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Bonswan Mar 2016
She was radiant- she still is.

She drew me in and captured me through surmise amiss.

Her intention not to seize me but through her remiss; I found a graceful figure.

*My madness said I loved her as I descended to abyss.
Our souls are patterns
Intricately  woven  and  styled
Uni­que in their colour  blends and hues
Each  soul telling it's incredible tale
In the sharp  curves  and  soft  dips
Imprinted­ on their thin  vibrant  canvas.

Carefully  detailed  without a stroke amiss
These delicate fabricated masterpieces
Could  rip in hands too  careless to admire
The aesthetic beauty of the canvas
In areas magnificently  simple  or  blank.
Styles Sep 2014
I've come to see,
This daylight adrift; amidst.
Refracting my joyless abyss.
Shadows of doubt linger; restless.
Misleading my moral compass,
Distant places that shouldn't exist.
Darkest corners of a timeless eclipse.
The more emotions I emit.
This cloud's progress persist.
So remise, I dismiss fears that are amiss.
j carroll Feb 2013
[Fanfare, obviously]

This poem should begin with the call of a bugle,
as is fitting for an ode of Braveheart Macdougal.
Children of Parklands, take heed and be wary,
as I relate now, in verse, a tale cautionary.

Benigna Murdie was a most virtuous lass,
blesséd with promise and a penchant for sass.
To peer pressure she was admirably immune,
and ne'er did she bow to the temptation of goon.

Nary a drop of ***** has e'er passed her lips,
save for politeness and church-mandated sips.
Yet even the mightiest fall-- what a pity!
(harder than I did that night in the city).

So I hope you all glean a moral from this,
and your interpretation does not go too amiss.
But all is self-evident, to quote Descartes,
so allow me to recount this tale from the start.

She hails from a country renown for their piety,
for their pacifist ways and universal sobriety.
The Scottish are known throughout the land
for their temperance of character and lightness of hand.

And our poor Bennigles was no rule-exception,
she subscribed quite wholly to this perception.
A more reserved and reclusive girl you've not seen,
virtually a saint at only nineteen.

Passed out on the couch, liquor was never the root,
only strain from the studying and academic pursuit.
A paradigm of virtue, a pillar of purity,
no “that's-what-she-said's” to compromise maturity.

But that all changed one day touched by fate,
when Rachel realized that hedonism's great.
She took to the streets to revel in her glee,
and legit nothing bad happened cause this isn't tv.

Alas, now I'm drunk and the screen is a-shaking,
perhaps of wine I should halt my partaking.
I cannot continue with this facetious ode,
as we all well know that this is a total load.

But I'll miss you, my Brit, and our shitshow nights,
our Australian exploits and your culinary delights.
Sorry I couldn't finish to detail your demise,
but perhaps I'll conclude after an Australia-reprise.
I didn't see her for three days

then she was back
but her color was not

where her hair parted
was starkly arid
on her forehead
wasn't the dot of red
and her saree was bleached white

yet nothing was amiss
she intently scaled the fishes
cut them neatly into pieces
though a piece of her went missing

She knows well
for no price
can she stop the sale.
Aishani Laha Aug 2013
The world drowns in a grey abyss
The discordant revolution of a storm with the mind
Heaven knows we've left the calm behind
Senses in place, feelings amiss.

The eyes' downpour as it watches the clouds
A blanket of steel sheathing the sun
Weaving a lore with the winds rapid run
A thunderous voice rumbles, not too loud.

The sudden crescendo of a cloudy roar
Wings dislodged, vision askew, hearts aflutter,
The slashing rain, lashing against the shutter
The gentle, unnoticed, infinite petrichor.
1297

Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself
Upon his rare approach—
Go rapid, lest Competing Death
Prevail upon the Coach—
Go timid, should his final eye
Determine thee amiss—
Go boldly—for thou paid’st his price
Redemption—for a Kiss—
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Lectures by the river side
My my, my poor unfocused mind
Lost in the summer sun
Why, why do you run

Falling falling
Dynamic falling but into what and where

Too big to small
It’s locked
Flood the door

Weather the storm
3 seagulls
And ones extinct
Yelping from the ocean floor

Nautical and aviated creatures
Spinning, singing
Joining the jig
Go by the prophecy

Getting drowned
Getting dry
The rodent
Is out of time
The twins

honking paradox
stories missing their plots
lungs give out
as you give in

how do you do
that’s manners
pudding, pudding
who’s got the pudding?

tales of greed and trade
tales of gluttony and shame
fabrications of a hard days work
cabbages and kings

take a walk
we’ll share a talk
follow follow
into the dark

a loaf of bread
to bide his time
while I devour
you are mine
weep for you
oh I could sing
broken promises
of cabbages and kings

oh Mary Ann
she isn’t home
but she would be
but she can't

the gloves are lost
as she grows large
cant believe shes back again

the lizard
slithers down the chimney
shrieks in fear of her size

smoke the monster out
toast the *******
spark the fuse
so misunderstood

back to small
it still comes
the flower bed
over run

roses daises daffodils
an astonishing scheme of bright colors

tulips joining the 4 part harmony
in the golden afternoon
music to my ears
growing dying seconds and years

morning glories and butterflies
taking up my time
but I don’t mind
ill sit and smile

no pedals
no stem
no seeds
I’m a common ****

sit and relax
vowels and syntax
Smokey interrogation
caterpillars transformation

I see what grace meant
Looking back on it again

I’m three inches high
Now goodbye

One bight can only take you so far
The consumption
Of a mushroom
And its spores

Now that’s right
But what is left
No where to go
But some where to get…to

Striped and smiling feline
Seems like he’s hiding something
Knows something
I don’t

