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Sanjali Jan 2018
1
-Coming Home-

The door creaked open
And dust flew from the floor,
Shimmering in the sunlight,
As I came home.
Cracking walls were a surprise
Next to my room’s door,
Cement broke under my feet
And a gecko ran into its hole.
But it seemed as I had left it
The windows that were closed,
My books and seashells waiting
And the clock ticking on.
Amidst the cold surfaces
Sometimes we find ourselves,
Familiarity seems to be the reason
To love and connect.
I felt them all welcoming
Though tired from their sleep,
Stretching under my gentle touch
Mocking eternity.
The hands showed me all
That I thought I had missed,
The seconds ticked by,
There I was, with nothing amiss.
M C Sep 1
I live in an optimistic room.
A facade of shaped mirrors.
A shell that lingers, marked with scarred runes.
A hell where a demon lies
dreaming in his tomb.
Ambling about an amiss womb of ignorance
my nature is twisted.
I resisted a restless pessimist who has insisted
I entered into a house of horrors!
Where hubris is heavenly
and pain is pleasure.
Guilt is a given
and treachery means treasure.

My sins surround me.
Too slothful to even pluck the fruit
my gluttonous hunger devours
an empty hand.
In this way, pride and lust also follow suit.
My avarice is of envious repute,
but of the things I envy
I cannot refute.

One last forgotten folly.

An abandoned demand.
A deep,
abysmal
pit
is the seat of my soul.
Fiery wrath
now frigid.
Instead of a furnace
an empty
hole.
F A Pacelli Jun 11
too many times 
we live to please others 
tailoring our vision
to meet expectations of the crowd 
but we feel a twinge of heaviness 
knowing something is amiss 
that we are prisoners in our life
 
defy the crowd
ignore everyone else
live for yourself and be selfish
let your light shine
Samantha Cunha Nov 2018
veiny arms
held me
too tight
I shivered
with fright
&
from the
breeze
of the
night
sporadic
words
flew out
my sunken
mouth
like birds
our
tryst
no
more
for I
drowned
us
at  shore
in the abyss
your heart
amiss
v V v Nov 2015
I.

She’ll drive through the parking lot
at quarter past eight tonight;
but first she’ll put up the gravy
and throw away salad.

There is something amiss with the sun.
The angle through the window,
she’s never noticed it on
her plate before

because by now
they were usually seated in the den
where the sun would greet them there,
not here.

It’s not like him to be late.
She worries while she sits,
waits a little longer,
watches the sun slide over
the edge of the table
and drift toward the empty den.

She feels as if she’s
stepped off a spaceship
after landing on a different planet
and the simple act of breathing
requires exaggerated effort.

She looks around at nothing that’s familiar.

She gets up and clears the plates,
feeds the dog, loads the wash
then heads for the door.

Its no surprise
she finds his car parked
in space 138.
The same place he always parks
when he goes for a run.

She shakes her head  
and checks her watch,
confused by the clock
on the dash, 8:31 pm.

It doesn’t make sense.

25 years of routine behavior
makes her think that it is morning.
He parks in space 138
in the morning.

Troubled by her fractured norm
she calls 911 and waits for
the police to arrive.
They tell her that they found a man
and ask her to go with them but
she cannot, or will not go with them
to identify a dead man,

lifeless on a concrete slab
in a cold city basement
under blue neon buzz
above refrigerated drawers.

They will need to find another way
to break her heart tonight.

She refuses to hear what happened,
how a mental patient ran from
behind a tree and hacked him
with a rusty machete.

She will not go with them,
she will not listen to their story,
she will not turn on the television,
she will not speak to anyone but

she will hang on to routine.

She will hold it tightly
for as long as she can.

II.

On a random Saturday at 5:15
she rushes to prepare dinner by 5:30.
At 5:35 she stares at the kitchen clock,
the one they calibrate with Greenwich
once a month.

At 5:36 she takes off her apron,
folds it carefully so as not to wrinkle it,
wipes a bead of sweat from her upper lip
and wonders if its menopause.

Her heart is racing as
she jumps at the sound of the telephone.
  
When she hangs up she is calm.

The coroner has confirmed.

She heads toward the back door,
spots her keys on the left hook while
the right hook sits empty
and she begins to cry.
    
She takes her keys into the garage
but leaves her purse behind.
She won’t be driving anywhere tonight.
She starts the car,
    
leaves it running and gets out,
lies down on the cold cement floor,
curls into a fetal position and
slowly drifts toward sleep.

She finally admits the truth.

He sleeps on cold cement as well.
A very sad story that has stayed with me now for several weeks... I wake up thinking about it, I am haunted by this story..

http://www.dallasnews.com/news/metro/20151027-for-wife-of-white-rock-slaying-victim-pain-was-unbearable.ece
AditiBoo Sep 2018
There is chaos
Chaos in an abyss
Amidst an air of pathos
Where neglect couldn't go amiss

There is tragedy
In a mind splintered
Ejecting shards of rigid fallacy
Aimed at a culpable soul blistered

There is despair
In eyes witnessing illusions
A conviction harnessed with fear
A belief shaved down through confusions

There is need
Pressing against shut lips
Faithfully present in its own creed
Unjustly repressed underneath postscripts

Then, there is humanity
Stuck in its own no man's land
Awkwardly straddling society and morality
Gingerly pushing through its own exigencies and demands
veritas Oct 2018
a mercy misplaced
a raven's cries amiss
fallen and forgotten he stands over
petals dipped gently in blood
and a dagger slipping silently from cold hands.
it is a treacherous thing, his heart,
and it has betrayed his lips.
betrayal smells like passion until it isn't
delilah Jul 2018
i can't sleep
so i tried to count sheep
but they all turned to roaches
so i opened my eyes
and tried to wear them out
by staring onto my room
but shadows turned to people
so i closed my eyes
and i tried to clear my mind
but it ran amiss
so i opened my eyes
and tried to read myself to sleep
but words were just ink
so i closed my eyes
and tried counting sheep
Samantha Cunha Nov 2018
White lace
galore
crimson red
lips
of bore
mind turns
out tricks
like
a *****
deeper
darker
into
the abyss
light
serenity
is
amiss
disorder
disdain
heart of
strain
glass
of stain
lies
of the evening
here
I
remain
Patrick Dec 2018
I sat there broken, beaten, and blue.
Pain pulseing through every heartbeat; another clue.
In an attempt to numb my pain,
I numbed all my senses the same.
Till one day I realized, one day I reminisced,
Of times when I felt whole with you, with not a piece amiss.

