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#kevin
Let me not into shame For in you I ****** out my love Do you care to see me cry? What felony have I committed? If love is a crime, may I be jail all my life Just a concern heart I need As pure as the blue-bliss A sincere soul to believe Can I be you JULIET? Let go pride now for I lost mine at a glance of you In your cologne I lost my sanity There lies my purity My undying love is yearning I need no learning All I know is right with you Just MAKE IT BE More you can Before I'm banned Still at where you left with no words I think not of another Friends named me FOOL For I'm full of you now I shall wait so long to get back As so far I won't be sacked #Funky'sinK✍️ #slImswEEt💃
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May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 2:15 PM UTC
MAKE IT BE
Safe Harbor by Michael R. Burch for Kevin N. Roberts The sea at night seems an alembic of dreams— the moans of the gulls, the foghorns’ bawlings. A century late to be melancholy, I watch the last shrimp boat as it steams to safe harbor again. In the twilight she gleams with a festive light, done with her trawlings, ready to sleep . . . Deep, deep, in delight glide the creatures of night, elusive and bright as the poet’s dreams. Published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Angle, Poetry Porch and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: Kevin Roberts, Kevin N. Roberts, Kevin Nicholas Roberts, Romantic, Poet, Romanticism, safe, harbor, night, dreams, imagination These are poems I wrote for my friend Kevin Nicholas Roberts, who in addition to being a talented Romantic poet, was the founder and first editor of Romantics Quarterly. Ophelia by Michael R. Burch for Kevin N. Roberts Ophelia, madness suits you well, as the ocean sounds in an empty shell, as the moon shines brightest in a starless sky, as suns supernova before they die ... My "Ophelia" was inspired by Kevin's "Ophelia" and, of course, by Shakespeare's Ophelia in "Hamlet." Goddess by Michael R. Burch for Kevin N. Roberts “What will you conceive in me?”— I asked her. But she only smiled. “Naked, I bore your child when the wolf wind howled, when the cold moon scowled . . . naked, and gladly.” “What will become of me?”— I asked her, as she absently stroked my hand. Centuries later, I understand: she whispered—“I Am.” Published by Romantics Quarterly (the first poem in the first issue), Penny Dreadful, Unlikely Stories, Underground Poets, Poetically Speaking, Poetry Life & Times and Little Brown Poetry. Keywords: Muse, Goddess, Erato, Beloved, poetic, inspiration, lyric, poetry, divinity, Orpheus, Sappho Talent by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts I liked the first passage of her poem—where it led (though not nearly enough to retract what I said.) Now the book propped up here flutters, scarcely half read.     It will keep.     Before sleep, let me read yours instead. There's something of love in the rhythms of night —in the throb of streets where the late workers drone, in the sounds that attend each day’s sad, squalid end— that reminds us: till death we are never alone. So we write from the hearts that will fail us anon,     words in red     truly bled though they cannot reveal     whence they came,     who they're for. And the tap at the door goes unanswered. We write, for there is nothing more     than a verse,     than a song, than this chant of the blessed:     If these words     be my sins, let me die unconfessed! Unconfessed, unrepentant; I rescind all my vows!     Write till sleep:     it’s the leap only Talent allows. "Talent" was a poem Kevin liked and requested more than once. Too Gentle, Angelic by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts Too gentle, angelic for Nature, child, too pure of heart for Religion’s vice . . . Oh, charm us again, let us be beguiled! With your passionate warmth melt men’s hearts of ice. "Too Gentle, Angelic" was written shortly after Kevin's death. He died on December 10, 2008 and the poem was written on December 23, 2008, just before Christmas. Beloved by Michael R. Burch a prayer-poem for Kevin Nicholas Roberts O, let me be the Beloved and let the Longing be Yours; but if You should “love” without Force, how then shall I love—stone, unmoved? But let me be the Beloved, and let the Longing be Yours. And as for the Saint, my dear friend, tonight let his suffering end!, and let him be your Beloved . . . no longer be stone: Love unmoved! But light on him now—Love, descend! Tonight, let his suffering end. For how can true Love be unmoved? If he suffers for love, Love reproved, I will never be your Beloved, so love him instead, so behooved! Yes, let him be your Beloved, or let You be nothing, so proved. Must this be our one and sole pact— keep you ***** forever intact? I wrote "Beloved" a few months before Kevin’s death. Nightfall by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts Only the long dolor of dusk delights me now,      as I await death. The rain has ruined the unborn corn,          and the wasting breath of autumn has cruelly, savagely shorn                each ear of its radiant health. As the golden sun dims, so the dying land seems to relinquish its vanishing wealth. Only a few erratic, trembling stalks still continue to stand,      half upright, and even these the winds have continually robbed of their once-plentiful,           golden birthright. I think of you and I sigh, forlorn, on edge                with the rapidly encroaching night. Ten thousand stillborn lilies lie limp, mixed with roses, unable to ignite. Whatever became of the magical kernel, golden within      at the winter solstice? What of its promised kingdom, Amen!, meant to rise again           from this balmless poultice, this strange bottomland where one Scarecrow commands                dark legions of ravens and mice? And what of the Giant whose bellows demand our negligible lives, his black vice? I find one bright grain here aglitter with rain, full of promise and purpose      and drive. Through lightning and hail and nightfalls and pale, cold sunless moons          it will strive to rise up from its “place” on a network of lace, to the glory              of being alive. Why does it bother, I wonder, my brother? O, am I unwise to believe?                                     