#bag
The world for a moment
sank into soundless silence.
One second became an hour.
I watched it as if it were a frame,
cut from an old celluloid film.
I recognize the decorations,
I recognize the people.
I have lived in these situations,
I have read these words.
My skin breathes
with the air of the past world.
I look at it,
and I sometimes
feel alone in my silence.
Sweet unawareness
gives an impulse to respond
I play the next acts,
no longer so
absorbed by my role.
Does meaning still mean anything?
Only silence, music,
and the warmth that we give away.
I’ll look at the tips of my feet,
moving slowly.
I leave my right arm
rest from carrying heavy books
in the bag waiting
for the lightness of thoughts.
Nov 7, 2025
Nov 7, 2025 at 6:26 PM UTC
I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t knit my bag out of rope.
Do you remember how I loved that:
Knitting, twisting… and I didn’t mope.
I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t paint that indistinct canvas,
Which smells of magic autumn flavour,
With oil strokes, all wet with tears.
I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t walk down Monmartre at all.
I didn’t visit that cafe in Paris,
Where they served clafouti after all.
I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t kiss you ample for me.
I didn’t inhale you enough, my truelove.
Oh, if I only could foresee.
I wasn’t in time for so much…
I didn’t find in heart to tell you.
Do you recall that night when the star fell?
I made a wish that I’d never get lost you.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 5:46 AM UTC
there is a ****** tension
between my ego and my self-loathing
they both love to **** each other,
it's almost alarming
looking in the mirror I'm so alluring,
I could blow a kiss
while plotting to sedate myself,
to fabricate a bliss
I legalize hate for myself
to encourage my fouling
I pollute the good in me,
so why would it surround me?
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 3:52 AM UTC
Drones lazor equipt
Build a forcefield
In a sphere lazor armor
You cant touch plasma
Ill go 10 mph in a lazor held vehicle
100 years twa but space
Ill static electricity a sphere and mercury
Like nurolink
Dont blink
Emp no charge
D
I
E
Like a cad machine
Ill build a perfect layer beam an platform
Name 1 poet area 51 who got
Alien in his cell
Ill bounce off gravity particles
Ill 18.8 frequency **** 24.4
Noone got a lazor as nice as me *****
I ain lying invincible soon we flying
Feb 25, 2024
Feb 25, 2024 at 5:45 PM UTC
Fri Feb 10
8:12 AM
“As artists, we are exposed to a heavy level of scrutiny, mostly from ourselves,” adds Villarini-Velez. “At times we might be insecure when a choreographer asks us to do something that takes us away from our usual, classical vocabulary. I felt like some of my peers who aren’t exposed to this movement would feel insecure at times, but nonetheless, rise up to the challenge of exploring new levels of artistry. It’s easy to rely on our usual bag of tricks, but I enjoy the risks of detaching from what looks good and moving in a way that feels good. It’s our responsibility to rise to these challenges and expand our artistic horizons.”(1)
<>
guilty. as charged.
so, incorporating new words,
differing styles.
do what does not come naturally.
“detach from what looks good,
moving in a way that feels good”
make radicalization your ethos
make new-for-you your eponym.
give your name to what you create,
a mere signature insufficient, it is not part of the work!
taste the wet words upon tongue and lips,
let the saliva linkage be to the following morseling phrase,
the mouth sac moist be where verbal embryos are birthed.
hear them spoke in your voice, but,
silently, in your mind, and yet, speak-say them inside
with the shocking thunderous force of a newborn’s first cry.
and when you read them assembled,
weep with pleasure, relieved, this, your child,
looks exactly like no one, with but trace elemental traits of you.
but it is all yours, sinew and cell, fiber and skin,
drawn unformed, ejected from the intramural hollows of the body,
then and only then, mark them at last as truly
mine..
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 2:05 PM UTC
They cut down the trees and then urge the young to plant them again, about how life goes, as if age is just a number, and we no longer believe in power.
They cut down the trees, clear land,
make production, then shop spree for a vision and mission because life only once and needs to be enjoyed, wrapped in a paper bag and then thrown away and become a homeless person's sleeping mat in front of the overhang of shops.
Oct 19, 2021
Oct 19, 2021 at 8:28 AM UTC
Going in
Can be hard
When you don’t know
If it’s
demons
Or angels
That inhabit you
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC
Some days I feel like getting up,
others,
I don't.
I lift my finger off my bed, and I say,
not today.
Sometimes I wonder if people notice the small things,
like my eye bags getting bigger,
or the slight limp in my walk.
Maybe they do and maybe they don't,
that's not up to me.
It's all up for grabs.
I like to think I'm in charge,
but I know I'm just drifting.
People around me are just carrying me along through life.
I'll never be the person they all look to.
The "Imma 2020 president candidate," tik tok that people actually support.
No love, no nothing.
Drifting. Drifting. Drifting.
Some days I do my homework,
some days I can't even open my laptop.
It's not up to me, it's all up for grabs.
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 1:14 AM UTC
Stormzy, more like bad lyrics
in a teacup, scream that your
street, but you brush of the
norm and drive around like
you better, than the bros that really
live and die on the street.
But you more receded than your
hair line..
finking you know what the lyrics
you spill really mean.
But you faker than
your forehead botoox
that don't mean what you spill...
Like you lyrics..
That are like a bag
of scrabble spilt on the floor,
disorganized sentences that
mean nothing..
Making sentences that don't even flow,
A desert flows smother than your
rhyme..
you faker than a Kardashian, but cheaper..
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 10:18 AM UTC
The Lightning Man.
In life we beat out our time; knees bent, singing and dancing.
In death our spirit, reappears in human, plant and animal form, recycled; reborn.
In telling our stories; we move through the days and walk in the past.
We push up mountains and invoke the rain.
We cut our bodies; dress in leaves, oil and paper bark,
We paint our bones red with ochre returning to the womb from which we sprang.
Nothing has changed...all is as it should be.
Jan 26, 2020
Jan 26, 2020 at 8:14 PM UTC
the dope
is crank
on the
scene as
rancidity with
duff so
heck with
the caffeine
it feels
like coke
now in
her variety
of crack
this speedball
mustn't hurt
the law
in doubt
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
_White nights, grey days,
Phosphorus and gin;
Graffiti-laden pavements,
Diamond rain and paraffin.
Chalk dust reveries,
Aerosols and spit;
Zero-hour freeways,
Magnetic parapets.
City high, city low,
Monoliths in drag;
Silent spaces, dwelling places,
A hoody and a bag.
Freestyle evangelists,
Salvation strikes a pose;
Train tracks, kitchen hacks,
The rapture and the snow._
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 2:52 PM UTC
The bag contained something that was dangerous
What was in the bag?
Was it a time bomb?
Was it a cocked pistol?
Was it a spiked baseball bat?
Was it an unstable mortar shell?
Was it a leaking bottle of acid?
Was it a nerve gas dispenser?
Was it a small stabbing sword?
Was it a brass knuckle duster?
Was it a karate instruction book?
Was it a piece of Plutonium?
No it was a small puppy with sharp teeth!
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
Faced by the traces of the past
TIme passes me by
The last word I heard from you
Was hello and goodbye
I wonder if acquintances were just lies
Bringing myself to terms with endearing love
You possessed me
But shoved
Kept me in the dark
While you shone in the light
Why be the queen
If you can't hug your kids tight
How about you shush and scream the pride away
The right feeling gets you to the place in your home
I can't say
I can't stay
But, I could go away
With the breath that leaves my throat dry
And entices my mind
Exhilaration is gone
The frown comes on my face
The stormy cloud rains on my mindless madness
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
I bought a bag, today
it is rectangular
I had forgotten about
the time you made fun of them,
and as I checked out,
I remembered.
I cried.
she looks like you.
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC
#*Today
Happy sad euphoric
But every day can’t be
Today*#
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:29 AM UTC
You thought I was a bird,
But I am just a paper bag.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 10:36 AM UTC
next to the totem I'm standing
make a square make
numbers and runners ran
down your sweet ice
and I'm standing with a totem make
square number of knowledge of the way
red stripes and green
wild huge sharp eyes
big long bright tongue
like my late friend
like a friend of my past winters
oh I will never see him again
squares like circle circles like rhombuses
oh yeah i know what a circle is i know
what is square and know what is
rhombus red and green yellow
colors i know i'm near orange
desert and no this is my bag of light
19.12.18
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 12:18 PM UTC
I dont want to be
Your verbal punching bag. So
Please just set me free
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
Several college students stood around
arguing about the meaning of God.
Nearby sat an old Indian woman.
They asked her what she thought.
With a wan smile
she took a small blue bowl
from a plastic shopping bag
laid the crinkly bag on her lap
and pointing to it she said
“This is the universe.”
Then she pointed inside the bag’s opening
and said,
“This is God.”
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 11:42 AM UTC
When i was fourteen
I learnt how to tie a rope
And practiced on a small string
until i could tie it with my eyes closed
i kept it in my pocket
i placed it in my bag
I played with it when i was lonely
and held it in my hands
Now i'm nineteen
I no longer remember how to tie a rope
But i still keep my small string
In the deep corner of my drawer
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC