Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lily Jul 2015
In this shallow age
of facebook,
instagram, selfie,
I realized one thing,
I'd rather be called intellectual than pretty.




© Leigh Herondale  *2015
I'll be 20 in 7th September ***
Francie Lynch Jul 2015
We've succumbed
To the pandemic
Of awkward confusion;
Where the rabbit,
Not magician,
Is half the illusion.
We're topsy-turvy,
I'm getting sick:
We're highly toxic,
It's acute, not chronic,
We've set the cameras
On ego-centric.
IsReaL E Summers Jul 2015
A little rant on humanity's vanity
We have the power to be completely free
But instead we've chosen slavery
Like Loki said
"We were created to be subgegated"
But don't quote me on that
No, here quote me on this
This world ****** up,
What it tried to fix.
Up in my mix.
Twisted, by Lucifer tricks
We have worshipped the triple six
And now we're sick
But in the midst of the blackest darkness
A spark ignites
And illumination soon coincides
So go inside
The mind of heart
Not the heart of mind
There you will find
That you are not so blind
Just nurtured to be a selfish swine
You have a heart that is so divine
But it's choking, entwined
In clothes with price-tags could
Blow-your-mind
"Maybe money can fix this"
Is the mantra of sickness
Random freestyle/rant
epictails Jul 2015
Gold pennies in designer wallets
Shopping lists in silver buckets
Running the thirst out like water
from dainty pockets
All in the name of ***** rackets

A trend show on the outside
A hollowness on the inside
Heaps of hard price tags aside
You are bought but unsatisfied

Glitter screens the cloudy eyes
Of those who are in the grave of earthly lies
Vanity consumed until the heart dries
In a mansion of hedonism,
existence nullifies

A jacket made of money would still leave you cold
In your last breath, just how many things can you hold?
You're the perfect fit of a capitalistic mold
And your will has long been sold
This is for some of my schoolmates who can only live like materialists. When you talk to them they are like empty heads who can think of nothing but what clothes to buy next what gadgets to entertain them next. I feel like their lives are floating on what the world feeds them and I find that extremely annoying and sad.

On another note, I am glad to be writing again and not just confessional poetry. Social commentaries are very hard to write but I think I can do them better now. I always force myself to write more of them because I have some strong opinions myself but no one wants to listen. At the very least, writing could provide a listening ear.
Rashid Nawaz Jul 2015
a wild rough presence
and each carved muscle
are the art of God!
to skin it's Desire
and to flesh it' affection
beneath a creeping thought
I lay fertile,
Vanity, gluttony, lustful sins
I pardon,
gluttony is of your love's hunger
that I desire
and those I commit
are lustful sins
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2015
Soppy is the way,
Ladle on the sentiment,
If that swill doesn't work,
Just cheat with phoney names,
You too can be so popular on HP
Yet the mirror still looks on with disdain.


Note: rather than craft, study, honing, using elements of actual poetry ( metre, alliteration, image nor even metaphor ) the 'Tireless Self Promoters Club' simply want to start at the top? Phoney? Lazy? No cliché beneath them? Pathetic?
All signs point to YES!
for all the vacuous, small Peacocks, the dear diarists and their lame 'thoughts'
All dull, in a row, cheats who trend, phoney to the end

banal:
: boring or ordinary : not interesting
Full Definition
: lacking originality, freshness, or novelty : trite
synonyms see insipid
Examples

the sort of banal woman who appeals to men not looking for intellectual stimulation
please find new ways of phrasing your thoughts instead of relyingon banal expressions
Origin: French, from Middle French, of compulsory feudal service, possessed in common, commonplace, from ban.
First use: 1825
.
Synonyms: wishy–washy, flat, insipid, milk-and-water, namby-pamby, watery

.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015
In plain sight, the Peacocks ply their wearisome
Colours.  Awkwardly swaying, pompously preening,
They cry to be seen, their voices are gurgling  
And gawking.  The direction of wind is their vane.

Overhead, in the secret sky fleet wings are truth.
In the sun the searing Falcon is seeing all;
His talons turn and steal away, they are mad,  
Playful fingers— they will have their say.
ABadPenname Jun 2015
NEW DAY—
   wake up.
Put your head in order.
Do not trust the inspiration just
go with it. Because
when it strikes it strikes hard and fast and
it ends with both sides panting— put your head in order.
   It's a good thing waking up early.
Shower off, then immediately after—
two cups of coffee. And a cigarette.
I hold my vices in a cup.
   Relapse into delirium; it's O.K.
—Quickly out the window to first
breathe in new day.
Snag the morning paper as an errand; locate self on this
wide spinning orb.
Locate self in the Material, then
locate your Center.
I have a CENTER.
All good feelings from the CENTER.
Bleed me. —Get my head together.
   Back inside to fireplace, and piles
upon piles
upon piles of
needless words, works and extra copies,
all to be delivered unto warmth—my fire.
Put the book down.
Do not obsess over self-image, or
Self involving propoganda.
   Accept the imminent dissatisfaction— I mean
really Accept that.
One more smoke,
****** thoughts—    Keep your head in order.

Get to know what wears you and describe it eloquently.
Lose all track of time just walking.
Walk more often.
Love your footsteps, each and every ******* one.
REMEMBER:
   Timing is a virtue.
morning after documented.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015
Sickly sweet colours
With their feathers fanning look
Still they soil the ground
Next page