Points me in all directions
For no way is bad
But every which way
Is surely mad

364 days that aren’t mine
But I"ll cherish them like they are
But why
Because I can

A loon, a hare and a rat
Teapots and party hats

Blowing the candles out
Making your wish come true
Feed your head it’s the thing to do

I never got to sip my tea
What a pity
Speak in riddles
Tease in rhymes

A few tears here
A realization there
Do I ignore
Or continue to care
The roses are faux
So that she wont know
Oh the color red
Spilled blood of the dead

A place where they hail a crown
A place where heads roll around
A nonsensical monarchy
In a vast world of anarchy

Of with my head
Put me on trial
So ill be dead
In awhile, good

Wake up
Wake up
Nothing but a dream
Yes yes but what could it mean

Day dream of silliness
A place where somethings amiss
I dare not go back again
Gaze through the looking glass
To see the wonderland

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
kromwellfarkus Mar 2019
Something is wrong
Something is amiss
Deep within me
It doesn't make sense

Try as I might
Progress seems void
End up in a riddle
Alone and annoyed

Problems made mine
Which I may have made
Tickle and excite
Destroy and decay

I feel it deep inside
Between anxiety and clenched fist
Something is wrong
Something is amiss.
Jamie King Mar 2015
My life is foretold in every crevice of this universe,
in serene seas, and swaying sands,
in scorching degrees and holding hands,
with a lover in my longing arms,
fires raging, and yet i am sheltered from harm.
and throughout my journeys,
it is my deepest desire,
to ignite and set my ambitions on fire,
in the midst of euphoric dreaming,
with my lover on this late summer's evening.
and i shall be at one with the stars,
and my doors in life shall forever remain ajar.

Walk into this space it is endless
sublime congruence with the heavens
open is the third eye looking directly at abyss
i feel a divine hint on my skin
as if it were a celestial kiss
there is no need to travel in doubt
it is written across the evening canvas
open the gates of exotic awareness


It is writhing, it is gifting, entrusting me, and quaking,
yet I, within mine, remain still.
Fore be it told, and beneath footless form, it's subversive,
yet, I dance a sure tango, uphill.
I must be sure, so sure not to mind lone notches and disparity,
as crevices, you see, they arch to transverse.
Fearing but forging the depths of what is migration, we say,
from this hallowed tangle be my rise, my verse.

I’m floundering, I grant, when I think I hold discovery,
so, I tug at the rein of imprint and plan.
It is here my beloved reliance, my precious doubtless tread
is afforded the fair crossing of Pan.
So, although it contests and chides and outreaches,
I am in love and as love, an apprentice.
A conquest won, no never, but here, a concession, a regard-
I am, with no poet’s journey, amiss.**

Lilting ebulliently in ineffable fields of ecstasy.
Mellifluous waves, in life's voyage,
inure us to pulchritude paths, refined by old age.
Multifarious, nascent jubilant days, swaying in paint,
array the way as we sail away.
Comments are welcomed and please respost thank you for reading:)
stanza
1 Aesha Nisar
2 Dawn King
3,4 Gwyn
5 Jamie King
ME Feb 2015
Looking down into the abyss

Dreaming

Feel like somethings gone amiss

Drowning

Blurring the lines of blood and tears

Smiling

Never facing my fears

Sinking
Ashwin Kumar Jan 30
Before I met you
Sorted, was my life
Though I had not a wife
Blessed was I, with a very supportive family
Felt insecure did I, very rarely
Then there were the friends
Of whom, was I very fond
Rather underrated, were the cousins
Thanks to whom, was I able to grin
Even when I had my backs to the wall
Rarely was my life dull

You changed everything
After our meeting
I didn't exactly fall head over heels in love
But a bond was beginning to form
And I saw no harm
In getting engaged to a person like you
Thought I knew not, much about you
Having met you only twice
On my part, it was rather unwise
But we'll come to that later
After all, you had not, any hater!

Well, slowly and steadily
Did I begin to develop an attachment towards you
Hence, I questioned you not
When you asked me to block a mutual Facebook friend
Which should have said a lot
But didn't, because; innocent was my mind
In fact, even financially did I help you
Again, without questioning you
By now, clear it should have been
That, on you, was I extremely keen!!

Just as I was looking forward to our nuptials
Did the pandemic strike
Never were you the same again
Something that gave me a lot of mental pain
The way you behaved with me and my family
Albeit for just about a week
It was as if WE had brought this on you
Though you DID know very well
That things were NOT in our control

Well, I let these things slide
After all, I am not one for pride
However, as mentioned earlier
You were definitely not the same person
Who used to care for me so much
That, on a few occasions, I felt you were overprotective!!
In a good way though

As the months passed
We continued to speak over the phone
On a daily basis
However, something seemed to be amiss
Thought what exactly, I knew not
Thus, in a trap was I caught
Because I cared for you
Much more than you cared for me

Eventually, the  marriage, which had been delayed indefinitely
Finally took place
Though on a small scale
So relieved was I
That we had finally become a couple
On an official basis, that is!!
However, again something was amiss
Having a sustained conversation with you
Turned out to be even more difficult
Than handling a venomous snake!!
What really took the cake
Was the fact that you kept saying
That it would take some time
For us to get to that stage
Something that could have filled me with rage
But didn't, since by now you had me under your thumb!!

All in all, far from happy was I
Still, nothing on Earth could have prepared me
For the shock that was about to follow
And from then, a changed person were you
As possessive as Lavender Brown
And as cunning as a serpent
You made me repent
For my mistake of marrying you
You even tried to turn me
Against my own family
Not to mention, one of my best friends
So, it was a massive relief
When this whole thing came to an end
Even as I continued to be numb with disbelief!!

