#npmeight
Just remember that it's ok to feel out of place sometimes
Afterall, even Earth's orbit is naturally askew
yet it still turns and we are still here
and life goes on
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
Mathematical and grammatical
eating my piece of pi
Playing theoretical
before I up, and di
Numbers that are relative
sometimes I laugh, and cri
calculating and postulating
all I can do, is tri
Opening my texts technical
the words, oh me, oh mi
dangerous as can be, my friend
using TP, that's only single pli
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:00 PM UTC
*Don't hurry up things
For there is definitely
a time for everything
Grow your wings,
Wait for the rain to stop
Wait for your beauty to glow
Not too early, never too late
Just in the perfect time
You will shine*
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC
Somehow it's possible
to go from the pretty girl
to absolutely nothing
at the opening of a mirror.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
I bet your favorite toy is now somewhere hidden, sitting by itself with none of its arms attached to its body. I bet if it's a toy car, its wheels are now nowhere to be found, or if it remains intact I bet wax from crayons has replaced its original paint. Yet, I bet your favorite toy remains special nonetheless. Because that's what we do to the things we love - we destroy them, and still call that love.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
Amazon like air
Moist, warm and enveloping
Taste ancient knowings
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
I'm living in squalor.
It'll be summer again soon,
And I wish that I could call her,
But I've gone from prince to pauper.
With every silently warm night,
Her memory fades red,
Like a doppler.
I can't write poetry anymore.
I'm not much pride to swallow.
I'm a mended heart gone sour,
A paper maché shell, now hollow.
She can't really be blamed.
Lovelessly alone with my bones,
Blood long gone, long drained,
That fault is my own.
I can't really be blamed.
Now she's all alone,
With our bones.
That fault is her own.
Your constructive corruption,
Wrapped me in, like a soft cocoon.
And with every day without prosper,
Your memory grows blue,
Like a doppler.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
"He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone"
****
*******
Cheat!
We condemn others,
For mirrored shortcomings.
"Love thy neighbor."
Mr. Jackson runs to catch the door,
You let close in his face.
As you rush to Church.
I help Mrs. Cunningham with her bags.
We stare a moment.
My friend says "you'll get good Karma"
I could use it in Hell.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
What does it mean
To be clean?
Hygienic?
Sober?
Do you want to be clean?
Do you need to be green?
It has many meanings
What's yours?
Out **** spot, out, out!! -Macbeth
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
**Childhood
The best days in life ..
Learning is an integral part .
Making memories with loved ones around with comfort and love .
Childhood Days ....
Most cherished and longed for in
Adult life :)
*Love never evades a child .
Innocence is what
It's born with .
The soul is pure and it's filled with
What it recieves .*
Each child is entitled to love warmth and good upbringing!!**
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
Page 8? One word?
F. Scott Fitzgerald puts fruit in his lyrics.
I could never stop at one.
I bit into "soppiness" and
it squirted in a way
to make a fatted grape jealous.
I peeled the skin of "Swinburnian"
and it juiced the air
with an argument between God and hell.
I plucked The Tree
in This Side of Paradise and pulled down
a "Celtic" apple shared by a mother
a Bishop and a Monsignor.
"Thirsty" spoke
but did not leave us hungry.
And his basket was so sweet
that Carmen Miranda could
wear his words.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
Page eight....
.....tells of a ****
clearing his throat
the very same time my neighbor's
rooster was crowing, with all his might
this early morning,
i thought his windpipe would burst...
in my dark surroundings,
i could imagine his spurs...and
the red, bronze and copper feathers
of his flapping wings
while he was perched on a tree branch
while he sang his waking song...
was he boasting of his strength?
or his position in his community?
was he boasting of his sexuality?
my attention was taken by a continuous chirping
of the birds in another tree at the backyard
while i heard distant voices of people, and
a distant barking of dogs
while the other members of my household
were still sound asleep....
and a sudden thought assailed me, and
dwelt heavily upon me.....i suddenly felt
awkward.....like, i do not belong...that i'm
just finding my corner in this solemn space...
hey, hey, wait.....
it's now ten minutes to eight!
it took me this long????
Sally
Copyright April 9, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
Life seems to have us in shackles and chains
it always seems to take what we gain
we always back peddle
all because you can only go so far with shackles
those chains are attached to irons
the seems to always ***** out our fire
but life gave us one thing
out of those awful shackles and chains
Life gave us a desire to fight
a desire and a will power
to break those shackles and chains
to snaps those irons
what keeps those who are lost and broken going
is the knowing that freedom
comes to the one who fights for it through the light and dark of life
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC
Fathom (noun) ; understand (a difficult problem or an enigmatic person) after much thought
I turned to page eight, and the word struck to my eyes like a magnet.
Fathom.
It was hard to fathom I would be where I am now.
When I was born, I am certain my mother could never fathom that I would struggle this much throughout life.
But I am.
When I was eight and fell down, I never could fathom that the scrape on my knee would heal back to normal.
But it did.
When I was in middle school, I never could fathom I would fit in anywhere or make any friends.
But I did.
All throughout life, I never could fathom that I would ever accept myself.
But I have.
Why are we doubting ourselves so much throughout life,
when all it does time after time is bring us down?
The cure to all of our problems is
fathoming.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC
If I only had a magical wand
I could break so many bonds
Instead of watching heroes on T.V.
I could be the one I want to be
I could multipy food again and again
I'd bring earth's hunger to an end
I could separate water from poison in it
From Africa to suburban Flint
I could make weapons vanish in a war
And make people question what they're killing for
I could build homes two minutes after a flood
And, in a drought, bring rain from above
I could do something with the prison population
I could fight memories that cause stigma in our nation
I could clean the air, take the trash from the water
Then reform it all into gifts for poorer sons and daughters
I could look into space with an enlarged telescope
I could start a wizard network of hope
Side by side, with my coven friends
We'd fight hatred and ills until our ends
But, alas, as you can clearly see
There is no magic wand with me
So I make my changes at a plodding pace
I only hope to change the world's face
I'm not deterred; I still will fight
To change the world to day from night
But in my dream, I still long
For that easy route of a magic wand
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
Long time back ,
When I was little ,
I read a story ,
A fairytale
*Once upon a time
-------------------------------
-------------------------------
--------------------------------
---------------------------------
and
They lived happily ever after
The End*
And my young mind believed
That is how my life will be
when I'll grow up .
And then I realised
this is not how
Realtale ends .
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Time of misery ends
one day , some day
but may be not today
Even summer heat ends
and rain takes its place
which too ends after some days
Smile comes , Smile goes
every minute changing emotion
as life picks its motion
The things in my room changes
as time ages everything
and I get new things
Even the girl I was five years ago
didn't remain the same
I am no longer that vain
The relationship with everyone
which I had , have changed dynamics
Some prospered , some turned tragic
All the little and big things in life is temporary
the things we treasure , and things we don't
Nothing in existence stays permanent
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
.
He wrote in the mornings, she recited to him at night,
He always made breakfast, she made dishes disappear,
His garb was quite frumpy, and hers, made of spun gold,
He struggled with fashion, song birds would dress her,
He thought his poems looked best in moving candlelight,
She made all the fires and lit candles with her eyes.
Once, he was embarrassed and said to her,
'How can you live like this with me in a hovel?'
She said it reminded her of Plato's Cave.
At readings he looked out and saw sinking eyes,
Now he has her read all his poems, it works
Wonders that way, and after-parties are strange,
Everyone keeps staring and asking for her
Name. She gives cryptic answers and winks
At him. The poet was running out of words
And thought his days with her were waning.
But she said her heart was kept in a precious
Box of symbols, of words, only he could write.
She said that it was written in the sky, that poetry
Was dying and that he was the cure. He told
Her that the stars were lost at night, and fading
While she sparkled unfailing, and many times
They tasted each others tears, many times
The world stopped spinning, he knew
It was her, she felt it was him. To all
Others, their one bedroom flat was small,
Yet to them, it was the Palace Athene.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 3:07 PM UTC
When you think the battle's ever won
By hundred spear, sword, or gun
In slashing, pillaged mortal right
Come together, for now we fight
Think not upon your mortal dread
Will fail you even when you're dead
The battle will for ever clatter on
Praised in joyous kinds of song
By gruesome men in drunken seige
The fight for the end is your liege
Not your pitiless sacred stone
Or the loved one left back home
But to fall upon the largest stage
The coming of the end of days
Honor and sacrifice is what will tell
The lasting sequence, the final bell
So stop ye now your idle chatter
Sharpen that what really matters
Try to remember what was done
The Sword, the Spear, or Gun.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
Waves of a breezy day in the valley
Slap the banks that pushed them,
Retaliating not too harmfully
Just enough to irritate the land.
The fight spurs between two opposites;
The pure and the old.
Pureness doesn't cleanse a spirit
That's been around too long,
But the old can't ****
Something that's practically innocent.
The rain decides the winner.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC