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#observing
1 A dark day looms over me here. Summer haze blazes to my chiaroscuro eye. Half possessed by my own dissonance, I open to a sunrise and make my way in broken music or I will die. 2 Give me no surprise, no small, close lies. Make me, lords above, into one last simple thing time cannot overcome. A dream I dreamed: a blood red flower blooming. In the dark, I rose unintended. 3 I see the light in my eyes and the darkling dream in the tree beyond the plain. I glimpse it and it vanishes into dusklight, into a night held by remembrance. 4 I waver above a new fire, counting will-o'-wisp flickers: how light grows, dies, wavers, flickers. It dances on the wall where I wait. I bid my being well. In the air I see how slowly dark encroaches, how light waits in silence.
0
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 9:33 AM UTC
The Thing on the Wall
as i sit at the station hearing the second delay next to the elevated tracks i see a huge tree swaying back and forth the sun bounces of the leaves making them shine like diamond on a lovers neck it sways and shines ruminating the rustling leaves i thank my short sighted eyes without which i would just see a tree
0
Jan 4
Jan 4, 2026 at 1:50 PM UTC
myopia
As a child, I could have walked to the other side, the ice was thick enough but I belonged here on this bank I still watch the geese and in summer the paddle- boarders and the bombs of screaming children I know the boy with green eyes the others who drink beers at the tree, urinate in the canal get pizza and kiss with chewing gum girls who have come on scooters to be entertained and admired by them Sometimes a thick barge sails by with thick cushions, happy people and white balloons, and sometimes I look with a long neck over the convex pavement of the bridge and, in mind I walk over them to the other side
0
Oct 28, 2025
Oct 28, 2025 at 4:55 AM UTC
The other side
i shut up                               shut ******* trap   just   like   that and after a period                       of strained endurance i let the jaw muscle lax                       opened the ear     let it all in  wet flooded    let in the glistening din i listened in                                                on the world with appetite and  (with a little cost of time) learned a great happy nothing i heard water force through pipes            we’d buried under the ground i heard the electric we remodel       our landscaping surround i heard crowds become languages become tongue throat and gum and then the words turned to moods and mood moved with crowd and petalled into nature once i'd made contact i learned a  great   happy    nothing
0
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 1:17 PM UTC
e a v e s d r o p p e r . . .
Sometimes I walk on water. Not high above it all- Just right there at surface level. Not deep enough to drown. Not deep enough to swim. Not high enough to fear falling in. Sometimes I walk on water And watch schools of fish Playfully chase one another, Not noticing me. I feel curious sharks graze my feet, Confused as to why they can’t reach their meal. Some follow for hours, Waiting for a taste They won’t get- Because right now, I’m walking on water.
0
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:40 PM UTC
No Ripples
Sometimes I like to watch people and try to see Who is happy Who is free Who wails at night And each morning basks in sunlight Who has a home with a little garden And who is still trying to make a bargain Who could find light amidst sorrows dark Who is healing a broken heart And I always wonder who could be As lonely as me
0
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 11:51 AM UTC
Wondering
Lick Not Bite Where is the sale? Hiding in the sky Quick reach up Get the sale now! Poor agents no sale Time for a meeting Then coaching session And call monitoring Are they following? Teach them then Spoon feed them So they get more sales Aren’t outlying agents With 0 or just 1 sale With 7 or 8 or more Poor little reps Always stressed on calls Pushed to extremes Sales account joy!
0
Aug 19, 2024
Aug 19, 2024 at 9:23 AM UTC
Lick Not Bite
Do you remember when tunneling ravines would flow through our stomachs before we spoke out into the open? And how vigorously tapping our feet felt like the only way to shake the mountains, daring to bury us alive... or how when cold shoulders felt like judgment harmonized and yet the dissonance euphonized in our ears as we swept our heads back into the open arms of the universe, engulfed by inescapable laughter Now things are different; you wear your heart on your sleeve, washing the shores of people and things that scare you with your perpetual confidence, and I proudly observe in wonder and admiration... Distantly tapping my feet, fighting ravines, and laughing alone.
0
May 5, 2022
May 5, 2022 at 11:16 PM UTC
Distant
I saw a little car today zooming past my window It was so small yet it moved so quickly; unafraid a bigger car approached it swerving just before the crash but there it stood resilient waiting for its turn to go and all I could think was: how do I be more like that?
0
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 3:47 PM UTC
Little Car
I’ve seen life **** the marrow and steam, from the hearts that screams waking to nightmares from other bad dreams. I’ve seen sorrow spin and spill the bottle that makes them feel ill. I’ve seen chunks come up as fools pay the the steep price for late night gotta get a life fun time gone wrong. I’ve seen the road that consumes a broken body, a choking toking player spending his last chip just to spit nasty bits and end it. I’ve seen horror, but being blessed, I got to wake up less depressed then when I fell asleep crying. I lived while others were dying. I got knack for surviving. despite all the crap I have seen.
0
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 9:12 AM UTC
Untitled 546
Greatness isn't for those, Who gets satisfied merely by seeing their old work And think 'This is it!' But instead for those who observe their own work, And think 'I wonder how I can top this'.
0
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 4:37 AM UTC
Work
In an aesthetic coffee shop, Scribbling away with glee. Drinking to my imagination, Is it only me? In this aesthetic coffee shop, Where lovers often meet. I hear fragments of what their life has been. Talking over coffee, They think they are strangers to me. I observe,I know, I share their happiness, a witness to their vows. Sadness and pain, Sometimes the outcome may be. But they still come to this coffee shop, Unknowingly drinking with me. I am not the only one, Voila,it's not just me! There are other artists in this coffee shop, Observing and scribbling like me.
0
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 2:51 AM UTC
The coffee shop
We bonded over being broken Watching other missing puzzle pieces drink their weekend away We belonged perfectly, sitting at the bar Words became pictures, the commotion our score Glasses drained Tipped We were out the door
0
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 2:32 PM UTC
Bar Hopping
I watched a person fall and roll down a snowbank today I could not stay home any longer The paint is peeling The roof is leaking I drove myself to the beach Parked the car and sat Slowly realizing, that the person who fell was me
0
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 3:04 AM UTC
Outside In
He walked in frozen on the battle field of addiction and escapism All he wanted was the nostalgia of his youth “Have lemonade?” 10-4-19
0
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 1:23 AM UTC
Small Lemonade
She walked alone Wearing a winter jacket in fall Poorly dyed red hair and old makeup All she wanted was to be loved
0
Feb 1, 2020
Feb 1, 2020 at 4:20 PM UTC
Hold Me, Hold Me
This cosmic canister carries the world’s disarray- Our destinations different, our feelings the same. Though we have regular meetings we remain strangers; Heads down, uncomfortable. A pattern forms in our lives which none exits, our sacred routine which if changed is wrong. Empathetic eyes glazed with weariness. At each departure, a new inhalation of caffeine and smoke, A new wave of bodies, A new mass. We all contribute to the mass, but the mass never goes, Only waxes and wanes with the seasons. We travel as one, carried by destinations, riddled with enigmas. The hour reaches 6:00 and the mass bulges; the kettle is at its boiling point. We move as agitated atoms riling against one another. The world’s day draws to a close, as our microenvironment wakes. A man exhales stale disappointment- no promotion due. The coarse skin of his fingers caresses The constant happiness in his life; Helping him live, hastening his death. Unable to inhale satisfaction, his suit clad leg Writhes underneath the table, Distracting him, but alerting others of the craving. Although his tie is straight and his briefcase orderly, A lose thread and weary eyes give him away- He’s tired; tired of life, tired of the necessary endless routine Which holds him and his livelihood captive. It weakens and sustains him simultaneously. His secrets define him. A girl sighs, her cheeks wet, Tears heavy with hurt. A bruise has settled itself on her forearm; A warning for the next time she comes home late. Her skin has become a canvas and everyday more paint is added. Her permanent ink hides the painful marks Yet the latter seems to leave the most lasting impression. Her face is scarcely discernible; Metal studs line the place where her smile should be- They are so many that her humanity becomes robotic. Her secrets define her. The tube we sit in holds heavy hearts, new smiles, Old friends. The mass becomes one as each day our routine returns, Unchanged. We get to know our fellow travellers Without really getting to know them at all. Their influence on our existence seems insignificant, Yet they contribute to the steadfast mass that so grips our little lives, Whilst we hold on to sanity by a single thread. Our secrets define us.
0
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
The Tube
This cosmic canister carries the world’s disarray- Our destinations different, our feelings the same. Though we have regular meetings we remain strangers; Heads down, uncomfortable. A pattern forms in our lives which none exits, our sacred routine which if changed is wrong. Empathetic eyes glazed with weariness. At each departure, a new inhalation of caffeine and smoke, A new wave of bodies, A new mass. We all contribute to the mass, but the mass never goes, Only waxes and wanes with the seasons. We travel as one, carried by destinations, riddled with enigmas. The hour reaches 6:00 and the mass bulges; the kettle is at its boiling point. We move as agitated atoms riling against one another. The world’s day draws to a close, as our microenvironment wakes. A man exhales stale disappointment- no promotion due. The coarse skin of his fingers caresses The constant happiness in his life; Helping him live, hastening his death. Unable to inhale satisfaction, his suit clad leg Writhes underneath the table, Distracting him, but alerting others of the craving. Although his tie is straight and his briefcase orderly, A lose thread and weary eyes give him away- He’s tired; tired of life, tired of the necessary endless routine Which holds him and his livelihood captive. It weakens and sustains him simultaneously. His secrets define him. A girl sighs, her cheeks wet, Tears heavy with hurt. A bruise has settled itself on her forearm; A warning for the next time she comes home late. Her skin has become a canvas and everyday more paint is added. Her permanent ink hides the painful marks Yet the latter seems to leave the most lasting impression. Her face is scarcely discernible; Metal studs line the place where her smile should be- They are so many that her humanity becomes robotic. Her secrets define her. The tube we sit in holds heavy hearts, new smiles, Old friends. The mass becomes one as each day our routine returns, Unchanged. We get to know our fellow travellers Without really getting to know them at all. Their influence on our existence seems insignificant, Yet they contribute to the steadfast mass that so grips our little lives, Whilst we hold on to sanity by a single thread. Our secrets define us.
Continue reading...
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•}☆{• • •☆•Gently •☆• ☆ •☆• Observing •☆• ☆ •☆•The•☆• ☆ •☆•HOPELESS•☆• • •}☆{•
0
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 12:07 AM UTC
•°☆°•G•O•T•H•°☆°•
The struggles and vices of another. Are no less genuine to them, than you are to your own. For we all have scars, and struggles, and little selfish lies. The kind of thoughts that say that THIS or THAT or HE or SHE...will satisfy. When they will not. And you know it.
0
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC
Observing A Vice
It’s all a lie. I work the words, speaking spastically in humorous verbs, and **** jokes. Strangers smile, and tender sweet laughter, which I love. So, I keep pushing the boundaries, working weird thoughts. They laugh more, which is what I work for. Later when they are not looking, I look at them. I try to keep it less creepy than the other stalker type men, but I am studying them; Learning the limits of my understanding, sussing out the rhythms in which they speak and think. I try to devour their truths but hope they don’t see me struggling to see them. I observe the hallway world. There is a man a foot shorter than me with a very wide waist, slightly longer white hair that gently curls at each end with small bald spot in the back, and the face of a cherub. Hands in his pocket he barely looks up but gives me a slight grin when I acknowledge him. Then his eyes return to the ground three steps ahead. He speaks softly and walks slowly. I know he is hiding something deep, but I do not try to see too far behind the surface, to the grander mind because people don’t appreciate that kind of trespassing. I wonder if his shyness is a product of years of rejection, abuse, or merely a reflection of a truly introverted disposition. I am in a hurry, dropping off books at an out of town library, and picking up some poetry to devour later. She must be new, because she moves slowly. Then attempts to engage me in social pleasantries. I am trying not to pay any attention, and she is not super desperate, but she wants to speak and be heard. So, I really look at her. Lengthy strands of brown thinning hair fall down her long skinny face, slightly obscuring a small growth under the left side of her cheek. Thin rim glasses look at me, as she talks about what she likes to read. Then shifts the discussion to the walking dead. She is passionate and despite my previous urge to escape, I am now sincerely engaged. The gym is loud with ****** music and clinking equipment. She is stunning; Long wavy hair released after a hard workout. She is tanned, and thin but muscular, with a soft and generous voice. I ask her about her boys, and old man. She always appreciates that. We keep the chit chat short, so we can workout and get on with the day. I stare back at a familiar but silent face, there is a building rage ready erupt, something deep and dark that is waiting to self-destruct. I do not like this person much. Dark hazel eyes pressure me, to seek something deep, short dark brown hair recedes but at a barely perceptibly rate. Teeth seem to be shrinking extremely slowly, except for the lost and already rotting ones. His body is losing fat. He is improving, but **** that. He should work harder. I have little patience and compassion for this dumb doppelganger, but I still observe seeking something deeper, the darker unheard truths. I stare at him and snarl. “I like them much more then you.”
0
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
The Observer
It’s all a lie. I work the words, speaking spastically in humorous verbs, and **** jokes. Strangers smile, and tender sweet laughter, which I love. So, I keep pushing the boundaries, working weird thoughts. They laugh more, which is what I work for. Later when they are not looking, I look at them. I try to keep it less creepy than the other stalker type men, but I am studying them; Learning the limits of my understanding, sussing out the rhythms in which they speak and think. I try to devour their truths but hope they don’t see me struggling to see them. I observe the hallway world. There is a man a foot shorter than me with a very wide waist, slightly longer white hair that gently curls at each end with small bald spot in the back, and the face of a cherub. Hands in his pocket he barely looks up but gives me a slight grin when I acknowledge him. Then his eyes return to the ground three steps ahead. He speaks softly and walks slowly. I know he is hiding something deep, but I do not try to see too far behind the surface, to the grander mind because people don’t appreciate that kind of trespassing. I wonder if his shyness is a product of years of rejection, abuse, or merely a reflection of a truly introverted disposition. I am in a hurry, dropping off books at an out of town library, and picking up some poetry to devour later. She must be new, because she moves slowly. Then attempts to engage me in social pleasantries. I am trying not to pay any attention, and she is not super desperate, but she wants to speak and be heard. So, I really look at her. Lengthy strands of brown thinning hair fall down her long skinny face, slightly obscuring a small growth under the left side of her cheek. Thin rim glasses look at me, as she talks about what she likes to read. Then shifts the discussion to the walking dead. She is passionate and despite my previous urge to escape, I am now sincerely engaged. The gym is loud with ****** music and clinking equipment. She is stunning; Long wavy hair released after a hard workout. She is tanned, and thin but muscular, with a soft and generous voice. I ask her about her boys, and old man. She always appreciates that. We keep the chit chat short, so we can workout and get on with the day. I stare back at a familiar but silent face, there is a building rage ready erupt, something deep and dark that is waiting to self-destruct. I do not like this person much. Dark hazel eyes pressure me, to seek something deep, short dark brown hair recedes but at a barely perceptibly rate. Teeth seem to be shrinking extremely slowly, except for the lost and already rotting ones. His body is losing fat. He is improving, but **** that. He should work harder. I have little patience and compassion for this dumb doppelganger, but I still observe seeking something deeper, the darker unheard truths. I stare at him and snarl. “I like them much more then you.”
Continue reading...
9
sometimes when i am in public i get spacey and observe everyone and their actions these people around me i'm not like them or maybe they're not like me they seem so careless and i seem so uptight then i just try to relax my shoulders because they are all the way up to my ears letting this anxiety get the best of me is one of my biggest fears
0
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
observation