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False Poets Jan 2015
like yours
if you'll reciprocate

follow you
if you'll follow me

repost mine
repost yours

pump up those
double discount
quantitative adulations

making everything here,
cheapened and discounted

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave...
when first we practice to deceive.”

standalone
on your merits own
the only way to stand
upright
Dr PRERNA SINGLA Oct 2015
How shalt I express
The love of the burning candle
That burneth in the fire of adulations
As the hours pass by
My quiet eyes follow yours
As if they understand everything thou convey
As the hours pass by
My skin feels thy delicate gestures
As if the boredom caught upon the wings of fairytale
As the hours pass by
My heart hath the safe secure feelings
As if I can sleep on thy shoulders f'r ever
As the hours pass by
My mind observes thy being
As if thy being is a completeness of mine
And as such the candle burns
Day and night in thoughts of you
I burn in silent adulations
Adoring the quiet romance
Of thy silent eyes.
             © Dr. Prerna Singla,15 Apr. 2015
Kalesh Kurup Mar 2017
"There is something in you"

"Do not tell me it's the state of my mind that
Crave for meaningful commitments
Do not tell me, our doors are mutually exclusive,
That cannot open to same pathway"

I am in the make and modes of that solitary *****
Who does not know what is the gift of the given moment.
Who does not know whether the next breath is life or not having it anymore.

I am the ***** living life on the edges when not in the fringes!
With desultory realms of engagements,
Let me avoid that growing sarcastic curve on your face
When "my passions are flimsy"; why define the adulations any lower!

So my 'distant untouched enigma';
Do not be dismayed at this callous, rantings of mine;
I have done with many  futile 'serious' talkathons...
Ignore me as a silly, frivolous thought
Flew in and darted away in an afternoon siesta
© 2017. all rights reserved with author
zebra Jan 2017
the man of light
knows darkness all to well
he possess sacred knowledge
of source
a living experience with in
radiant
and self effulgent

he knows all is permitted
in the acculturated labyrinths of mind
rooted in bias
and incalculable distortions
a hell house ride
constructed of warbled mirrors
Leprechauns gold
an abusement park
of crepuscular
subconscious ethers
and concertized form
on shape shifting sands

creativity gone mad
where time undoes all
its weary inhabitants worn
they are the color of sleep
attaining misguidance
oh the vacuous business
of guided meditations
through azure skies and verdant fields
while the certified uninitiated
whisper
their pale voices against sonorous winds
as if they could lever boulders with broken twigs

stone churches
gothic crosses
temples of man
monoliths to the imaginary
fantastical man god
re-pleat with beard and ****....how quaint

adulations and prostrations
to there man made deity
through myth that binds
group think
other directed
un-individuated individuals
like tribal ants
a world of shattered light
a white knuckle ride
on a spinning mud ball

yet who knows the secret
of the inner light
the illuminated door
the portal through which
Scottie will really beam you up

The man of the mystic light
in a darkened freakish world
is he not an inconvenience
like a mentor to the deaf dumb and blind
he is rarely recognized
almost never believed

the light is not a metaphor
the source that emanates all
although formless and self effulgent
it is not a religion yet all abide with in it

in the dark funnel of conceit
man turns everything into a noun
as if naming is claiming
when what he seeks is beyond
for it is a great dimension of another order

konx om pax
light in extension
Abigail Jan 2015
"I love you," you said
Three times
Sober
Or, at least, after only two glasses of wine
With an expression that wanted me to see its sincerity

You thought about the way your face looked
And how I was looking at it
Which, naturally, made me suspicious
Less of whether what you said was
Or is
True
And more of whether you really believed it

I certainly don't
Although, regrettably, too big a part of me
Hopes that you do
But you won't even go out to lunch
So the concept is moot

If you dwell on me so frequently
Where are you?
Not here, in the growing rift
Between our potential and reality
Where I fume

You flatter
Whipstitching my raw edges
But your adulations can't repair
The fact that you don't know
My favorite color
My stance on religion
Or the quality that I admire most
In a friend

Negligent though you may be
I'm harsher still
On myself
Allowing you in, while I know all of this
How you must find me!
So easy
Malleable
And still I permit you

"We're alike," you say
And you tell me how you care
So little
About so much
But not when it comes to me, apparently
Or so said the lips
That have only kissed me once
Without seeking more

But I kissed you then, anyway
Knowing what would come
Freckles
Sinful dimples
The unfathomable brown eyes
For which you hold so much disdain
The slightest gap
Between your front teeth

Your encouragements didn't stir me
Already shoved
From my resolution
Before your many admittances
And rare
Melancholy musings --
These, perhaps strategic
But disorienting, nonetheless

I'll chalk it up to us finishing the bottle
Which I started
Frustrated
Half an hour before you arrived
And carve myself some apathy.
Third Eye Candy Apr 2017
a star is born in a petri dish, and a speck of dun earth
is dislodged from the nova... the old men weep
for their lost kites. as their knees creak and their windmills
collude to disillusion.
And there be angels farming knots -
of Rust and Myth... they sing the tune that dies laughing
in the face of Life.
As the void dispels the rumor of the center that cannot hold.
and the center consumes the void
with a Point.

like rats without bulls  
or comets without gospels.
perhaps rabbits without April
or Now, without seldom... the fog joins the choir
invisible. Joins the clutch
of our quatraine, to meter the miseries
of our adulations. like tears without worlds.
we are struck in the nerve
of our god's left eye
and are left to seek our ventures
where they best
Lie.
Tom McCone Nov 2015
Some-times in the cast
shade of beauty, life,
our greatest glories feel
the most hollow of
them all, having
dispersed continuously through
our pre-aspirations
& post-adulations. The
only true full-
complement of joy
passes through us, as
a breeze of no measure; we
are doomed never to linger
on contentedness for
more than a
moment's
breadth.
Just balancin' on a knife-edge,
if yr lucky 'nuff.
When prophets run…
By: James Alexander Young, Sept 28, 2014

Like a prophet on his journey
I wander the roads in search of my life
I gaze and I blaze a trail in search of that one special thing

That thing that is old as smoke
With embers releasing footprints of carbon upon the wind
While lives are spent lost and lingering within the narrows

The prophet he seeks his flock to share
In their splendor of adulations and relations

Upon his brow is furrowed years of wisdom like knowledge
To advance the one true goal of all who sees him

To which when it then appears for the rest of their/your days
It would be said:

-There’s Days lived Free and Long
Allen Robinson Dec 2016
My adulations go out to
the women of the world
Those that play the role
of mother and of father
Those wonderful ladies
who are mothers to many
and yet have to children
of their own to speak of
They teach and nurture,
give their time and care
Always thinking of others
before themselves on so
many levels and still find
the time to prepare meals,
laundry and help with the
homework on minimal
sleep.  Great women who
impart out first lessons to
pass on to our children
She plays the roll of doctor,
psychologist and coach
Respect is not only due,
it's mandated as a true
TRIBUTE to all they do.
What is this mania of over the top
self-absorption that appears to be
running amok, this social dementia
annoying egotism, where it seems
everyone is constantly posing and
publicly auditioning for attention.

Cellphones and Social media two
of the abetting culprits, deluding
the populace that constant selfies
a star does make. Get a blog, be a
celebrity, go on TV? Self-promotion
and crass Exhibitionism has become
a vexing preoccupation. Striving for
LIKES and Followers sending and
Trending, seeking the adulations of
strangers out in the cloud that they
will never actually meet.

What happened to modesty, or
self-restraint? Have we all lost
our minds? When did being an
average normal well-adjusted
human become not enough.
When did humility become
undesirably passe? Are we all
truly that insecure?
Megan Sherman Mar 2018
Drenched in teal, adorned by sparks
Bright, fierce, the churning stars
As to Heaven the wings embark
A voyage grand, afar
The moon soft scatters tender light
As rainbows tower, over clouds
Touched by angels, in their flights
Zoom past, clad in immortal shroud

O sweet and soft their fiery wings
On which they bright, aspire
As through them, all creation sing
Burnished with colours of desire
Zoom up and up, twirl, pirouette
In marvellous and majestic commotion
Circle the skies in wonderful roulette
Pure and deep and rare as ocean

Love is their life and their life devotion
Committed to triumph of God's Heart
Which churn with Love in incessant motion
Doth the creed of Peace impart
Hath angels singing adulations
In happy songs of happy cheer
Singing loud their celebrations
For the Lord, who's ever near
My home, my beautiful home!
Seated amidst a pulsating city,
Gulmohars, jacarandas rendering gaiety
Serene heaven visible from my window
Blue umbrella germinating thoughts mellow
Caressing sunshine with whispering breeze...that’s my zone
My benefactor, my saviour, that’s home, my beautiful home!



My home, my beautiful home!
Bestower of benedictions and adulations
Spectator of trials and tribulations
Echoer of rapturous laughters
Embracer of pains and tears
Preserver of memories, builder of healthy morrows... that’s my zone
My introduction, my story, that’s home, my beautiful home!



My home, my beautiful home!
Welcoming friends, sharing, caring lots
Nourishing dreams, cleansing thoughts
Elevating spirits, multiplying happiness
Balm for sorrow, therapy for sickness,
Healer for injury, haven for peace...that’s my zone
My temple, my sanctuary, that’s home, my beautiful home!



My home, my beautiful home!
Epicenter of love where blooming hearts reside
Foundation of self-worth and pride,
Dispeller of fear
Creator of my magical sphere
Reservoir of serenity and sanctity...that’s my zone
My harbinger, my comforter, that’s home, my beautiful home!
Yenson Jun 2022
Hey plebs
if you think Prince Andrew
is sitting in sorrow and suffering
that's merely the ignorant perceptions of small minds
the Prince is thanking his lucky stars and totally at ease
having all his creature comforts and glorious free time
no more having to feign interest in what the plebs are doing
or shaking hands and grinning with the unwashed
listening to their inane prattles as they faff about
always hungry for attention as if they matter
anyway to hell with them muses the prince
they can keep their useless adulations
like its the Royals fault they get star struck
mummy says they are silly and I should just keep a low profile
the Prince thinks they can kiss his fine derrière
he's on the vacation of a lifetime
and overjoyed he doesn't
have to smell these dogs anymore
and they can snap growl yap and whine as much as they like
its what they do..... n'est-ce pas ?
[But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be, cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!]
[But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!!!]
But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be, cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!
But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be, cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!
But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be, cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!

— The End —