While the eventual divorce process turned out to be rather tedious
You continued to be obnoxious
Draining us of four lakhs
For absolutely not fault of ours
And leaving on me scars
Which might take forever to heal!!

Before I met you
Sorted, was my life
You ruined it, by becoming my wife
However, I am stronger than you may think
And have achieved a lot more in life
Than you are even capable of achieving!!
So, you may keep dreaming
But just remember one thing
If you try to cheat others
It will end up making matters worse
Not for them
For YOU!!
Yet another poem dedicated to my ex-wife, from whom I became free about two years ago.
Now the other princes of the Achaeans slept soundly the whole
night through, but Agamemnon son of Atreus was troubled, so that he
could get no rest. As when fair Juno’s lord flashes his lightning in
token of great rain or hail or snow when the snow-flakes whiten the
ground, or again as a sign that he will open the wide jaws of hungry
war, even so did Agamemnon heave many a heavy sigh, for his soul
trembled within him. When he looked upon the plain of Troy he
marvelled at the many watchfires burning in front of Ilius, and at the
sound of pipes and flutes and of the hum of men, but when presently he
turned towards the ships and hosts of the Achaeans, he tore his hair
by handfuls before Jove on high, and groaned aloud for the very
disquietness of his soul. In the end he deemed it best to go at once
to Nestor son of Neleus, and see if between them they could find any
way of the Achaeans from destruction. He therefore rose, put on his
shirt, bound his sandals about his comely feet, flung the skin of a
huge tawny lion over his shoulders—a skin that reached his feet-
and took his spear in his hand.
  Neither could Menelaus sleep, for he, too, boded ill for the Argives
who for his sake had sailed from far over the seas to fight the
Trojans. He covered his broad back with the skin of a spotted panther,
put a casque of bronze upon his head, and took his spear in his brawny
hand. Then he went to rouse his brother, who was by far the most
powerful of the Achaeans, and was honoured by the people as though
he were a god. He found him by the stern of his ship already putting
his goodly array about his shoulders, and right glad was he that his
brother had come.
  Menelaus spoke first. “Why,” said he, “my dear brother, are you thus
arming? Are you going to send any of our comrades to exploit the
Trojans? I greatly fear that no one will do you this service, and
spy upon the enemy alone in the dead of night. It will be a deed of
great daring.”
  And King Agamemnon answered, “Menelaus, we both of us need shrewd
counsel to save the Argives and our ships, for Jove has changed his
mind, and inclines towards Hector’s sacrifices rather than ours. I
never saw nor heard tell of any man as having wrought such ruin in one
day as Hector has now wrought against the sons of the Achaeans—and
that too of his own unaided self, for he is son neither to god nor
goddess. The Argives will rue it long and deeply. Run, therefore, with
all speed by the line of the ships, and call Ajax and Idomeneus.
Meanwhile I will go to Nestor, and bid him rise and go about among the
companies of our sentinels to give them their instructions; they
will listen to him sooner than to any man, for his own son, and
Meriones brother in arms to Idomeneus, are captains over them. It
was to them more particularly that we gave this charge.”
  Menelaus replied, “How do I take your meaning? Am I to stay with
them and wait your coming, or shall I return here as soon as I have
given your orders?” “Wait,” answered King Agamemnon, “for there are so
many paths about the camp that we might miss one another. Call every
man on your way, and bid him be stirring; name him by his lineage
and by his father’s name, give each all titular observance, and
stand not too much upon your own dignity; we must take our full
share of toil, for at our birth Jove laid this heavy burden upon us.”
  With these instructions he sent his brother on his way, and went
on to Nestor shepherd of his people. He found him sleeping in his tent
hard by his own ship; his goodly armour lay beside him—his shield,
his two spears and his helmet; beside him also lay the gleaming girdle
with which the old man girded himself when he armed to lead his people
into battle—for his age stayed him not. He raised himself on his
elbow and looked up at Agamemnon. “Who is it,” said he, “that goes
thus about the host and the ships alone and in the dead of night, when
men are sleeping? Are you looking for one of your mules or for some
comrade? Do not stand there and say nothing, but speak. What is your
business?”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Nestor, son of Neleus, honour to the
Achaean name, it is I, Agamemnon son of Atreus, on whom Jove has
laid labour and sorrow so long as there is breath in my body and my
limbs carry me. I am thus abroad because sleep sits not upon my
eyelids, but my heart is big with war and with the jeopardy of the
Achaeans. I am in great fear for the Danaans. I am at sea, and without
sure counsel; my heart beats as though it would leap out of my body,
and my limbs fail me. If then you can do anything—for you too
cannot sleep—let us go the round of the watch, and see whether they
are drowsy with toil and sleeping to the neglect of their duty. The
enemy is encamped hard and we know not but he may attack us by night.”
  Nestor replied, “Most noble son of Atreus, king of men, Agamemnon,
Jove will not do all for Hector that Hector thinks he will; he will
have troubles yet in plenty if Achilles will lay aside his anger. I
will go with you, and we will rouse others, either the son of
Tydeus, or Ulysses, or fleet Ajax and the valiant son of Phyleus. Some
one had also better go and call Ajax and King Idomeneus, for their
ships are not near at hand but the farthest of all. I cannot however
refrain from blaming Menelaus, much as I love him and respect him—and
I will say so plainly, even at the risk of offending you—for sleeping
and leaving all this trouble to yourself. He ought to be going about
imploring aid from all the princes of the Achaeans, for we are in
extreme danger.”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Sir, you may sometimes blame him justly,
for he is often remiss and unwilling to exert himself—not indeed from
sloth, nor yet heedlessness, but because he looks to me and expects me
to take the lead. On this occasion, however, he was awake before I
was, and came to me of his own accord. I have already sent him to call
the very men whom you have named. And now let us be going. We shall
find them with the watch outside the gates, for it was there I said
that we would meet them.”
  “In that case,” answered Nestor, “the Argives will not blame him nor
disobey his orders when he urges them to fight or gives them
instructions.”
  With this he put on his shirt, and bound his sandals about his
comely feet. He buckled on his purple coat, of two thicknesses, large,
and of a rough shaggy texture, grasped his redoubtable bronze-shod
spear, and wended his way along the line of the Achaean ships. First
he called loudly to Ulysses peer of gods in counsel and woke him,
for he was soon roused by the sound of the battle-cry. He came outside
his tent and said, “Why do you go thus alone about the host, and along
the line of the ships in the stillness of the night? What is it that
you find so urgent?” And Nestor knight of Gerene answered, “Ulysses,
noble son of Laertes, take it not amiss, for the Achaeans are in great
straits. Come with me and let us wake some other, who may advise
well with us whether we shall fight or fly.”
  On this Ulysses went at once into his tent, put his shield about his
shoulders and came out with them. First they went to Diomed son of
Tydeus, and found him outside his tent clad in his armour with his
comrades sleeping round him and using their shields as pillows; as for
their spears, they stood upright on the spikes of their butts that
were driven into the ground, and the burnished bronze flashed afar
like the lightning of father Jove. The hero was sleeping upon the skin
of an ox, with a piece of fine carpet under his head; Nestor went up
to him and stirred him with his heel to rouse him, upbraiding him
and urging him to bestir himself. “Wake up,” he exclaimed, “son of
Tydeus. How can you sleep on in this way? Can you not see that the
Trojans are encamped on the brow of the plain hard by our ships,
with but a little space between us and them?”
  On these words Diomed leaped up instantly and said, “Old man, your
heart is of iron; you rest not one moment from your labours. Are there
no younger men among the Achaeans who could go about to rouse the
princes? There is no tiring you.”
  And Nestor knight of Gerene made answer, “My son, all that you
have said is true. I have good sons, and also much people who might
call the chieftains, but the Achaeans are in the gravest danger;
life and death are balanced as it were on the edge of a razor. Go
then, for you are younger than I, and of your courtesy rouse Ajax
and the fleet son of Phyleus.”
  Diomed threw the skin of a great tawny lion about his shoulders—a
skin that reached his feet—and grasped his spear. When he had
roused the heroes, he brought them back with him; they then went the
round of those who were on guard, and found the captains not
sleeping at their posts but wakeful and sitting with their arms
about them. As sheep dogs that watch their flocks when they are
yarded, and hear a wild beast coming through the mountain forest
towards them—forthwith there is a hue and cry of dogs and men, and
slumber is broken—even so was sleep chased from the eyes of the
Achaeans as they kept the watches of the wicked night, for they turned
constantly towards the plain whenever they heard any stir among the
Trojans. The old man was glad bade them be of good cheer. “Watch on,
my children,” said he, “and let not sleep get hold upon you, lest
our enemies triumph over us.”
  With this he passed the trench, and with him the other chiefs of the
Achaeans who had been called to the council. Meriones and the brave
son of Nestor went also, for the princes bade them. When they were
beyond the trench that was dug round the wall they held their
meeting on the open ground where there was a space clear of corpses,
for it was here that when night fell Hector had turned back from his
onslaught on the Argives. They sat down, therefore, and held debate
with one another.
  Nestor spoke first. “My friends,” said he, “is there any man bold
enough to venture the Trojans, and cut off some straggler, or us
news of what the enemy mean to do whether they will stay here by the
ships away from the city, or whether, now that they have worsted the
Achaeans, they will retire within their walls. If he could learn all
this and come back safely here, his fame would be high as heaven in
the mouths of all men, and he would be rewarded richly; for the chiefs
from all our ships would each of them give him a black ewe with her
lamb—which is a present of surpassing value—and he would be asked as
a guest to all feasts and clan-gatherings.”
  They all held their peace, but Diomed of the loud war-cry spoke
saying, “Nestor, gladly will I visit the host of the Trojans over
against us, but if another will go with me I shall do so in greater
confidence and comfort. When two men are together, one of them may see
some opportunity which the other has not caught sight of; if a man
is alone he is less full of resource, and his wit is weaker.”
  On this several offered to go with Diomed. The two Ajaxes,
servants of Mars, Meriones, and the son of Nestor all wanted to go, so
did Menelaus son of Atreus; Ulysses also wished to go among the host
of the Trojans, for he was ever full of daring, and thereon
Agamemnon king of men spoke thus: “Diomed,” said he, “son of Tydeus,
man after my own heart, choose your comrade for yourself—take the
best man of those that have offered, for many would now go with you.
Do not through delicacy reject the better man, and take the worst
out of respect for his lineage, because he is of more royal blood.”
  He said this because he feared for Menelaus. Diomed answered, “If
you bid me take the man of my own choice, how in that case can I
fail to think of Ulysses, than whom there is no man more eager to face
all kinds of danger—and Pallas Minerva loves him well? If he were
to go with me we should pass safely through fire itself, for he is
quick to see and understand.”
  “Son of Tydeus,” replied Ulysses, “say neither good nor ill about
me, for you are among Argives who know me well. Let us be going, for
the night wanes and dawn is at hand. The stars have gone forward,
two-thirds of the night are already spent, and the third is alone left
us.”
  They then put on their armour. Brave Thrasymedes provided the son of
Tydeus with a sword and a shield (for he had left his own at his ship)
and on his head he set a helmet of bull’s hide without either peak
or crest; it is called a skull-cap and is a common headgear.
Meriones found a bow and quiver for Ulysses, and on his head he set
a leathern helmet that was lined with a strong plaiting of leathern
thongs, while on the outside it was thickly studded with boar’s teeth,
well and skilfully set into it; next the head there was an inner
lining of felt. This helmet had been stolen by Autolycus out of
Eleon when he broke into the house of Amyntor son of Ormenus. He
gave it to Amphidamas of Cythera to take to Scandea, and Amphidamas
gave it as a guest-gift to Molus, who gave it to his son Meriones; and
now it was set upon the head of Ulysses.
  When the pair had armed, they set out, and left the other chieftains
behind them. Pallas Minerva sent them a heron by the wayside upon
their right hands; they could not see it for the darkness, but they
heard its cry. Ulysses was glad when he heard it and prayed to
Minerva: “Hear me,” he cried, “daughter of aegis-bearing Jove, you who
spy out all my ways and who are with me in all my hardships;
befriend me in this mine hour, and grant that we may return to the
ships covered with glory after having achieved some mighty exploit
that shall bring sorrow to the Trojans.”
  Then Diomed of the loud war-cry also prayed: “Hear me too,” said he,
“daughter of Jove, unweariable; be with me even as you were with my
noble father Tydeus when he went to Thebes as envoy sent by the
Achaeans. He left the Achaeans by the banks of the river Aesopus,
and went to the city bearing a message of peace to the Cadmeians; on
his return thence, with your help, goddess, he did great deeds of
daring, for you were his ready helper. Even so guide me and guard me
now, and in return I will offer you in sacrifice a broad-browed heifer
of a year old, unbroken, and never yet brought by man under the
yoke. I will gild her horns and will offer her up to you in
sacrifice.”
  Thus they prayed, and Pallas Minerva heard their prayer. When they
had done praying to the daughter of great Jove, they went their way
like two lions prowling by night amid the armour and blood-stained
bodies of them that had fallen.
  Neither again did Hector let the Trojans sleep; for he too called
the princes and councillors of the Trojans that he might set his
counsel before them. “Is there one,” said he, “who for a great
reward will do me the service of which I will tell you? He shall be
well paid if he will. I will give him a chariot and a couple of
horses, the fleetest that can be found at the ships of the Achaeans,
if he will dare this thing; and he will win infinite honour to boot;
he must go to the ships and find out whether they are still guarded as
heretofore, or whether now that we have beaten them the Achaeans
design to fly, and through sheer exhaustion are neglecting to keep
their watches.”
  They all held their peace; but there was among the Trojans a certain
man named Dolon, son of Eumedes, the famous herald—a man rich in gold
and bronze. He was ill-favoured, but a good runner, and was an only
son among five sisters. He it was that now addressed the Trojans.
“I, Hector,” said he, “Will to the ships and will exploit them. But
first hold up your sceptre and swear that you will give me the
chariot, bedight with bronze, and the horses that now carry the
noble son of Peleus. I will make you a good scout, and will not fail
you. I will go through the host from one end to the other till I
come to the ship of Agamemnon, where I take it the princes of the
Achaeans are now consulting whether they shall fight or fly.”
  When he had done speaking Hector held up his sceptre, and swore
him his oath saying, “May Jove the thundering husband of Juno bear
witness that no other Trojan but yourself shall mount
am i ee Dec 2021
Feline Love in the time of LEDs


“Honey, I’m just not feeling it”.
I said this silently to her, constantly.

“The moon and the stars and the planets
sing to me, an orchestra of nature and
eternal time intertwined.”

“Mother nature directing this divine symphony.”

“These new lights just don’t do it for me.”

Finally she noticed,
the great change in my mood,
feeling something amiss,
something terribly, terribly amiss.

She packed us up,
and into the caravan we went.

Rustic canvas over our heads,
wood burning stove next to our bed.

Ah, finally the life of traveling the paths,
living by the light of the fire,
the gentle descending of the night.

Tuned into mother nature’s time,
soft, peaceful and divine.

We traveled here and traveled there,
over many a year.

Then one night ,
One full harvest moon night,

High on a cliff,
Deep in the night,
Silent and still and cold,

She shed every stitch that covered her frame
And opened her arms to the celestial rain.

Rays from heaven pouring down,  
illuminating her shape,
saturating Earth’s lovely ground.

Dancing about,
surrounded by stars twinkling,
Milky Way flowing,
With not a trace of restraint,

The moon and stars and the night
sang to her soul,
sang to every fiber of her being,
sang to her every bone.

‘You see, Mother Nature knows the cycles that feed the soul.’ I  whispered to her,
in my softly purring voice.

‘This is what I have been trying to tell you for all these years.’

Waking from this trance,
She tapped out a message,
read it aloud,

I QUIT!

I quit designing LEDs and the bright artificial lights
that destroy the glorious night.

I quit this nightmare of a job!
I quit this life of a thief,
this one of stealing the stars!
I quit this very night!

That is,
unless I’m allowed to design the
smart dark-sky friendly lights
that I so love now,
that bring such subtle delight.


She threw her smart phone over the cliff,
this device hurtling down so quick,  
shaking the very earth with each bounce to the ground.

As she stood bare under the moon,
Bare under the stars,
Bare under the planets
And bare to Mars.

For the first time in so many a year,
I jumped up sinuously,
right up,
straight into her arms.