But Jack had his beanstalk                               and you had your poems                          and the sun seems intent to ascend                and so I also must climb           to the end of my time,      however the story may unwind and end. I wrote "Nightfall" around a month after Kevin’s death. Storied Lovers by Michael R. Burch for Kevin and Janice Roberts In your quest for the Beloved, my brother, did you make a near-fatal mistake? * Did you trust in the Enchantress, La Belle Dame, as they say, Sans Merci? Shall I pray more kindly hands to gather you to warmer ******* and hold your Spirit there, enfold your heart in love’s sweet blessedness? * No need! One Angel’s fond caress was your sweet haven here. None ever held more dear, you harbored with your Anchoress whenever storms drew near. * Whatever storms drew near, however great the Flood, she held you, kind and good, no imperious savage Empress, but as earthly Angels should. * In your quest for the Beloved did the road take some strange fork where ecstatic feys cavort that led you to her hermitage and her hearth, safe from that wood. (Did La Belle Dame’s dark eyes hood?) * I am thankful for the marriage two tender spirits shared. When the raging waters glared and the deadly bugles blared like cruel Trumps of Doom, below how strong death’s undertow! * But true spirits never sink. Though he swam through hell’s fell stink and a sea of putrid harms, he swam back to your arms! * Life lived upon the brink of death, man’s human fate, can yet such Love create that the hosts above, spellbound, fall silent. So confound the heavens with your Love and fly, O tender Dove!, to wherever hearts may rest once having sweetly blessed a heart like my dear brother’s and be both storied lovers. Amen I wrote "Storied Lovers" on New Year’s Day, January 1, 2009. You Were the One Who Talked to Angels by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts You were the one who talked to Angels while I was the one who berated God, calling him Tyrant, Infidel, Fool, Killer, Clown, Brute, Sod, Despot, Clod. But you were the one who talked to Angels— who, bathed in celestial light, stood unarmed, except for your pen and your journal, ecstatic, to write. How kind their baptisms, how gentle their voices! Considering their nature the world rejoices, and you were their gentle, their chosen one . . . you, my kind friend, now unkindly gone. But you were the one who talked to Angels, in empathy, being their kind, a child of compassion whose tender heart burst beneath skin’s ruptured rind. You sought the Beloved with a questing Heart; once found, the heav’n-quickened Spirit must fly! You mastered Man’s strange, fatalistic Art— to live, to love, to laugh, then die. But living here, Angel, you found the arms of a human Angel and, living, you knew the glories of temporal, mortal love where one and one eclipses two. And now she mourns you, as we all do. But you were the one who talked to Angels, as William Blake did, in his day, and, childlike, felt their eclectic grace— sweet warmth, illuminating clay. Two kinds of Warmth—a Wife’s, and Theirs. Two kinds of Love—Human, Divine. Two kinds of Grace—the Angels’, Hers. Two Planes within one Heart combine. And so you brought far heaven near, and so you elevated earth and Human Love, to where the Cloud of Witnesses might see man’s worth. * My Christlike brother, who talked to Angels, where do you soar today, I wonder? Do you fly on white percussive wings, far, far beyond earth’s abyssal thunder, and looking back, regard the earth and its lightnings and their bellowed hymns as the sparks and groans of a temporal Forge, as merely momentary things? There, looking up, do you see the Host of those who ascended, of those who see all things more clearly, having slipped thin veils of flesh, for Eternity? And will you, in your Joy, forget the sufferings of mere serfs below, or will you remember, cry “Relent!” to those with the power to bestow the gifts of spirit upon the many rather than just the Chosen Few, who sell bottled grace for a pretty penny and break the hearts of doves like you? Or will you be the Advocate of those who live—the *** the ***** the homeless man; the indigent; the waif who begs at the kirk’s barred door and dares not enter, for her “sins” which the rich-robed mannequins deplore as they circle her and mind the store? Will mercy, pity, peace conspire to hold you in their gravity so that, still Human, you aspire to change earth’s dark trajectory? I wrote this poem the day after Kevin died. Keywords/Tags: poetry, poems, poet, Kevin Roberts, Kevin N. Roberts, Kevin Nicholas Roberts, romantic, Romantics Quarterly