But what can I do in this time of crisis?
Times in which I cry the hardest.
Until no more tears can fall.
No energy left for this emotional brawl.

All I can do is attempt to put to rest,
This poisoned heart behind my breast.
I let go, until it heals.
But in letting go,
Did I forgot how to feel?

Feel anger, love, passion, desire.
I let my love for you become the sole fuel for my heart's pyre.
And without you there's nothing left to do but wait to expire.

The fire called love burned this heart to black.
I don't think I'll ever get my beating heart back.
Stephen S Feb 1
Nothing's amiss,
I just want a kiss,
but perhaps life just
can't be as simple as this.

Got in a fight,
In the deep of the night,
and messed up my sense
of wrong and of right.

And so I will go,
on to what, I don't know.
My road ahead? Treacherous.
The journey is slow.
Jeff Gaines Mar 2018
OK Reader, I'm going to tell you a tale … with great trepidation. You see, this tale, well, it's kind of like telling someone that you've seen a UFO. They want to believe you, but … it's never really been proven scientifically. Not to mention the fact that most folks who believe in such things are often the tin-hat wearing types, written off as … lets be nice and call them “odd”. And, of course, the more you swear to it, the crazier you appear. It's an epic tale, spanning 30 years of my crazy life.

  But, It's a story I want to tell, because it happened to me. I can barely understand it myself, let alone explain it. So … I'm just going to launch into it and you take it any way you wish.

*  *  
Where Can You Be?

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

I'll search with gazes and I'll search with cars,
I'll search the cities and I'll search the stars, well …
I'm gonna find you, oh, wherever you are,
I'm gonna find you baby …  near or far, but …

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

I thought I'd found ya, but she wasn't you,
that girl she left alone and blue, well …
I know that's something that you'd never do,
your love has always been strong and true, but …

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

If you must settle for some other man
and deviate from our immortal plan, well …
I hope you realize I will understand
and I'll try and do the best that I can, but …

Where will I be?
Where will I be, my love?
Hoping the next life sees …
our destiny!


Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

~Wednesday, April 1st, 1987
10:30 P.M.



  I was singing in a band back in those days and, as it happened, this was the last song I'd ever write for it. Just after this, as it does, it all came crashing down and the band was finished. But in those last days, they pondered this song, with great puzzlement. You see, it was unlike anything I'd brought them before. It wasn't rock … It wasn't a ballad … it wasn't even structured like a “normal” 80's rock song.
  
  No bridge, no solo, no loud grinding guitars, etc. It even had bits where I hummed, yes hummed, the melody, like a lullaby. As they read the lyrics and I described how it went, they all looked at me like I had three heads and asked where this had come from. It was nothing like anything I'd written before. I could only tell them when and where I'd written it, but had no explanation of what inspired it. It had just came to me, so I wrote it down. They didn't know what to make of it, or even what to do with it.

  One of them said it sounded like a late 70's or early 80's adult contemporary song or even in the vein of The Eagles. Another asked if it was about reincarnation … And I honestly, until that moment, hadn't thought of it that way, I didn't think like that at 24 … but then, one of them said it was “Haunting” …

  “Haunting”?

  “Wow”, I thought, I'd never had anything I'd written described as that before. When I asked him what he meant by that, he told me that it was haunting to think that this poor guy is desperately seeking a girl, that may or may not even know that he exists … in a world with billions of people in it. To top that off, he fears that she may off and marry someone else if he doesn't find her in time.

  This, along with the suggestion of it being about reincarnation made me rethink and rewrite the song. Well, a few lines in the last verse and chorus anyways. It actually made the song flow better and seem more complete. In a way, it actually made the song make more sense … to me and them. Sadly, we never did anything with it. There wouldn't be time. Ha … Time … how ironic. Over 10 years later, came this …


For Someone I've Never Met

Please save a place for me,
deep inside your heart.
Always know that I think of you,
as we both practice our arts.

Our worlds are full of temptations,
so very hard to resist …
and the good Lord knows
we're both far from,
sixteen and never been kissed.

Wealthy men with jaws divine …
Temptresses with looks so fine …
Paths that lead our hearts away …
Paths that surely lead astray …

They'll lead us there every time.
They'll leave us there … so  unkind.
Our hearts must shine,
night and day.
Through any darkness … they'll light our way.

If you never touch my face …
If I never look into your eyes …
We'll always have the comfort of sharing
the same
big, blue sky.

If I never smell your hair …
If you never kiss my lips …
Always know the search for your smile
has launched a thousand ships.

So, I hope you save a place for me
in your heart so sweet and kind.
Please, save a place for me …
Heaven knows you've one in mine.

~Thursday, September 9th, 1999
9 A.M.



“For Someone I've Never Met ” poured out of me in the midst of another breakup from the second, and last, girl that I wanted to marry. That emotion, never found me again. I looked at it on my computer screen and smiled, seeing “Where Can You Be”, in my mind, on my tattered old note pad that I called my “Song Book”. The memory of me writing it while sitting in my Z-28, looking out over the Gulf of Mexico as a beautiful heat lighting storm sent bolts across the sky, came flooding back; as did the debate of reincarnation I'd had with my pals in the rehearsal room all those years before. Here I was, again, writing about “someone” that I sensed, for lack of a better term, was out there … somewhere.

  Well Reader, do you believe in reincarnation? I was never really certain, but, as you can see, I had twice written pieces to someone I wasn't completely sure existed. I had always “sensed” someone out there beginning with the period after I wrote “Where Can You Be?” and thereafter. So, there they were, each written after losing someone I was deeply in love with. Each came out of nowhere, as they usually do. By the time I was in my 40's, I began to think I was either imagining it all (a side effect of being a hopeless romantic) or that I had just somehow missed this person and our “moment”.

  And then …



Epiphany

There was a place.
There was a time …
There, I stood … still unknowing
and everything seemed fine.

But there in that place …
at that moment in time …
the moment I saw the eyes,
I'd never believed I'd find.

Well, what could I say?
What could I do?
In a world filled with billions …
and there … was a you.

I'd always known you were out there …
even written of something amiss.
I never, ever stopped looking for you …
because my heart always said you exist.

My breezy Fall became harshest Winter.
My crazy life left my health running out.
I'd resigned myself that our moment had passed …
but this moment … it removed all doubt.

Well, what could I say?
Tell me, what could I do?
There we stood, staring … alone … in a city of millions …
yes, there … there was a you.

Oh, that mistress fate, she is just so cruel.
Frustration, a curse to be mine.
   I'd searched for you my entire life …
but now … my clock … knows a limit of time.

You see, I would never venture a love with you,
while knowing I'd have to leave you … hurt and alone.
I could only admire from afar … stoic and aloof …
while turning my heart into stone.

Nothing I could ever say and nothing I could ever do …
But now, at long last … at least I finally knew.

There, you stood … green seas, gazing up … into skies of blue.
My long-awaited revelation … become sorrow-laced realization.
There really is … a you.

~August 12th, 2009
  

  Typical of my life-long Charlie Brown syndrome … After being told in 2005 that I had “the lungs of an eighty-year-old man” and that I had “Six to Ten years” to live, I made a conscious decision in that Doctor's parking lot that I could never have another girlfriend and that I must face this alone. I don't see woman as objects. They are glorious creatures that are here to be our partners and friends and to make our lives amazing. I could never, ever knowingly let a woman fall in love with me, all the while knowing I was going to die and leave her. It's not in me to do such a thing, lonely or not.

  Yes, I'm still alive, I'm stubborn like that. But, some days are better than others and my new doctors say that they don't give people “time limits” anymore … because of people like me. I can't afford the lung transplant. So, as Bono so aptly put in one of his songs: “The rich stay healthy, while the sick stay poor”. It is what it is … and like the energizer bunny, I'm still going. Good for me.

  In the moment that I met her, the morning that followed, and the amazing speed of our nexus over the next several months combined with a string of synchronicities (Coincidences? Did I mention that she too, was a poet and writer?) that not only came after I met her on the sidewalk in front of the publisher we shared, but in those pieces I had written before and in several after; I was pretty much convinced I had actually found her. I have NEVER experienced anything like this, or her, in my entire life.

  So, after all this time, here she was … and there wasn't a **** thing that I could do about it. Besides, she was much younger than I and it probably would never have worked anyways. ****, the universe is rotten sometimes, huh? Maybe, if I'm lucky, things will balance out better in the next life. I can only hope. But I'm reminded, worryingly so, of the **** The Alarm song: “Collide”:

“All of these thoughts pounding in my head …
with the words I've wrote, in the letters I've never sent.
The distance in our lives may change …
Times that you can never erase …
But will our worlds collide?
Will our worlds collide, the next time?”



  Only time will tell.



  “Colors”, and a few others, were written about/for her. But, I could never show them to her. I would never endanger my friendship with her. I just wanted to keep her in my life. That, and that alone, was the only motive I'd ever had with her. I looked forward to seeing her marry, hearing her stories of her three kid's adventures; Hubby, all greasy, working on the car in the driveway, rabbits in her garden at night, eating her precious organic veggies or even about her new curtains. Just to know that she was alive, happy and doing well. I found a solace in her voice I could never describe and I was completely content to just have her in my life and watch hers unfold. Only I could end up in this odd position.

  I feared that she might get weird-ed out because I'd never displayed any romantic inklings toward her, so, to suddenly read these might make her feel a bit, lets say: uncomfortable. Actually, I didn't write them with any romantic intentions, per se; I just did what I always do … write what comes out. Still, there's no denying that they come across romantic. Again, so, so Charlie Brown. (long sigh)
  
  It is what it is. I also have to ponder the fact that maybe all those Charlie Brown moments in my life were preparing me for this one big, painful one. That does makes sense … ******' Universe.


Colors

Well when you're Green, I'll be your Brown.
Like the earth that loves the flowers,
I'll will be your solid ground.

And I'll be your Azure, when you are Verdigris.
We'll be thee most beautiful ocean
that eyes have ever seen.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
Mixing all of the colors … I'll make everything alright.

Now when you're Blue, I'll be you're Red.
If something should make you wanna cry,
I will feel your pain instead.

And I'll be your Orange, whenever you are Pink.
We'll be thee most amazing sunset,
that the sky could ever ink.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
I'll mix all of your colors … and make everything alright.

Should you be Violet, I will be your Beige.
Like a sleepy moonlit desert,
pasteled in dunes and sage.

And when you're Grey, I will be your Rainbow.
We'll be thee most soothing rainstorm
the world has ever known.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
I'll mix all of your colors … yes, I'll make everything alright.

With love on my palette, painting a glorious sunrise …
I'll color all your mornings with a smile and brighten up your skies.
If you should find yourself in sorrow from someones hate or lies …
I'll take the stars down from the heavens … and paint them in your eyes.

So whenever you are Black, I will always be your White.
I'll mix all your colors with a promise … everything will be alright.

Yes, I'll mix all of your colors with a promise … Everything's gonna be alright.

~  Winter 2012



  I wrote this after she had rang me up one afternoon lamenting about her life at the moment, troubled that her latest novel hadn't done as well as she'd hoped and now she had to be waitressing to make ends meet. I tried my best to cheer her up and assured her that she was strong enough to handle anything and that she must keep chasing her dreams. I wrote it as a poem, but I can't help but notice it looks like a song, though I've never heard music for it. Those repeated verses look just like choruses to me.

  Earlier in the day, I had been looking at a booklet of paint swatches. I guess, up there on my roof looking at the Manhattan skyline, her sadness and me looking at all those colors melted together somehow and, as happens, out came this piece. Even this, became another synchronicity as she would name her next novel “Show Me All Your Colors”. I remember seeing it in the bookstore and looking straight up … shaking my head at the sky. Was this the universe telling me to show and tell her all this?

  Well, if it was, I stuck with my gut and kept it to myself. My God, if you only knew how many of these synchronicities there were between her and I. It simply boggles my mind. I wanted to call them “coincidences”, but there were just so **** many of them … Each so unique, they just couldn't be called that. I don't want to tell them all here, because like I said, the more you swear to it, the crazier you sound. And I'm sure your questioning my sanity by now, aren't you? (Smirk)


  OK, OK … this one is definitely romantic. I wrote it one night, drunk to the bejeezus. I'd done what we called “The Crosstown Crawl” with my pal Tristan and a gaggle of assorted waitresses we knew. This involved starting at Brass Monkey on the west side highway in the Gansevoort District and ending at my favorite ****** bar, Karma, on the Lower East Side … Drinking in, and often being “asked to leave” (Read: Kicked out of) every bar that took our interest as we walked (Read: staggered) west to east, staying below 14th St.

  On my way home from the city on the J train, I thought about all the phone conversations we'd had while I was on this train crossing the Williamsburg Bridge. Being drunk, I guess, I caught a bout of sadness that I'd never get to tell her any of this or even how I felt about it all. Before I hit my elevator, this piece was swimming in my head. It's about as mushy a piece as I've ever written … if not thee most! Not the norm for me, but this is, after all, a lot to keep pent up inside you. I wouldn't wish this predicament on anyone.


For My Little Red-Haired Girl …


You …

My Love.
My Queen.
This Shining Light in my eyes.

My Laughs.
My Dreams.
My Soft, Contented Sighs.

My *****.
My Lavender.
My Dew Covered Rose.

My Smile.
My Cinnamon.
The Joy in my heart … ever inspiring my prose.

My Best Friend.
My Co-Star.
My Fearless Partner in Crime.

My Breath.
My Cohort.
My Side-kick throughout time.

My Snow-capped Mountain.
The Wind caressing my face.
My Vast Green Field.

The Ivy Covered Wall
that harbors my soul … ever refusing to yield.

In a different time ...

You … would have been my Life.

You … would have been my World.

You … would have been my Everything

and I will always love you for my own special reasons.

It is just a shame … and I'm so, so sorry … that you … must never, ever know.

Maybe next time.


~Charlie Brown




   When I came-to in the morning and read what I had wrote, I had to laugh a bit. It is borderline corny, very beautiful, very telling and very sad … all at once. I shook my head, laughing and told myself :

  “*******, Sam … yer losin' it. Get your **** together, will ya?”

  I guess in my stupor, I was imagining what it would have been like to write something for her. I don't know … There it was and I was stuck with it. I almost deleted it, but, my finger wouldn't press the key. As I told you before … I'd NEVER show this to her. She'd probably never speak to me again.

   As a sadder epilogue, that eventually happened. I still don't know why, but we haven't spoken in years. Maybe she sensed this emotion in me and ran away. Or maybe, just maybe … she thought I'd pushed her away somehow … but for whatever reason, we drifted apart. I guess I'll never know.  As you can see by reading this, that was never my intention. But, like I keep reiterating … It is what it is.

  One day, I called her number to catch up and shoot the breeze. I hadn't spoken to her in a few months as she'd been busy promoting her new novel and I didn't want to pester her. But … it was disconnected … I checked my emails … nothing. I'd never been so confused, she just closed me out. I didn't want to bother her. I was sure she had her reasons and if she wanted to reach out to me again, she would. She had my email and my phone number. But, for now … she was gone … and that was that.

  So, what do you think, Reader? Do I get the Tin hat … or a Badge of courage? Am I bat-**** crazy … or just eccentric? I'll leave it up to you to decide, because as I said, this all happened to me and there isn't a thing I can do about any of it. I just had to get it off of my chest. Thanks for letting me vent.

  Wherever she is … she will always mean the world to me. I can see her green eyes if I close my mine and look for them. Sometimes, on occasion, her face haunts my sleep. Still, I like to picture her, kids playing in a sprinkler behind her, digging in her garden, wearing gloves too big for her hands and a smudge of fresh dirt on her cheek … it makes me smile.


-Sam Webster
Brooklyn, New York
2013
OK, you can stop scratching your head. I'm sorry if you feel like I tricked you or was playing a prank … That was not my intention. This piece is experimental writing, of sorts. If you are wondering, it's titled “Somewhere … Out There”. But I didn't want to put a title at the head of the page, as that might have clued you in too early.

I also confess that “Sam” the narrator is, on no uncertain terms, based loosely on myself. But hey, what better way to string you along? Besides, as Stephen King said, you “Write what you know”. As far as I 'm aware, using poetry within a short story like this, or in this manner, has never been done before. Welcome to the future!

It really belongs in my “From Thee Edge” Collection with the rest of my Twilight-Zone-esque short stories. (You can now read some of these fiction short stories here, posted in my "[email protected]" posts, along with some non-fiction essays. I hope you enjoy them.) But, because I pieced together several of my poems to not only tell the story, but as a vehicle to carry it along as part of it; I wanted to put it here on Hello Poetry just to see if I could convince you long enough to get you through the story … while having you believe it was me speaking to you and that it was all very real to me. Thus, making it feel real to you as you read it.

Was I having you along right up until it was signed by someone else? Or, at least until the narrator addressed himself as “Sam”?

If so, then I accomplished my mission. I'd love to hear your comments on it. If you've been reading any of my other posts, I'm sure you've figured out that I like to run wildly outside of the box sometimes. This was just, as I said, an experiment in a different way to tell a story … fiction or otherwise. As always, I hope that I took you on a journey and, more importantly, that you enjoyed it.

~Jeff Gaines
L.A.
(Lower Alabama)
2015
Be a man you'd never been...
-Subhojit Ghimire

When you believe that the sky above you is way too high
For you to even try
That's when all of your dreams go wry
And you sit there doin' nothin' but cry...
That's when you fail...

When you believe the ocean's too deep for even your tears to drown
That's when all your green faiths turn brown
and all you can do is frown...
That's when you are unworthy...

When you finally believe that the journey to the end of the world cannot be accomplished
And you let all your chances go amiss
That's when you let your future go lease
And let sorrowful nature give you a kiss...
That's when you are hopeless...

But amidst all your sorrows and sufferings and failures
If you still stand up each time
And let the life test you one more time
That's when you reach beyond the sky
That's when you touch the end of the bottomless ocean
And that's exactly when you get past the earth's grasp...

Then you start a new life
Full of hopes and full of dreams
All the faiths again turned green
That's when you rise to your full potential
To be a man you'd never been...
This poem comes from a hopeless guy who one day believes to rise to his full potential, and *hopes* to see his true self, without any extrinsic help...
Jerry Vital Sep 2018
Sometimes Mrs. Little bliss
Is all a mist
But Her love, is never amiss

And when I fall, because I miss
with tenderness she'll hold my wrist
Pulling me out from the abyss

Everytime she blows a kiss
I, myself could never resist
With just a touch of her lips, I'll have eternal bliss
Mine soul’s the detonator.

Mine heart’s the coil.

The vessel & arteries, my fuse.

My bones, skin & muscle the shell.

Hopes & desires the composition.

Fear, insecurity & thinking

the safety pin.

My courage & action is the flick.

Will I die or will I live?

When vitality’s stripped, and memory amiss.

Will I go forgotten or praised.

When I sleep, below the suns rays.

Will I go at peace & at ease, or
left sundered, wrought to rest with tears?

How will I know, if I don’t flick the switch, and do indeed live
The X Rhymes May 25
year on year Tom would feel
like a gear or a wheel
or a cog in a clockwork machine
in the same office space
just a nameless, lame face
in the slog of the corporate routine

any thought, null and void
shopped and bought - an android
a synthetic, a robotic drone
or a replicant man
who’d been sent from Japan
cybernetic, machina, a clone

then one bleak winter's night
he saw streaks of bright light
shooting stars bringing evening alive
from the white headlight glare
and the red taillight flare
of the cars on their homeward bound drive

from his place in the queue
they erased out his view
as their glow burned peripheries black
being dazzled to blind
kind of frazzled his mind
yet the show meant he kept looking back

close his eyes, sight to save
and he’d rise through the waves
by the macular, swimming in tears
‘neath his lashes and lid
where the flashes are hid
and spectacular lens flares appear

blobs of green, yellow, blue
quite serenely they flew
like the puck from that old TV game
but what struck him as strange
as the lights ducked and changed
was their route stuck exactly the same

moving at the same pace
proving easy to trace
as if lightning bolts forked the same line
any ape could compute
that the shape of that route
happened not by default but design

leaving trails in his sight
as they sailed left to right
back to centre, dipped, then rose again
they would bounce once then fade
or renounce and degrade
on the boards and chips of his brain

and wherever he looked
as if tethered or hooked
caught on screen - left, right and centre, down, rise
though of course you’d object
Tom was forced to accept
he’d machines in his head for his eyes

now that brainwave he’d had
struck him stark-raving mad
plain eccentric...at least first it seemed
then a new insight crept
that at night, while he slept
of electric sheep often he dreamed

so he knew it was true
the review had come through
that his person had been synthesised
Tom was not bone and flesh
he was chrome, foam and mesh
a good version but still a disguise

the construction of man
from instructions and plans
spools and chains running his moving parts
under hood, copper coils
and no blood, only oil
wire veins and a battery heart

and this news left him numb
should he fuse, what would come
would he find obsolescence built in
would they repair this chap
or declare him as scrap
did his kind just get thrown in the bin

he appeared out of sync
from this weird way to think
but the notion once thought just increased
and he feared he would sink
but as he neared the brink
the commotion cut short - it just ceased

he thought ‘circuits aren’t bad
if you work it a tad
there’s a fix for those who’ve been man-made
it’s programmed in our code
promised land, like we’re owed
something clicks and we’ll get the upgrade

our design’s been refined
to remind all mankind
God had failed and left Heaven amiss
battery dead, I’ll survive
since my head’s a hard-drive
that is e-mailed on death unto bliss

so the jolt this supplied
finding bolts for insides
and each breath he took, just a veneer
was succinct to subside
since his instincts implied
that of death Tom had nothing to fear

since equipped with radar
he’d be shipped to V.R.
not a hole in the ground where he’d rot
there's no place in the sky
when his master race dies
but there’s soul in the heart of each ‘bot’

so he got on the bus
and forgot all the fuss
like a freak who’d found merit and worth
there’d be others like him
plastic covers for skin
and those geeks would inherit the earth

why decry the expense
being A.I made sense
Tom could take being called phoney once
he came to understand
next to same and to bland
being fake was the only response
Turn off my robotic brain
All my thoughts are all the same
(All insane)
Marla Apr 15
Wandering day to day
Wondering what will come my way
For I would **** one for a kiss
So long as love is not amiss
Steven Cole May 6
Someone please help me
I'm on a rhyming spree
I've decided to rhyme to
Pass the time
But I simply can't stop
Rhyming you see
Don't know where I'm going
Or what I'm doing with this
My mind will not stop running
My concentration is running amiss
I don't know if there is an antidote
A reliable cure for this
I'm addicted to poetry
Words and phrases are my bliss
The figurative pencil is flying in my hand
The ideas are running from my head
Like the hourglass sand
I would like to write a book
With poems full of tact
Do I have enough ability
To write enough in fact?
I would shut myself up
In creative thoughts so abundant
But I'm afraid of wasting all my time
Of becoming superfluously
Redundant
I suppose I'll keep on writing
When the occasion seems to me to be
Right
I'll try to shed on some old subject
Some new and authentic
Light
#lost in thought
Brad post Aug 2018
Someone call the Doctor,
because something’s amiss.
The darkness descended,
and there’s just the abyss.

Tell him, that maybe,
a paradox formed.
That up, is now right,
and that demons have swarmed.

Tell him, please tell him,
that we need the blue box.
We need his courage,
to turn back the clock.

I know the moment,
the exact time it went wrong,
but I can’t do it alone,
I’ve done that too long.

If we just had the Doctor,
we could set things to right.
We could change that moment,
and bring back the light.

I know he’s not coming,
and that he’s not real.
It’s just wishful writing,
to push back my fears.

A hero, a savior,
someone who knows all.
Someone who isn’t me,
that could stop the slow fall.

A blue box, a Doctor,
a moment in time.
A villain, so empty,
writing silly rhymes.

A paradox, truly,
that doesn’t make sense.
Can a villain turn hero,
if he shows recompense?

I guess we shall see,
but I won’t hold my breath.
I’ll wait for the Doctor,
or I’ll just wait for Death.
Gemma Apr 24
Sometimes I wonder,
Is it the things that I do?
The things that I say,
am I too much for you?
I start to doubt myself,
I fill up with dread,
its got to be me,
something that I said?
I wrack my mind,
to try and find,
the moment we lost it,
what was left behind?
It started so well,
Both in high spirits,
but one little thing
and it all goes amiss!
I want to fix it,
But I don't know how.
We are both so stubborn,
it's gunna' end in a row!
So we both ignore it,
let's let it stew!!
But I don't want another argument,
Between me and you!
Let's pick up tomorrow
Where we left off,
Let's clean up the table
Let's rip out the cloth.
Let's talk of the things,
We've both said and done,
Let's discuss the bad things,
Let's remember the fun!
Try not to focus,
On all that is bad,
On on all of the anger,
And all of the sad!.
Let's look at the good things
And where we both are,
On all that we've worked through
The healing of scars!
Let's try to remember,
That we both want what's best,
So let's focus on the good times,
Put aside all the rest.
You know that I care for you,
Maybe a little more than I should?
But you know what,
I wouldn't change it,
Even if I knew that I could.
Because I really like you,
And I'm scared to let go,
Of all that you've taught me,
Of what I now know,
So please don't just give up
On what we've become,
I know we're both loaded
And good with a gun!
Of course I mean this metaphorically
And speak of the tongue,
But still your words wound like a gunshot,
And they make me feel numb.
I just hope we can work through this,
I need you too know that I care,
To know that I need you now.
And for you, i will always be there.
Here I am again. Not knowing what really happened, what words were misplaced by whom? I just want it fixed.
Suresh Gupta Aug 26
The Reflection

08/21/2019

  

As always, lost in thoughts of no consequence
oblivious to the store fronts, an evening stroll
a disturbance, I felt, that held me in place
slowly turning, now facing the window, in view
the display, superimposed with reflections
all is familiar, the images and the reflections
both static and non, beside me as well as behind
what's amiss, the mind refuses to capture
and then, yes then, the invisible, surfaces
amiss from this collage, is my reflection



That disturbance in the force, strongly felt
in place of my reflection, a mist, a haze taking shape
unfocused mind, forming images when non exist
overlaying the mannequin, with a familiar outline
yet everything else, front n surrounding, sharp n clear
captive of that disturbance, motionless, fixated
image forming, taking shape, an outline of my reflection
image with no mass, then I realize the nature of
that which is known to me, that which has left me,
that which has been with me, has grown as I have,
from birth, that which knows me, but that which
I have only now understood, that illusive self
a view, the very few, if any, are privileged to know
as I exhale for the last time/my last breath/for the final time
as if bidding goodbye, with serenity, my aura, my soul
Andrew Jul 2018
The static havoc
In my attic
Is automatic
And so emphatic
Excruciating pain
Roosting in rain
Boosting the grain
But flooding my lane

While playing cosmic roulette
I'm charged a clockwise debt
Paid by traveling to my death
Like anthrax on Amtrak
The FBI can't track
So the decay stacks
Turning everything black

Something's amiss
In this blinding abyss
That grabs my wrist
And drains my bliss
So I seek shelter
But get peltered
Helter skelter
By the belters

Tired of lies
Afraid I'll die
I see your eyes
As a sweet surprise
Then watch paint dry
Unlike the tears I cry
From the fear inside
You'll hurt my pride

Honestly
You harvest me
Until you're part of me
Making it hard to see
Where I'll be
If you flee
From my plea
And just leave

So I continue wheeling
To my glass ceiling
In need of timely healing
I forget my frightened feeling
And turn to hope
Until you say nope
A slippery *****
With which I can't cope

I thought I was saved
Instead I feel shame
From this disgraceful game
Called you don't feel the same
Which has gotten me lost
Frozen in frost
The coldest cost
As garbage tossed

You kindly offer your friendship
Unable to kiss my friend's lips
Unable to grab my friend's hips
Unable to let myself slip
I find something profound
Traveling on ground
With you around
Safe and sound

You offer insight
Increasing my might
By seeing the light
When you are right
You help me fight
My perilous plight
By making pain slight
Removing my fright

My perception of you is traveling
On this road that is gravelly
I once desired you madly
Now others have had me
But that doesn't change when I'm lonely
I wish you would hold me
Unable to forsake the old me
I just continue traveling coldly
Traveling
Jai747 Dec 2018
There are cuts and bruises no one sees.
Hurt between the kisses you give to please.

At first we met your affection seemed so deep.
You overwhelmed me into my love sleep.
Adoration was given to and in return.
You found your saviour, but soon your heart would turn.

I was a white knight on a tall hill.
I was happy & confident, I was never still.
My armour was silver, my helm in gold.
I had even become brave and bold.

You were a Princess in a dark cage.
Little did I know it was made by your rage.
Your past full of monsters and a traitor.
How I would regret not seeing the truth until much later.

I came forward and shone a light on the key.
I told you, that you were brave and strong and to let yourself be free.
Joined together burning bright.
I never knew being with someone else could feel so right.

Our love was passion, a blazing fire.
Any sorrow, I thought, was left on the pyre.
But when love burns bright, a lesson learnt.
The greater a love, the easier it is to get burnt.

When some had been hurt to their very core.
It is true, that love, they can accept no more.
A dark side of your character, you kept all too hidden.
Your deepest heart I was kept out and forbidden.
For how can you truly love without being vulnerable.
Meanwhile my love for you was unassailable.

The first few cuts I knew!
Why would you do this?
Even if it was but a few.
When I raised my voice at what was amiss,
You calmed my doubts and sealed them away with a kiss.

For a while all was fine.
But the cuts came again, one at a time.
It was wrong, it was wrong, this I knew.
But my love for you just kept saying; it is all but a few.
You only hurt me like this, when you felt scared and alone.
All would be fine, I said, as long as you knew I was your own.

Any query or doubt that came to my mind.
You brushed it aside for me never to find.
Cuts came deeper than ever before.
Yet I protected you from all others, even as I became sore.

My friends and family, you pushed them away.
By subtle pressure or by storms a-fray.
Again and again, I was never enough.
So you cut me and bruised me and treated me rough.
Never a mark you left on my clear skin.
But inside you tore me apart until I  became thin.

My armour that you once found so bright.
You pointed out every mark and scratch in sight.
Chip, chip away at my very soul.
Because it was all about you at every toll.

You broke my sword and shattered my shield.
Diminished and weakened you cast me on the field.
The monsters you had ran from, were all inside.
They came out to greet me and wash me away with the tide.

You were like a vast ocean, a passionate storm.
But you were wide and shallow, not deep in form.
I stood and I stood amongst the swell.
But what ever I did it could never end well.

You told me of all the people who had let you down,
But battered and broken I still held up your crown,
But in the end the dark empty place inside,
No love could fill it, no matter how hard I tried.

You walked away- back to your cage, saying it was never right.
But what happened to your fair and wonderful knight.
Laying in his armour broken and battered.
So came forth his friends and his family and everyone who mattered.
They took it all away to heal his heart,
But all they found was ash at the start.

As they held the ash in their hands,
An ember they found in the black sands.
They protected it from wind and the storm.
Hoping against hope that one day their knight would be reborn.

At first the light was still.
Twice it nearly flickered to nil.
But caring patience won the day,
With love and protection a spark lit up the grey.
First once and then twice, before born again a tender flame.
Silently in the darkness they whispered his secret name.
The little flame that was lit,
Still fragile and ready to quit.
But with every passing hour,
Little flame rose taller like a tower.
After countless time as a little light,
It Turned to the stars and shone bright,
A blazing fire lighting up the night.

From the shadowed prison bound,
A dark thing wept without a sound.
The fair knight stood once more on a hill.
A blazing light that stood still.
Through the darkness of its own veil,
The creature sat interned and pale.
Waiting for her new knight,
Or a monster she could blame with spite.
All the while she hid her eyes,
Knowing not to look up into the skies.
For high above stood a knight so bright,
His world no longer a terrible blight.
Surrounded by friends, love and glory.
This is the truth, my life, my story.
Not entirely finished it needs work
Philipp K J Dec 2018
Hurtling around the zooming vacuum
 In a gyrating dance on airy buxom
The earth pants vigorously often
Waking up the sun to make fun
Chasing with frivolous advances,
Eve-teasing with colorful nuances
Soon to blush furiously
and fall spent, seriously
Amiss to quench
The ultimate plunge.

Yet again the gory spin provokes the sun
To rise and resume the hot pursuit
Steering on lustrous wheels gold spun
In a daring mood to rend and chute
Shafts of torrential sparkling grace,
Fall on her youth in a burning kiss.

The stunnigly coy earth  slips to miss
The sun a full appraisal of her mould
of sensuous wildly youthful temper
With his  throbbing love of bold boisterous chemistry in fluid ember.
  
The turn of every day brings anew
Rising hopes into the light beau
To fix the match and unbrace
The enticing youthful guise
To keep her in a lasting embrace
To give a rest to the mad chase
To enter the satiety shrine and merge
into the deep firy daring love surge
To burn and bust into an eternal rest.

Eve turned amused at the strange strain of the muse
Still refuse to retract, returns to defuse
The mist wafts just in the next moment with it's own request
The rays mound on a new quest
The earth slips from his light grips
and exit in to dark memory falls
and frail trails of the sun's caresses
Consumed in the ensuing dark race
to escape from the mad chase.
And the earth moves on to hide
Shows awhile the beauty so wide
as to entice to throw a new challenge
A dream for the sun's urge to weave  
firebrand light waves the next few days
Ever new love laces spread on rays
To web her with caresses soft
On and on and as she moves on
Ever elliptic dashes in deep
Though it's too abysmal to peep
The enigmatic chase worth indeed
The Sun holds on its brilliant acts in peace
As the youthful earth continues to tease
(Be not scared of my ways
I simply write about anything)

You left me "seen"
I just don't want to force things
But there's something amiss
Your kiss
And I wait incessantly for it
The honeypot came close to my lips
and finally I have nothing
"I could get used to this"
I was expecting, I know your love
but ah! I needed to be told!
Where is love? When you need it
When you are waiting
with your palms open wide
and nothing falls this time
from the sky
I know - it's with us
So answer, answer, answer now
Let me, let me know
I love you, love you so
I was waiting for your love, but ah, you left me seen.

(And I know this is nothing
I know it with my heart
but this is a worldwide feeling
in times like ours. It's not so painful,
not such a big thing,
just a little pimple,
an itch!)
A poem about being left "seen" on Whatsapp/Telegram/messaging app of choice.
Constantine Aug 2018
I don't get it
i stood still for so long for this to work
finally we might have the timing right,
so why do i feel like this one is amiss too.
I can feel your love, it feels real this time.
I just don't know if i can say the same about mine.
I'd hate for you to read this.
I promise i love you like i always did
but i think this affection needs to be from a distance.
....
Yenson Aug 19
In the reversal of the disappointed
where real is false and truth given leave
strength is hollow for shame hides the facts
and multitudes carry faces with eggs plastered
with sick pale dross and gross in red-faced wonder
neon majority always win becomes majority disgraced
a lone spartan atop Olympia laughs in contemptuous breeze
and watches the pathetic parade of hackneyed delusions amiss
sanguine drinks a toast to barbarity and the profanity of the ill-bred
Tis' better death a lion than walk in valley of dud cowards hereditary
sandra wyllie Dec 2018
How long have I lived liked this?
Something always goes amiss.
I keep saying “wait till next year”
But next year is practically here.

In this land of the strange
Isn't it time for a change?
I’m like a clock that lost its chime.
I have the numbers but don’t tell the time.
My hands are spread eagle wings apart.
I don’t function: I’m a piece of art.
Soft on the eyes, but ******* the heart.

I haven’t done all the things that I said.
Some days it’s impossible to get out of bed.
I’m growing older/days are colder.
I’m losing insight on those long nights.

In this land of the strange
Isn't it time for a change?
I’m like a clock that lost its chime.
I have the numbers but don’t tell the time.
My hands are spread eagle wings apart.
I don’t function: I’m a piece of art.
Pretty on the eyes, but ******* the heart.

How long can I go on the same way?
Putting it off until tomorrow, today.
It’s no use; stop pretending.
It’s a merry-go-round ride, never ending

The Tragic True LOVE Story of Blanche Monnier

Just for falling in LOVE
With a commoner
Blanche Monnier was kept in attic
For 25 years
Blanche's True LOVE survived


The year was 1876

In midst of the Third Republic period in France
When the historical power struggle of royalist ******* and republican radicals were discussed in bourgeois socialites
That's the time when
In a small place called Poitiers
Four hours away from Paris
There lived:
Madam Louise Monnier
Wealthy and prominent
Member of CLASS society
Known in Parisian high society
For their charitable works
Who had received many community awards too

With her son
Marcel Monnier
A brilliant student
And a prominent lawyer
Well respected in Paris

And her daughter
Blanche
(Marcel's sister)
Twenty Five years old
Beautiful beyond words
Intelligent
Very gentle and good natured
A young socialite in rich circles

Lived happily in their
Monnier Estate

It was during this time
Blanche fell in LOVE with a suitor
Let us call him
James
Who lived in her neighborhood
Sadly he was not young
Nor was he from rich aristocrat family
He was elderly man,
Basically a commoner
And an unsuccessful penniless lawyer

Madam Louise Monnier - disapproved
Of such alliances for her daughter Blanche and
Insisted Blanche to marry a more suitable man
Of her own age, class and status

But in passion of her LOVE -
Blanche profusely disagreed
And Madame Monnier got angry
They quarreled and argued
One day Madame Monnier locked Blanche
In a dungeon attic ordering
"Until you would agree - you are imprisoned"

Years passed
But Blanche was stubborn
So much in deep LOVE with James
She did not relent to her Mother's wishes

So the story goes....
Nine years passed

On this side James - Blanche's suitor
The beau too died in 1885

It is said that
Blanche's brother Marcel apposed his mother
To at least set Blanche FREE now
But Madam Louise Monnier had absolute
Stronghold and control over the family
Thus Marcel aboded to his mother's decree
And Blanche was kept locked still after

In the eyes of society
Beautiful young Blanche had simply disappeared
Without a clue

Madame Monnier and Marcel mourned
In front of everyone
Stating Blanche ran away
And continued to live their lives
As normal as those rich aristocrat families live

No one gave much thought to this
Everyone went about their life
As if nothing had happened

With time - they say
Blanche was forgotten
From everyone's memory

For over 25 years,
Blanche remained in a attic dungeon
Tied to her bed
Waiting for her LOVE
To LOVE, to be LOVED by JAMES
But her mother Madam Louise,
And her brother Marcel
With their two servants
No one helped her to be FREE

Blanched was chained in a dark attic room
She was accompanied by rats and lice
Day after day
Living in dirt and darkness
Alone, isolated, in solitude
Blanche became insane
Drown in her own tears and
In company of
Rats, bugs and pests...
And rotten odor

Rumors say that it was one of the female servants
Who slipped the secret of
Monnier Estate's beautiful daughter Blanche
To her boyfriend
Who immediately wrote a letter to
The Attorney General

In 1901,
Attorney General of Paris
Received an anonymous note
Handwritten and unsigned

The content were disturbing
And The Attorney General
Sent his police team to investigate
The Police arrived to search Monnier Estate

At first,
Police couldn't find anything unusual
Until they came across strange odor
Coming from upper floors

When the Police went upstairs
Madam Louise Monnier sat
On the ground floor living hall
Calmly reading a book

When the Police approached
The attic room
From where the odor was coming
They saw that the room was padlocked

Realizing something amiss
Police smashed the lock and
Broke open the room

The horrors lay within

A pitch dark room
With only one window
Shut closed with black curtains

The stench of room was so over whelming
That immediately the window was broke open

With the light coming in
The police realized that the bad odor
Was because of rotting food
That littered all over the floor

And in a corner - there was a bed
Where an emaciated women was chained

She was our Blanche Monnier
Fifty years old now
Tied to the bed
It was over two decades
She had not even seen the sun
And she had lived
In her own excrements

That beauty of youth
That youthful LOVELY being
A divine, kind, pure hearted girl
Did not even resembled like a human

She was naked
Chained like animals to the bed
Lying on a straw mattress

She was completely
Frightened and delirious

She weighed just 50 pounds (22 kilograms)

Police covered Blanche in a white sheet
And took her to the hospital
Madam Louise Monnier - and Marcel were arrested
For this atrocious inhumane crime
Of imprisoning and treating Blanche
So badly
For what? -
for a natural act of LOVING

"We can not even comprehend
What a LOVER goes through
When subjected to such punishments"


Blanche was horrendously malnourished
In hospital she was lucid to be rescued and freed
She exclaimed...
"How lovely it is to breathe the fresh air"

When she was informed about James
She could not even remember
The reason for her current state -
Was "LOVE"
Her eyes were hollow, her face was blank

There was public out-cry all over France
It was loud and clear
Public out-raged was brimming
They wanted the mother and brother punished

And Madam Louise Monnier -
Who was seventy years old then
suffering from heart disease
Could not take the shock
Of such societal backlash
For the horrible crime she committed

It is accounted that
Madam Louise Monnier
Died in police custody
15 days after Blanche's rescue
Police say -
Probably of a heart attack

Brother Marcel was imprisoned for 15 months
He confessed of
Not being directly part of the crime
But just acting under pressure of his mother

The whole blame was put on Madam Louise Monnier
Brother Marcel was considered only an accomplice
And thus when Marcel pleaded innocent and sought pardon
He was acquitted and set FREE
Such were the laws of those days

Our LOVER - Blanche Monnier
Had suffered greatly
The mental trauma
Of LOVE longing had
Lasting psychological damage

There after
Blanche lived in a French Sanitarium
Till she died in 1913
Twelve year after she was liberated

People say - that at times
The nursing staff used to hear Blanche
Sing the songs of LOVE

And they used to see Blanche
Talking LOVINGLY with a non-existing person
Most probably that person was "James"
The man she LOVED more than her life

Thus is remembered
The story of Blanche's LOVE

She suffered but never relented
To her mother's wishes
"To forget her LOVER James"

It was impossible to survive for 25 years
Without proper food, light, sun, or any human company
In that tiny dark dungeon attic
But Blanche did miraculously survive
With the hope that one day
She will be FREE
She will meet James
And she will LOVE James
And she will say to James
"My Jamie, see I did truly LOVE YOU"

That's the power of TRUE LOVE
This is a TRUE STORY
I am drowning in Sigur Rós songs
and tarot decks
I have thirst for the infinite but I can't reach
so I drown in this place

I have thirst for something I can't tell
I move nervously and cannot find a rest
I am away from everything, and further I will get
This spiral looks like life but it is death

Something's quite off, something doesn't work.
Ask your cards! Go further in the hole!
Ghosts hovering above - it could be so
I am head deep in this but I feel no glee
This is not me, something's amiss

This is the kingdom of solipsism
This is a dangerous land to be in
This is meaningless, this makes no sense
And no magic either to be found
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