Startled,
she laughed with such joy,
hugging me close,
so close and so near.

My lovely silky fur,
warming her frame,
warming her heart.

Snuggled so close
and snuggled so tight,

I purred once again
out loud on this night,
in absolute delight.

The ground rumbled beneath
the two of us,

shaking and quaking
the earth so near.

The stars up above
twinkled with joy,
at this sight of loving tight.

Dancing overhead,
streaking through across the sky,
celebrating on this night,

one more little human
remembering again,
the magic and mystery,
of the black sparkling night,
spreading out forever above.

We danced together under the
rejoicing stars,
holding each other tight.

My sweet, now smart,
little human
and me.


~ the Feline
Sleepless Aug 2015
A gentle kiss from tender lips
A love from deep within my hips
And yet my emotions seem amiss
For I've mistaken pain for happiness
An abusive relationship that I am glad to say I don't have
MAJD S Sep 2012
Some time you feel as if you're lost in space
Where you can not feel your weight or control your pace
Strong emotion rushes through you...a fervor of a certain state
For  once you believe in something...deforming it, is your fate
For u dissect the rules to make them your own regulations
And u manipulate the semantics of the words to empty your frustration
A man is not put in cages...unless he himself have carved and built the bars
One can not leave an impact on you...unless you admit the scars
I think; therefor i am...they say...everybody thinks...but not everybody is
I write this note in a dark unworthy mind a poem of great amiss
I do not say this with a heavy heart...but my image is quite clear
Being scared of something is impossible...unless we emancipate the fear
But if impossible is possible...than everything is potentially right
And i would never argue with you on this point for i don't know how to hold up a fight
Stop whatever we are doing for we are digging our own graves of regret
Repent on your sins weather you believe in God or in humanistic respect
A poem of thoughts, feelings, and grand reflection
For if you don't have empathy you have affection
You love your self and we love you gone...we sure do
With all your suites,fake propaganda and formalities, ow how i wish the sky above us was blue
It is blue in color, but not blue in mind
It is true inside; but truth is hard to find
BELIEVE THAT THE SKY IS REAL? BELIEFS ARE LEFT BEHIND...
Scottie Green Apr 2013
In the midst of my carefree, self-indulgent weekend, pushing down smoke with every breath, and searching concrete floors for something to lift me gently from ground, I met a guy at Emo's yearly "stoners holiday" concert hosting a number of Dj's and a half performance from Devin tha Dude.
Standing at the bar, and pushing back elbows to try and get a chaser for the half bottle of whiskey I had left, two young men appeared in front of me. One with curly, sweaty, brown hair, an angled face at every edge, and dark begging eyes- like a child's eyes as they ask to have ten more minutes before bed. The next guy came up behind his friend's right shoulder. His presences was lighter, but I noticed his sun-blonde military haircut looking as soft as it probably felt. His eyes were a shy green, matching his tattered skater v neck, and his small smile.
Before the sweating, curly headed man standing in front of me could get any words out the blonde boy, with the light presence said that he wanted to show me something. With no time to respond, he pulled his hands from behind his back.

His left hand was missing his index finger, and the four remaining seemed disproportionally long. Like the legs of a tarantula became his boney fingers.
His right looked swollen. In my daze I don't remember if he had three, four, or five fingers on his right hand.
His thumb and pointer were swollen huge; his palm was convex it lifted upward and took to the sole of my hand when I shook it--like a hug.

I, regrettably, had let out a small yelp when I first saw them.

His right reminded me of the large Mickey Mouse gloves that kids purchase from small stands at Disney World, and I didn't at first think it was real.
It was the softest hand I've ever felt.

He said it didn't hurt, he was born that way with 1% of his DNA amiss, and he could write and do everything else.

He put his hands away--folded them back up underneath his arms against his chest.

We kept catching each other's eyes briefly before I let mine flutter to lose his gaze.
And I didn't know what to say as his friend spoke in the background of my thoughts to my best friend.

I had so much trouble looking at him the rest of the time. After seeing his dimly lit eyes looking like they were seeping with some need for reassurance.
It wasn't that I thought his hands were ugly, and I didn't have the normal flight feeling; wanting to get away from a random guy I met at 1 am.
I even thought he was cute; his surfer necklace, soft smile and his seemingly huggable personality.
I was scared that if I looked at him he would see the, most likely unwanted, pity seeping from my eyes too.

I wanted to apologize for my initial reaction, but didn't know how. I was so stuck in my thought process. I can't, for the life of me, remember his name.
Marquis Hardy Apr 2015
You're not a stranger


I am convinced I have known you my whole life.

It's never changing, you and I. but the concept of us is forever growing.
It doesn't matter how long we will go without speaking I know we remain the same.
You're not a stranger.


I am convinced I have known you my whole life.

Time attempts to drive a wedge between us, you and I, but that's where it lies amiss.
We've never quite been two separate people so we've just been gliding along the sands of time.
You're not a stranger.


I am convinced I have known you my whole life.

However, if one day I find it is I who is amiss, it will be the most sincere pleasure to meet you again.
No Name Nov 2010
You are my delight.
Except when you're gone.
Then I'm de-lighted.
Omar Kawash Jul 2014
Two villages coexisted peacefully, no interactions
maybe some discussion on boundaries, treaties for peace and trade.
An extraneous rumor appeared in one of these villages.
No one was sure where it had started.
Someone mentioned they had seen beastly faces emerge in the night horizon.
The whispers made its way through
soon the town was mortified.

The others, they were observing us.
What could they want that they could not communicate overtly?
The villagers made a decision to protect themselves,
their lives,
their happiness –their status quo
that had been so well kept; now jeopardized by fear.  