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Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 5:35 AM UTC
Safe Harbor
Safe Harbor by Michael R. Burch for Kevin N. Roberts The sea at night seems an alembic of dreams— the moans of the gulls, the foghorns’ bawlings. A century late to be melancholy, I watch the last shrimp boat as it steams to safe harbor again. In the twilight she gleams with a festive light, done with her trawlings, ready to sleep . . . Deep, deep, in delight glide the creatures of night, elusive and bright as the poet’s dreams. Published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Angle, Poetry Porch and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: Kevin Roberts, Kevin N. Roberts, Kevin Nicholas Roberts, Romantic, Poet, Romanticism, safe, harbor, night, dreams, imagination These are poems I wrote for my friend Kevin Nicholas Roberts, who in addition to being a talented Romantic poet, was the founder and first editor of Romantics Quarterly. Ophelia by Michael R. Burch for Kevin N. Roberts Ophelia, madness suits you well, as the ocean sounds in an empty shell, as the moon shines brightest in a starless sky, as suns supernova before they die ... My "Ophelia" was inspired by Kevin's "Ophelia" and, of course, by Shakespeare's Ophelia in "Hamlet." Goddess by Michael R. Burch for Kevin N. Roberts “What will you conceive in me?”— I asked her. But she only smiled. “Naked, I bore your child when the wolf wind howled, when the cold moon scowled . . . naked, and gladly.” “What will become of me?”— I asked her, as she absently stroked my hand. Centuries later, I understand: she whispered—“I Am.” Published by Romantics Quarterly (the first poem in the first issue), Penny Dreadful, Unlikely Stories, Underground Poets, Poetically Speaking, Poetry Life & Times and Little Brown Poetry. Keywords: Muse, Goddess, Erato, Beloved, poetic, inspiration, lyric, poetry, divinity, Orpheus, Sappho Talent by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts I liked the first passage of her poem—where it led (though not nearly enough to retract what I said.) Now the book propped up here flutters, scarcely half read.     It will keep.     Before sleep, let me read yours instead. There's something of love in the rhythms of night —in the throb of streets where the late workers drone, in the sounds that attend each day’s sad, squalid end— that reminds us: till death we are never alone. So we write from the hearts that will fail us anon,     words in red     truly bled though they cannot reveal     whence they came,     who they're for. And the tap at the door goes unanswered. We write, for there is nothing more     than a verse,     than a song, than this chant of the blessed:     If these words     be my sins, let me die unconfessed! Unconfessed, unrepentant; I rescind all my vows!     Write till sleep:     it’s the leap only Talent allows. "Talent" was a poem Kevin liked and requested more than once. Too Gentle, Angelic by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts Too gentle, angelic for Nature, child, too pure of heart for Religion’s vice . . . Oh, charm us again, let us be beguiled! With your passionate warmth melt men’s hearts of ice. "Too Gentle, Angelic" was written shortly after Kevin's death. He died on December 10, 2008 and the poem was written on December 23, 2008, just before Christmas. Beloved by Michael R. Burch a prayer-poem for Kevin Nicholas Roberts O, let me be the Beloved and let the Longing be Yours; but if You should “love” without Force, how then shall I love—stone, unmoved? But let me be the Beloved, and let the Longing be Yours. And as for the Saint, my dear friend, tonight let his suffering end!, and let him be your Beloved . . . no longer be stone: Love unmoved! But light on him now—Love, descend! Tonight, let his suffering end. For how can true Love be unmoved? If he suffers for love, Love reproved, I will never be your Beloved, so love him instead, so behooved! Yes, let him be your Beloved, or let You be nothing, so proved. Must this be our one and sole pact— keep you ***** forever intact? I wrote "Beloved" a few months before Kevin’s death. Nightfall by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts Only the long dolor of dusk delights me now,      as I await death. The rain has ruined the unborn corn,          and the wasting breath of autumn has cruelly, savagely shorn                each ear of its radiant health. As the golden sun dims, so the dying land seems to relinquish its vanishing wealth. Only a few erratic, trembling stalks still continue to stand,      half upright, and even these the winds have continually robbed of their once-plentiful,           golden birthright. I think of you and I sigh, forlorn, on edge                with the rapidly encroaching night. Ten thousand stillborn lilies lie limp, mixed with roses, unable to ignite. Whatever became of the magical kernel, golden within      at the winter solstice? What of its promised kingdom, Amen!, meant to rise again           from this balmless poultice, this strange bottomland where one Scarecrow commands                dark legions of ravens and mice? And what of the Giant whose bellows demand our negligible lives, his black vice? I find one bright grain here aglitter with rain, full of promise and purpose      and drive. Through lightning and hail and nightfalls and pale, cold sunless moons          it will strive to rise up from its “place” on a network of lace, to the glory              of being alive. Why does it bother, I wonder, my brother? O, am I unwise to believe?                                     