the King) sent letters into all the king's 127 provinces, into every province according to the writing thereof, and to every people after their language, that every man should bear rule in his own house, and that it should be published according to the language of every people.
Megan Parson Sep 2018
You are like economics,
Your addictive touch, my unlimited want.
Forget our chemistry, physics & genetics,
But you, I just can't!

Ne'er scarce in relation to my demand,
You know my every mood & curve.
You alone, can my heart command,
As market prices shift & swerve.

I am normative, you positive,
Opposites attract? Tis true!
Our every action, cumulative,
Together, the perfect graph we drew.

Your utility, I cannot question,
You chipped away my unstable equilibrium.
Your every approach, devoid of confusion,
Insurance of our love, requires no premium.

Though our needs are ever recurring,
Our time, brief and limited.
Memories created are never-ending,
Opportunity cost for you? Never hinted.

You are the good, worst, better & best,
Most importantly, you are never a test!!
Written before my Economics exam. Why do we get inspired at such times, lol!!
Nick Huber Nov 2017
If I had want of anything
In the entire world,
It would be of hands,
That mold clay into shapes.
Shapes that serve a function.
Shapes that piece together,
The fragments of hope,
You forfeit to despair.
For it is hands alone!
That knead tirelessly,
That truly make the world move.
Not wit, charm,
Nor these majestic tapestries of words.
Stefania S Oct 2017
the cup bought on a whim
one of those mornings
willing to spend more than five
for what should cost a buck
but the leaves drew me in
the circle broken by lame marketing
often the case in life
how easily we break our own circles

this morning alone i've reheated its contents three times
what used to be a daily purchase i now prepare at home
the cup its carry
i'm probably killing myself with the reheating
the construction recyclable but that means nothing
reheat inside of that and you'll get cancer
someone says
makes no sense though because the coffee is ******* hot
and the ******* cup holds it every day before it's reheated

i want to be that cup, i think
ready and willing to carry around the contents put upon it
no fuss or bustling
just a vessel
thought little of, pushed to the corner of the closet
brought out for utility

how to be a cup?
how to trade the drive and flourish
the passion that keeps pounding away
the flashes of intensity that find their way into tiny timbered moments
silly though, because of course i can't be the cup
no more than i can be the actual coffee
The fonterrorists will go elsewhere
The big boy powers always find a small dot far away from their large splodge
To check and wreck havoc to
It’s got to be far far enough away that if you can smell the smoke,
It’s faint enough that you could mistake it for incense
Or your might twitch your nose
Turn your head and say
Is someone smoking?
It smells like someone is smoking?

When the water is more **** than water
When it is only dry, desitutte,
eroded wasted uselessness,
The fonterrorists will go elsewhere
Somewhere with more utility.
I spoke to this man I met on the street and he told me that while he was on holiday he met a very guilt ridden man who was working for fonterra (read: fonterror) and he told me that they were already laying the plans to move on from colonised Aotearoa once it is all wasted.
Äŧül Oct 2016
I moved on forever,
Though I feel guilty,
I still should get over,
Try did I so to hold on,
Never worrying about my utility,
But now realise the damage,
I just feel so guilty.
It was a downward arrow from the beginning.
Sorry for wasting your time preaching the good.
Probably I am not made for short-sighted people.

HP Poem #1216
©Atul Kaushal

— The End —