Traders continued their interactions,
sharing goods and language.
The ignorant village heard the small-talk,
the covert operations the coinciding people had been ruminating about.

The newly-informed town magnified and mutated
the gossip;
the folk were riddled with anxiety.
If their neighbors were under threat,
what was stopping them from being the next target?  
This xenophobia was to destroy them.

The two ostracized each other;
initial misperception grew
to a common hallucination amongst the people,
they prepared for the worst scenario.

As humanity goes,
somewhere a zero-sum game emerged.

A council was held,
all that they had known was their own home
and the adjacent peoples.
There was nothing else in the known world,
it must be the others.
They are planning on something villainous,
why else the secrecy?

Cut trade, be vigilant, ostracize.
The other village noticed something amiss
Calamity must be in path.
Taking up arms, arranging a force to handle any offenses, and establishing a wall;
they would not fall.

Feud was conceived.
This is the drive of a mind
who incessantly wonders why and how
a devouring morality.

I digress from the story: the villages, armed and defense ready,
see the village that they once knew as peaceful neutrals
once tranquilly existed transformed to potential threats
for they could overthrow the opposing village.
I should be unconquerable
but I know the kisses stealing my breath come with every
inhale,
exhale; my kryptonite is facing life.

I choose to face that fiend
which wouldn’t let me actually give up when there is so much unknown out there.
It’ll haunt me with the damages that I dealt to the allure yet provocation preserves me.

The two villages are within me.
One is the soul depleting, ego-hunting energy ****,
the other is the false hope that I
can change things-
that things are within my control-
that I’ll fake a smile and a real one will appear.

Two hemispheres connected in a skull,
failing to synchronize
a miscalculating rational with a quixotic imaginative vision.

These two villages smoulder;
the clashes zigzag my intentions.
I just wish I knew
what that fictitious, fruit of the grapevine generated monster even was.
It’s been ages since this conflict ignited,
I don’t think any villager knows why they fight each other perpetually,
other than survival.
Jack Jun 2014
~

I tried to write a poem
explaining how I feel
Something very special,
emotions oh so real
~
Verses penned with love,
open hearts to sing
Dragonflies and moonbeams
and every little thing
~
But as I sit here writing,
something is amiss
I find the words I’m looking for,
it seems they don’t exist
~
So how then can I tell you
just what you mean to me
How you make me smile
and set my spirit free
~
You ignore my every fault
to only see the good
Stand by me when I am down,
when not another would
~
Always sending friendly words
to brighten up my day
Nothing ever is too much,
I don’t know how to say
~
That I adore your friendship,
I love that you are near
Without you I would fade away,
I want to make it clear
~
You are very special Sye
I hope these words have shown
If not then I’ll keep looking
or invent some of my own
~
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
amiss asunder
that is me
no sacred care
no destiny
how dare
I plunder
endlessly
this wonder
that I see
when I'm under
its decree

they live for whence
a special dream
a chain-link fence
kids baseball team
their little one
will run and scream
the wonder
that he'll be
when he's under
their decree

and getting old
the growing fear
that all her gold
will disappear
the nights so cold
her days despair
no wonder
she can't see
when she's under
gold's decree


©2011 Lyn
Shelly Woods Oct 2014
Conditional beyond reasonable
Is how our relationship sometimes feels...
More often than I'd care to admit.

My love is unconditional
And, therefore, can be easily used (abused?)
The value forgotten or blinded whenever I act human, imperfect, fragile or broken... Inconvenient I am. So are we all.
Where does your anger come from?

Taken for granted
Until you find something YOU miss.
Over and over again, this cycle persists...

Only according to your terms
Only if convenient
Only if it serves your sole purpose
Only if maintenance-free
Only if easy... Perfect... Not too much trouble...

UNTIL there is something you need...
From me.
Yes, boundaries are a necessity.

But relationships based on
Convenience for oneself
Are not relationships, at all..
They are one-way streets
Serving one person's agenda

Controlling, manipulative, self-serving, emotional toil...
And, somehow, always justifiable (in your eyes)
Because I am not who you want me to be...

I don't fit your "ideal" mold.
And you feel that is what you are owed?
(I honestly don't know...)
Except when you feel alone, afraid, or empty.
You don't dare lose what you can use! (abuse?)

But dare I say or do something amiss...
Your "conditions" will persist.
How do I say "stop!" when my role is to love, protect, and forgive?

Pain. What to do with all the pain.
If I tell, I will be blamed for my pain causing your pain...
This, my love, is NOT love.
No relationship of substance exists
When such rules and expectations persist.
Liam Feb 2014
Something is amiss
you begrudgingly beat
blood barely flows
in survival mode

Your rhythm echoes
as habitual hope
lacking in conviction
weary and wary

Do you hibernate
unable to sustain
in a landscape
frigid and barren

A passionate void
fills with apathy
dreams lie dormant
awaiting your awakening

My foolish heart
i asked you
to be still
not to stop
Fawndant Apr 2016
Come one, come all, to the circus of dreams!
Where nothing is at all what it seems!
What once was real is now amiss,
Melted into waves of sparkling bliss.
Come down to the circus that doesn’t exist!
Just follow the path trailing through the mist.
The attractions aren’t boring or dead,
They seem to be magical instead!
Bring everyone to our little cabaret!
It opens at the end of the day.
Go into the shadows and out of the light,
And see all of your wishes begin to take flight!
See a performance of a wonderful kind!
Everything here is from the depths of your mind.
Your most amazing moments, and your nightmares too,
Will come to life in front of you!
And though we’ll be sad to see you go,
You can always return for another show!
We’re here to entertain you to the end,
So visit us when you slumber again...
I tried to put myself in your shoes
To see and feel the way that you do
But when I did my own feelings would intrude
It was then felt lost and confused
Unsure, unstable, not knowing what to do
I tried to grab inspiration from this
Only to find my own thoughts were amiss
So speak the truth clear and plain
For me to see
What is in your mind and heart
Is it me
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
the famous czech immunologist (miroslav holub) got it right, holding his complete works, seeing the precious output,  then hearing him say it: 'i'm not against the repetition, but what the hell would i write if i lost my first ambition of a career? i would write dross, but i'm not against balzac or dickens doing the ironing work - but i just couldn't do it - better me likened to a butterfly that was the czech spring of '68. indeed mummified flowers between the pages.'*