But Jack had his beanstalk                               and you had your poems                          and the sun seems intent to ascend                and so I also must climb           to the end of my time,      however the story may unwind and end. I wrote "Nightfall" around a month after Kevin’s death. Storied Lovers by Michael R. Burch for Kevin and Janice Roberts In your quest for the Beloved, my brother, did you make a near-fatal mistake? * Did you trust in the Enchantress, La Belle Dame, as they say, Sans Merci? Shall I pray more kindly hands to gather you to warmer ******* and hold your Spirit there, enfold your heart in love’s sweet blessedness? * No need! One Angel’s fond caress was your sweet haven here. None ever held more dear, you harbored with your Anchoress whenever storms drew near. * Whatever storms drew near, however great the Flood, she held you, kind and good, no imperious savage Empress, but as earthly Angels should. * In your quest for the Beloved did the road take some strange fork where ecstatic feys cavort that led you to her hermitage and her hearth, safe from that wood. (Did La Belle Dame’s dark eyes hood?) * I am thankful for the marriage two tender spirits shared. When the raging waters glared and the deadly bugles blared like cruel Trumps of Doom, below how strong death’s undertow! * But true spirits never sink. Though he swam through hell’s fell stink and a sea of putrid harms, he swam back to your arms! * Life lived upon the brink of death, man’s human fate, can yet such Love create that the hosts above, spellbound, fall silent. So confound the heavens with your Love and fly, O tender Dove!, to wherever hearts may rest once having sweetly blessed a heart like my dear brother’s and be both storied lovers. Amen I wrote "Storied Lovers" on New Year’s Day, January 1, 2009. You Were the One Who Talked to Angels by Michael R. Burch for Kevin Nicholas Roberts You were the one who talked to Angels while I was the one who berated God, calling him Tyrant, Infidel, Fool, Killer, Clown, Brute, Sod, Despot, Clod. But you were the one who talked to Angels— who, bathed in celestial light, stood unarmed, except for your pen and your journal, ecstatic, to write. How kind their baptisms, how gentle their voices! Considering their nature the world rejoices, and you were their gentle, their chosen one . . . you, my kind friend, now unkindly gone. But you were the one who talked to Angels, in empathy, being their kind, a child of compassion whose tender heart burst beneath skin’s ruptured rind. You sought the Beloved with a questing Heart; once found, the heav’n-quickened Spirit must fly! You mastered Man’s strange, fatalistic Art— to live, to love, to laugh, then die. But living here, Angel, you found the arms of a human Angel and, living, you knew the glories of temporal, mortal love where one and one eclipses two. And now she mourns you, as we all do. But you were the one who talked to Angels, as William Blake did, in his day, and, childlike, felt their eclectic grace— sweet warmth, illuminating clay. Two kinds of Warmth—a Wife’s, and Theirs. Two kinds of Love—Human, Divine. Two kinds of Grace—the Angels’, Hers. Two Planes within one Heart combine. And so you brought far heaven near, and so you elevated earth and Human Love, to where the Cloud of Witnesses might see man’s worth. * My Christlike brother, who talked to Angels, where do you soar today, I wonder? Do you fly on white percussive wings, far, far beyond earth’s abyssal thunder, and looking back, regard the earth and its lightnings and their bellowed hymns as the sparks and groans of a temporal Forge, as merely momentary things? There, looking up, do you see the Host of those who ascended, of those who see all things more clearly, having slipped thin veils of flesh, for Eternity? And will you, in your Joy, forget the sufferings of mere serfs below, or will you remember, cry “Relent!” to those with the power to bestow the gifts of spirit upon the many rather than just the Chosen Few, who sell bottled grace for a pretty penny and break the hearts of doves like you? Or will you be the Advocate of those who live—the *** the ***** the homeless man; the indigent; the waif who begs at the kirk’s barred door and dares not enter, for her “sins” which the rich-robed mannequins deplore as they circle her and mind the store? Will mercy, pity, peace conspire to hold you in their gravity so that, still Human, you aspire to change earth’s dark trajectory? I wrote this poem the day after Kevin died. Keywords/Tags: poetry, poems, poet, Kevin Roberts, Kevin N. Roberts, Kevin Nicholas Roberts, romantic, Romantics Quarterly
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Angel Friend He is an Angel Friend. Old, Wise, and Designed to have a huge heart A hard working soul that never quits or did such weaken to bend. Upon his birth.. Designed for brilliance - the bigger, brighter, and more significant  of life purposes.. A legacy forged At his birth An energy made itself A great and bright start Elderly ages equals wisdom and a fatherly care Energy in a heart forged from gold - such strength shared and Naturally    grown Such vines to sprout and bond Connections created and they never detach Away from the one's who have shared such energies, in return. A beautiful artistic creation Created through heart's truer matches.. Selfless gifts Formed from the kindred spirits - like the silk worm's Carefully generated stitches of silk From their gratefulness and directed sharing of portions of their life's force These fibers are  woven into  unmeasurable Dime Worthy estimated or appraised "trinkets" of breathtaking Tapestry Blankets or  "clothe windows.." Joined forever as one, from one starting love's warmth to another, train on "crazy rails in need of redirection.." Such souls see and hand over irreplaceable rider tickets Clothe pieces of spirits joined as one - as  tapestries . Quilted  generations bonded by their loving and sharing connections in Golden Spirited   worth . Heirlooms handed down between life's generations New births of fresh spirits Climbing the ladders of time as cherished timeless gifts Given to those whom he cares for Bonded to even those outside a "family" pool until the very last breath. Spending not a dime. He shall toil until his spirit leaves the Earth Then such energies stay with those whom he cared for All timeless and unmeasurable ticks of the clock or sands of the hourglass Light shines upon the extension of the cared one's family births Therefor , he has always been earning a defined role "The eternal force of caring.." "The warrior's toll." In edition to the medals of honor Golden Wearable awards, given unto him, by the Creator. Titled  as the "Creator's Golden Heart" and "Love's earned Crown." As written in the Latin Life's Wisdom Scrolls" as: per "Creator aurei cordis" et "coronam meruit amor est scriptor
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Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
Angel Friend
Angel Friend He is an Angel Friend. Old, Wise, and Designed to have a huge heart A hard working soul that never quits or did such weaken to bend. Upon his birth.. Designed for brilliance - the bigger, brighter, and more significant  of life purposes.. A legacy forged At his birth An energy made itself A great and bright start Elderly ages equals wisdom and a fatherly care Energy in a heart forged from gold - such strength shared and Naturally    grown Such vines to sprout and bond Connections created and they never detach Away from the one's who have shared such energies, in return. A beautiful artistic creation Created through heart's truer matches.. Selfless gifts Formed from the kindred spirits - like the silk worm's Carefully generated stitches of silk From their gratefulness and directed sharing of portions of their life's force These fibers are  woven into  unmeasurable Dime Worthy estimated or appraised "trinkets" of breathtaking Tapestry Blankets or  "clothe windows.." Joined forever as one, from one starting love's warmth to another, train on "crazy rails in need of redirection.." Such souls see and hand over irreplaceable rider tickets Clothe pieces of spirits joined as one - as  tapestries . Quilted  generations bonded by their loving and sharing connections in Golden Spirited   worth . Heirlooms handed down between life's generations New births of fresh spirits Climbing the ladders of time as cherished timeless gifts Given to those whom he cares for Bonded to even those outside a "family" pool until the very last breath. Spending not a dime. He shall toil until his spirit leaves the Earth Then such energies stay with those whom he cared for All timeless and unmeasurable ticks of the clock or sands of the hourglass Light shines upon the extension of the cared one's family births Therefor , he has always been earning a defined role "The eternal force of caring.." "The warrior's toll." In edition to the medals of honor Golden Wearable awards, given unto him, by the Creator. Titled  as the "Creator's Golden Heart" and "Love's earned Crown." As written in the Latin Life's Wisdom Scrolls" as: per "Creator aurei cordis" et "coronam meruit amor est scriptor
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Foggy memories A dream or a nightmare? Pain and stress...misery. Whack...Whack!!!! Give me the pills for the pain.... Hell, I'm a little quack! I strike hard to make the ball a winning shot. I sweat hard..giving life .. all of the remaining strength that I've got. Down the same old halls...every day. A gallery of my life. I smile at the visions. For I've survived .... I deserved a name plate...below the art I survived over every hectic way.
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Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 10:03 AM UTC
Life's Gallery
She has leather Golden locks And wears plenty of Lace. The golden heart Has shown plenty of Grace, She has earned plenty of days in Shanghai-La She's even more beautiful at her age The gypsy sparkles As she dances Singing A "white winging dove" It sounds like "she has been singing" Music to my heart Peace Bells are ringing. Sparkling from her shine I've been under her sweet spell for years My midnight dream is clear How I wish she was mine.
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Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC
The White Winged Dove
No person ever says, “hello.” I search for actions To better my existence Fake Promises and Infractions Of crimes plagued upon me That others voices echoes inside of my head “laughter “ at this joke Why? Because he is broke? Or just “Ill?” Is this a dream? Or a Nightmare? Am I dead, in this quiet, before the next Vulture who swoops down on this “seeming dead” Soul - can’t people see that this is a “human” in there? Never taken seriously. Laughing, aloud, at myself. I look in the mirror Like the movie “Pink Floyd the wall” As steam and shaving foam hit the mirror. A busted smile remains delirious. Until my “trial” Will people ever come any nearer?
