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Bella Isaacs Mar 2022
I will, for I can, go beyond my station now
Wherefore should I be confined? And how
You will wonder at me in the future,
Which I shall make my present, forgetting the suture
That has held my mouth - It is not a scar;
And I have a million things to say as they are,
Or as they might be - I will ape Almodóvar
And outshine Solovjov, and will I go far!
I will be She of the next generation;
But I must get beyond this station
I must move beyond the static,
From the bedroom to the attic,
And from thereon, to the world,
When my courage has unfurled;
And I will seize this with both hands
And deal you wonder, charm and reprimands:
I will paint you images, and write you songs,
Celebrate your joy, and right your wrongs,
Pick at the intricacies, and throw the obvious,
Show humankind as honest and oblivious,
And I will do this all, and watch me so -
I just need to ready, set, and go.
I want to tell stories for the rest of my life: I want to to put on plays and make films. University is not a stop to this - it's just another step. Another step is to forget the existence of potential romantic interests and the supposed "importance" of social media. Then, ahead.

I am losing myself to art

Spilling the chaos on the canvas

I may not remain a whole

For I maybe draped in a hand skill

Stroked with animal hair

Lost in the heat of colors

Seized in an imaginative capture

Transfixed in time

The remnants hard to characterize

Mutilated for an inventive victory

Woven in a verse of triumph

Sometimes discreet in absurdity

Sometimes molested in modernity

I may not remain a whole

Dashes may surface

In exhibits,

It may surround your gaze

Exist as a description

Limited just as a name.
R N Tolliday Nov 2020
Beyond the strain, my pain,
lies a beautiful city.
Shopping malls, lights reflecting off surfaces,
whites of mouths grinning, connected.
Bustle and sound.
Comfort in this, as a youngster.
Unseen by tall, eyes yearning for adventure.
The store is a place for grown-ups, whom I'll be, a millenium away.

There was a world waiting, beyond adulthood.
I'm able to take small grasps…

I love being—at this age younger.
I could run this surface of a shopping mall,
always find a new meaning at its end.
And this is life beyond it too.
As I would only venture to see the lengths beyond this, from where I stand in there.
Timmy Shanti Mar 2020
Put pen to paper
- it's so simple -
And wield the might
Of countless words!

Be brave and daring
Or... be nimble:
Your thoughts can be
As sharp as swords.

Pick up a pencil
- pen a poem -
Enlighten, thrill and entertain!
But once it does spring from your *****,
What sway is there to retain?..

The words you say
Are gone forever!
Life of their own,
So free at last!

By humbly scribbling
You endeavour
To stay the future and the past...

Partake in pleasure
- pure and proper -
Both art and craft, it's eons old!

Tread lightly!
There's a world on offer,
A slew of stories to be told.
Happy World Poetry Day!
21 -iii- 2020
Carl Halling Jul 2019
Oh! With what unspeakable anguish
Do I regret the vocation
I came so close
And so oft to having
The sweet acclamation
That might have been mine.

Had I tried and failed,
That would scarcely concern me,
Yet, I squandered my resources
Time and time again,
And failed so unnecessarily,
That is what so torments me.

I only wish I could contemplate
More than a mere handful
Of past achievements with pride
And satisfaction,
But even this paltry compensation,
Remains stubbornly beyond me.

Oh! With what unspeakable anguish
Do I regret the vocation
I came so close
And so oft to having
The sweet acclamation
That might have been mine.
'Oh! With What Unspeakable Anguish' almost certainly dates from late May 2019, when it was conceived in a state of genuine anguish (as clearly evidenced by the piece’s title), related to my past; although this has since faded, so that I don’t feel it so intensely at the time of writing, viz., a little under two months after it assumed its final shape on the 16th.
I dream a dream of skill,
I gather pictures of best practice
(methods best enacted off the couch.)
I house,
crisp corners, soaring beams and posts
where gawkers marvel, ‘cos
the high is feeling good. I see
the woods
and watch the owners.
(What good grip they have! enough to claim
what they could never care for-
let the lessers sing their lives!)
I drive a drive
not fast enough for fastness-makers,
flaunting logos, polished chrome,
I drive a loan.

None say it, none will ever hear
these soft confessions to
the “here” I hold right now
in its un-good. I slip
a “should” on, halfway,
dumping it for snacks and cons -
I run for miles
to lose it on the lawn.

And as I break, I pause to
watch a bit to see how not to fail.
I land in jail. The wardens
never speak to me,
the only copy of the key
described in stories, but
they’ve scattered every page.
And every day I fail
to reconstruct it out of naught,
I age.
Divine Love
From above
The Love of a Creator

If not a man
But it doesn't matter
Cuz he's a real man
He always gives me a hand

He's all I want
He's all I need
All I need
To truly be me

In my dreams
He's there
In the day
He cares
This is all I need

I'm under the spell of
Divine Love
a Mar 2018
My religion teacher doesn't care about the arts.
But what if I don't care about religion?
My parents forced me to go to a catholic school. But I am going to study arts in college. Why can't you accept that the arts is some peoples vocation in life. You explain in class how things we're good at or find an attracting too at a young age is our vocation. I fell in love with the arts at a young age.
Stop being a hypocrite Mr.Majewski and respect the arts.
I'm not religious.
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