The solid wall,

Unscalable in height,
Impenetrable in might,

How that secure wall,
Encase this psyche,

And carefully constructed,
It be excessively rendered,
Carefully,
It masquerade idealisation,

Albeit,
This wall ultimately conceal,
What torment persist,
Of ageing scars,
The heart still suffers

Sam Bowden Jan 2014

To elaborate on what Chris Hedges (the liberal who loves to play radical during uprisings) wrote in the Occupied Wall Street Journal concerning the goal of the Occupy Wall Street movement: “The goal to us is very, very clear. It can be articulated in one word—REBELLION. … What the elites fail to realize is that rebellion will not stop until the corporate state is extinguished.”
To that, I say this:
If you are sick and tired of living in the land of the 'free',
in the land of plenty,
while you see injustice
and poverty
and suffering,
then stand up.
Join a local chapter of Occupy,
join any progressive group.
If you don't see these things,
PLEASE WAKE UP.
READ, look and listen,
to the world around you,
rather than a TV, an Iphone,
or some talking head.
The deep inequities in life exist for a reason.
Capitalism, that oh so familiar 'greed is good' mentality.
We have to transform it totally,
beginning with a plea for rebellion.

Poetic T Aug 30

Though you are not near,
                             I feel you in the walls,
I never noticed the ripples,
the effigy of your features peering
underneath the veil of silhouettes,
that contort to the yearning of you.

I push my palm against the wall,
and sense a migration of tangibility
as though you were
                                  intrusive on this world.
but poignant features I read like brail.

I slumber nights on the cold floor, eyes
eclipsing the days. But I gaze at you,
never seeing but I know your
                                         beneath my skin
with your gaze. I see only ripples of
my yearning, I hit out at the wall that
keeps you from me and it bleeds.

My heart descends into oblivion knowing
your within my reach, I want to contort
this paper into  
                         origami effigies of you.
But I will wait till my draping's are tattered
to feel you upon my paper skin flesh.

Write upon me your yearning, I recline
on the walls of his memory waiting for
it to sense my thirst...
                                 drowning in silence.
But as I fade into the grasps of a shallow grave,
I feel you upon my flesh pulling me within and
we are one, I'm just bones behind a wall of memories.

I always wondered what it would be like if,
suddenly,
one of those "famous internet people"
would start liking me,
hitting each and every one of my posts
with one of their virtual emoji reactions,
sharing my words
and my soul
all over their sordid walls,
making me trendy and clickable,
part of the same pretentious content
that they're always displaying.

Will I feel sick
(like I do every time I read what they're sayin' in their trendsetter social media universe)
or will I feel proud?

Will I think that is a terrible waste of good procrastination or will I smile?

Will I roll my eyes,
after looking at their "common garbage"
or will I take a deep smell of the "beautiful bit flower that they seeded in their garden"?

Will I ever find out?
Will I have the will?

skyler Aug 14

the walls were talking
vibrating back
everything i had pushed away
vicious sound waves
forcing their way in
to rattle my eardrums

now bloods dripping from my knuckles
and drying on the bricks
and i'm not sure what happened
but the pounding sensation
of blood rushing to the wound
fills my ears
drowning out everything else

s.s

This wall is for drawing
No writing allowed
No tags from the gangs
That wander this town

No poems, graffiti
Just sketching is all
Poorly drawn things are
Erased from this wall

The art of a child’s
An ugly scrawl
No verbal expression
Be glad you may draw

This wall shall become
A great work of art
But none of these drawings
Will come from the heart

a darling in Derry
by the River Foyle
in bogside slid into harry
soon this gable marked toil
and this countess came sporadic
though many were that romantic
while their seven gates said no g8

Londonderry UK

The stone around your heart has been chiseled at
You warm the frost when you're ready
When you realize the small thinking, anger, fear, and drawing into yourself
Have shrunk you small
The wall starts to crumble
You start to free your mind, your heart
From the prison you kept for safety

A poem I wrote years ago
alan Jul 24

3:29

You walk in, you walk out
those painted walls
and tall halls
echos create a polyphonic shout
and perforate your beating blood
all ends with a deleterious flood.

3:39

doesn't sound finished to me, but whatever

I was so busy building a wall to keep everyone out
that I didn’t realize I was locking myself in.
Now I’m completely trapped within myself
and the civil war for my soul begins.

I’m left alone to tear down a wall that was built to keep hundreds out.
My monsters are winning this war and I will soon perish in my doubt.

A vulture is the only thing I can see
mocking me from the boundaries of my wall.
Soon it will be his time to dine
as I think I’ll leave my body by nightfall.

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