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Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 8:34 PM UTC
Anybody Home?
I fall in love with possibilities, probabilities,  and potential You’re reality and the reasons to love scare me into a sleep Dreaming of all the possibilities it could go wrong I fall in love with them too
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Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 12:56 PM UTC
PPP
Holidays are of what one makes of them. No matter where we spend them or with whom we share these times with.... It comes from the beats of a Human Heart from which flavor of the moments in which we place out there Cheers to staying true,blue, and real It takes strength to remain in such a beautiful state The celebration of the one's who share your life memories of those who passed on Even just sending a text to those who think of you... Such are things to cheer and sing and cut the first piece of holiday pie with a favorite knife. Traveling,stationary, or in high-octane work modes - we flow with the beat of this season's cheerful reminder in heart of the miracle we have been given of family, souls in memories of those we shared our life with, and the moment we have to be free and at rest or doing such things that bring out our best in this life we have only one try To remain strong, true,blue, and a force that remains in flow to the next future and also remains in the written books of history.
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Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
A Holiday Miracle
I seem to be engulfed in an exciting conversation Topics of sports, politics, creativity, and relation.. The partner and friend that I am enjoying this "flow with" Is me,myself, I, and the situation of Seclusion. Brainstorming my escape. My partner draws in his ideas that are of worth He is so smart While the other conversationalist in this duo Feels like jumping the gun, going on the flight, and leaving people cold and cruel. I satisfy my urge to release my steam at my partner as he is only the reflection in my mirror. He sees me so much more clearer He never talks back or denies a chat as we are one in the same A brain hungry for another to plan, create,express,and debate with. Exactly where to find the moment and place to find such an entity is quite narrow. As I'm here, there, and I'm almost everywhere where the right people seem not to be So, until then, I love my conversational partner He stimulates and entertains me. I never feel alone As me,myself, and I have a date to be and stay free.
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Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
Me,myself,and I
I have yet to receive My mutual love From that one I put forth energies ,to. Freedom of feeling uplifted When the signal is returned I fly on the wings of the Dove. Nights go by No answers to my connection The one whom I hold dear.... She  seems to never hear Or has seen the true admirer,near. What is the price To receive what love I selflessly put forth As  a signal to gain her attention? Gold,youth,ot fame? Questions arise as the pain Of her silence plauges me Does she fail to see That id give her my whole world My life Just to have her return my energy My feeling My true care My heart? To create a brave and new miracle Of a new life A newer world Mutually together.... As a brilliant start... Of a better existence Than remaining a loner A drifter In a large world Uneeded by those fakers And those who fail to except My invite To a better world After all we've been through . Such an answer To end painful lonely days With you by my side Each day ... A paired experience.
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Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
A paired experience
No matter with family Or celebrated solo Thanks to life and friends Your soul is no low. Energy to understand why Grateful energies lift you up Is worth more than a dinner And a wine filled cup. Thanksgiving is the celebration of Freedom,strength,life, and appreciation Not just for friends and family For every thing you've earned,enjoyed,and the life you are still in Such things are worth cheers and celebration.
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Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
Thanks For Life
That Remains.. Of my soul... ****** dry by the leeches of disaster My blood is gone... My Zombie-fied  body aches to bleed, once again. I'm a sponge dried out. Under the Sun. I need water, to drink. To get back to the fluid master... of getting "back to life" Becoming more human.. this boil sets to bust In need of relief of the torment of walking on eggshells To avoid a nuclear chain reaction.. Caught in the middle of the battle grounds.... I'm the old and dying car that has been left in the junkyard to rust. To have the ability to smell the roses, once again.. As my nose has been cut off to spite my face My rebellion to ask for a "helping hand" Infected me..then the community like a deadly virus.. It spread throughout my loving community and infected all to grow green, sick, hard, and drug into crazy days As an army of those who tossed away their hearts.. Not only destroyed his and their brains.. Hungry for more of "true Feeling" Hunger ways.. "Give me the vaccine or cure" So I can become beautifully flawed as a Human Since this Monster's once Human heart Seems like a bright light which is now dulled to a Memories Blur
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Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
That Remains
I tripped over a traffic speed bump as I fell to the ground as I was walking Such a fall felt like a mountain when the vocal fires of rebellion, toward me, started talking. After caring ears failed to listen to my innocence and then turned their backs torwards me I started to build a wall. As I was halfway through blocking out the world I woke from this nightmare and listened to my heart I smashed such bricks to pieces and decided to make a fresher, and newer, start. You are a link in the chains of my life. What happens to me It happens to you So feel th winds of Karma return to you. I shall still be waiting for you, standing. As I am not a phony. I'm indebted to you friends to the very end. When you are down with the mistake The small one which I have made that you are now branding... Feel like a puny fool as you walk back when you need me and I am the one, only pone there...still standing
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Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
I'm Still Standing Here for you
I'm not trying to be needlessly edgy or **** But can we lay off Kevin all up in yo Spacey? I know it seems wrong But I feel I can understand Or at least relate Because when I feel too much love in my heart For somebody younger Who is a guy I start doing crazy **** Like projecting my life onto his Maybe he's scared Maybe he's alone Maybe I could save someone from that I have to remind myself that was just me And that there is no such thing as salvation When your mistakes are supercharged Because of the scandalous homosexual element Yet there's no one to turn to Because nobody understands So your actions become louder to drown the silence The stakes of the mischief grow There's tens of thousands of dollars in property damage That can be attributed to my sexuality You have to find a way to push past that The only way I found Is to be open about who you are Because until then the fear will consume you You fear they will laugh, mock, judge and hate you Until you wish they were silent again And they will do all these things And you will wish all those things But you'll be able to face it with strength and honesty Because your fear is more powerful than their callousness But more importantly it's better than the alternative When people discover your nature Through a mistake you've made And unleash the wrath of God They will never give a **** About how they contribute to these moments They're only there to throw gas on the fire They say it's a mistake to ****** a minor They say it's a mistake to be a whiner And there's no one who'll ever take your call Expecting them to understand Well, that's the biggest mistake of them all
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Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 2:51 AM UTC
Kevin Spacey
I'm not trying to be needlessly edgy or **** But can we lay off Kevin all up in yo Spacey? I know it seems wrong But I feel I can understand Or at least relate Because when I feel too much love in my heart For somebody younger Who is a guy I start doing crazy **** Like projecting my life onto his Maybe he's scared Maybe he's alone Maybe I could save someone from that I have to remind myself that was just me And that there is no such thing as salvation When your mistakes are supercharged Because of the scandalous homosexual element Yet there's no one to turn to Because nobody understands So your actions become louder to drown the silence The stakes of the mischief grow There's tens of thousands of dollars in property damage That can be attributed to my sexuality You have to find a way to push past that The only way I found Is to be open about who you are Because until then the fear will consume you You fear they will laugh, mock, judge and hate you Until you wish they were silent again And they will do all these things And you will wish all those things But you'll be able to face it with strength and honesty Because your fear is more powerful than their callousness But more importantly it's better than the alternative When people discover your nature Through a mistake you've made And unleash the wrath of God They will never give a **** About how they contribute to these moments They're only there to throw gas on the fire They say it's a mistake to ****** a minor They say it's a mistake to be a whiner And there's no one who'll ever take your call Expecting them to understand Well, that's the biggest mistake of them all
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August. The month of my Birth and first shine of my soul upon the spirits around me. Like a star I shine and flicker in this "galaxy of Living Energy" Human beings and our friends, the animals... I draw in their signals of energy and fuse with those I know of, in soulful energies the best. Synergy. Binding in Symbian waves energies that protect and that nurture our hunger for another soulful energy to help nourish, grow brighter with, and to share peaceful moments upon this Earth I was never an "Accidental Life Form" When my parents looked down at my helpless physical body at my birth. I was created for reasons I have yet to know about or to yet understand. To better our world, country, and society..yes. In unique and Empowering ways...I have just figured out those purposeful definitions of my existence on this planet. As every time I look down on my mistakes, Human Ways, and even "Stormy Moments" I reboot my passions and remembrances stored in my memory of the stronger and much more powerful reality I was born on this month, even on the very day..in this "birthing anniversary" For plenty more miraculous reasons than just being "the human" in me. I see my Energies of hope, helpful abilities, and our creator's eye for added gifts that are of more than what scientists could ever explain... I am a Humanity... The tool within it... To help it from every allowing itself to die or war in vain.
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Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
Energy in The Anniversary of My Soul's Birth
Patience is rough Fear blocks the warm and soothing energies from such. What we value or have been toiling hard to work torward what we weighed  as gold We have a ways to go We rush through the better paths As we rush to have what we want so much Now...not later I set myself up for a fall And failing to keep energies and Moments in balance and my eye on the true picture of my prize.. Love,career,money,and success Has already chosen me If I stop to smell the roses And wisely pace and use my time My emotions I shall earn this reward Rightfully And without the measuring The time and o erwhelming steps to such I'll have my goals to the prize Sooner I know what and whom in my life I seen For the right reasons and passions In which wisely enjoyed patience Nd labors I'll have such things To possess
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Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
Passions of patience
Sunshine and Blue Clouds Gulls Flying Over Blue seas Pictures of warmth and Blue Skies Are the true definition of utter beauty Holding hands Running for the tides Laughing as The waves crash us to shore We are captives no longer.
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Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC
Captives No Longer
Warmth covers me as summer progresses this night. Relaxing my souls to dreamland A new and refreshing dream-land is now in my sights. Crickets chirping the blinking of bright stars above Are beacons of security I feel free as a Dove.
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Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
Summer Dreams
Where does a heart beat when all about it simply misunderstand why it has been beating what it needs to keep beating and a direction pointed to a better time and place where it isn't constantly battered and compared "You haven't earned your space" "You are one in a thousand trying to do the same thing." However, the love for what you wish to do and create From blood,sweat,and tears it is a song that's hard to sing years of perfection Vocal practice Before the created products are discarded as "Unneeded" What about my heart frightens you? Never the same as all the others Never employing the same routine as the others I am sick of being the one pushed out as the "sudden example" to the flock Where does one fill the emptiness without sisters and brothers? Maybe a new fresh idea on the block frightens you since it might "be the next best thing.. or maybe not." One never knows unless chances are given Without openness, the albatross has now a completed knot. We must not need to define a "shelf" on Life's Display Case of Importance In order to get along and mingle If we interact, right Hey, this might be the "newest of Jingles?" Open your hand and give a true chance. Alike a sweat soaked Tango... Such a "Dance" is quite complex In life, most things are a "complicated Dance."
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May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
Life's Complicated Dance
Writing the way To the sunlight of another day. The weather might **** Or the bills pile up and I'm **** out of luck.... I just pick up a pen and escape these "Joys" of another "way" To escape to my own created literary world... As I write the way to another day.
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Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
Write the way to another day
There was a sound In the night It was my passionate heart beating. Restless and irritable... I started to act out in artistic rhythms... Communicating my disdain and unhappiness I changed such feelings to light and fought the inevitable The forces of strength were warmth and truth a strong spirit regenerating itself back to its former youth. I stood up and wrote and played through the night. I reached out to others and helped ease the dark forces that blurred their innocence in sight The Karma was bright as it returned to me.. Not wishing for a reward I smiled at the fruits of my labor to aid this fine world As I turned the pages of the future pages of History's Book as my words changed the outcome which we had thought could never be stopped from being unveiled. It was freedom of spirit and speech A beautiful weapon in which we all possess I fought with such a brutal weapon towards darkness as it was a beautiful cloaked dagger in which upon darkness I had it upon such used to wail.
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Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
There Was A Sound
I am Happy for the moment I breathe and I am alive I have this moment in which to make the best of What creates a Human in Will the conditions in which to thrive. I am free at this moment I am able to enjoy a sunny day As it turns into a peaceful and is star-filled through this night. Even though my mind can wander and be feeling the cold of another future moment's plight I can clear my mind and relax As such moments that are free from a fight Free from hectic times and motions Gives me a chance to reflect and become cheerful of warmer and more fruitful future sights. Even if the world should end tomorrow or the armies of the world should start a war later this night I can be, at this moment, myself and proud... Free from anything, at all from free anything that creates such sorrows.
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Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 6:58 PM UTC
Happy for the Moment
I'm ******** out rainbows Isn't everybody aware? I'm sick of crying tears. I giggle in happy insanity Because all these colors I'm making make even hell glow With happiness Even the devil is swinging on the dance floor with me So enjoy my show as my pants fall down I'm ******** out rainbows as I'm sick of dropping with a frown I'm the new clown In town I rock the way to happier times as I change rusty and despairing subjects A giggle from the loon in the quiet shall start a chain of giggles in the city all of us sharing this magical moment we take a dump to relieve ourselves of this sadness **** I'll tell you something I feel lighter than air As I leave a trail of colors Out of my ******** I'm ******** out true happiness from the end of dark madness I'm glowing from the relief of heavy burdens of sadness as I am the new life that was always inside of me... We are all sisters and brothers... Let us join in Pants down We are much bolder than all those stiff others Just a great show Because, now, we are all ******** out rainbows.
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Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 7:12 PM UTC
******** out Rainbows
I walked through a rainy day Looking for a rainbow. During an epic week that never seemed to have the sunshine. I found some Wonka Bars in a store display. I ran in for a few bars and never won a thing. However, keeping my mind on the prize kept my distraction from the storms. Then, as the sun peered out Just when  I had lost interest in the sweepstakes... I had gotten lost in the flavor I found, in that last bar, the "Golden Ticket..." As the sun started to shine and I felt my heartbeat of the gratefulness of a sweet and silly moment... I won the jackpot... A prize of happiness A moment of victory which I shall, forever, savor.
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Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
The Golden Wonka Ticket