the main reason poetry books will never be
shelved, itemised, on the inventory: BEST SELLER,
is because they use priceless things in their contents
section of approved poetics ticked off...
poets mention the moon, the night,
the sun, the orange glaciers of skin of suntans
bundled up in fat and sold as ****,
poets forget they are touching priceless things
with words, i'm sure a readership numbering
1,000 will dry your socks after that marathon
run on lake verbose in the middle of hunting season,
but it will never go past that,
that's the fury and the fear surrounding
hunting down the poet who exceeds producing
the noble prize winning output of a szymborska,
~100 poems a lifetime means you really did live
it out, and wrote with slithering undertones
the art, the paradoxical art of the ancient world
trumpet or saxophone - it wasn't philosophy
that attacked us... but the woodwind instruments,
the harps are safe, i stashed them while cracking
and playing bone poker dominoes with my fingers.
poetry doesn't attract the most socially acceptable
form of lying: namely fiction -
poets don't lie - there's no genre that does it better
than writing fiction - and if they do lie,
it's un-intentional - mechanical, like the world,
like the world being so mechanised it almost
feels self-content without applause but an opera
chorus of screams and other forms of hysterics.
some books talk of seen and unseen realities,
i beg to differ, i can claim certain unseen realities
in the seen realities, take for example
man's ability to walk the method of onomatopoeia
like virgil walking dante through the inferno...
man as an animate thing can clearly imitate
other animate things.... he can howl, meow and bark,
he can imitate the pig's and the deer's snout
when impregnating a mare...
the grunt hot breath riff of things...
but he misjudges his accuracy of recording sounds...
he simply cannot fathom the sounds of inanimate
things in the realm of onomatopoeia;
it's not that he mishandles the 26 symbols,
but when he tries to make the visible doubly-visibly-divisible,
to notate knocking on a door, to notate
the scorching sounds of the sun in the equilibrated
exchange of hydrogen & helium (sun gods
laugh after all), when he tries to notate
the carbonated water fizz, the beer bottle cap
charles i pop / apache scalping with a tomahawk...
he's off by a mile and a marathon...
we can't mutilate words into sounds just to see
certain sounds (primarily of inanimate things)
with letters... there's an impasse about the whole thing;
this is trans-verbosity, overt-verbosity that cannot stand...
it's pointless trying to see a complex sound
with letter governed by the onomatopoeia...
it's enough to hear it... touch it... seeing is not believing
in this instance... this insistence...
after all we're utilising priceless things to get out message
across... so if man makes it worthwhile,
an onomatopoeic antonymous decision i have crafted:
the sound of the universe's vacuum "silence"
is counterweight to neither the sound of atoms congregating
into celestial orbs... but rather the place where man
out to shove his parallel representation of thought.
you can already see invisible realities within the realm
of visible realities, the many missing and the many amiss
onomatopoeias of what animate things echo from when
interacting with inanimate things... paradoxically
atoms are in an inanimate equilibrium as animate things
likened to the celestial bodies in orbit,
but in fact they are inanimate in an animate equilibrium...
worth a worth's worth of study in a laboratory allotment...
and if it was a cow's digestive system you were investigating,
the inanimate equilibrium is being worked on:
the equilibrium of what sort of usefulness from experience
can be possibly passed on;
but wait, you can't write me the onomatopoeia
for the crating of carbon monoxide (CO),
or formic acid (HCOOH),
or myristic acid - nutmeg  (CH3 branch with twelve CH2
and the carboxylic ending),
nor the ester (RCO2R) - because now you're
using a chemical alphabet of the periodic table,
and all necessary onomatopoeias are lost
to the names of the necessary elements
that begin with hydrogen, and end with anything
remotely removed from a famous scientist
by the elemental name akin to einsteinium.
Logan Adkins Feb 2017
Dear Diary,

Today I saw a kid,   who I knew really well,
He’s a straight A student, and…    man you could tell.
He’s laughing,     and joking,      with three other guys.
But something’s not right,      there’s a look in his eye.
That look that you get when you don’t feel alright,
He said he was good,  but his eyes were full of fright.

There’s a girl in my class who does nothing but smile,
Who makes everyone else feel like they’re worthwhile,
She’s tall   and she’s kind,   and runs track as a sport,
And never,   ever,   seems to fall short.
But again, there’s a look,  I know I’ve seen it before,
From that boy that I’m friends with,  well...    not anymore.

Dear Diary,

He’s pulling away,    shutting everyone out,
But nobody knows what this is    all about.
His eyes are glazed over,   He’s stuck in his head,
There’s a lot that he thinks of,    that’s going unsaid.

She’s losing friends fast, and just dropped out of track,
Because of some “Family Reason”, and how there’s no coming back.
The friends she has left say her family is fine,
And that there is something else going on, behind the front lines.

Dear Diary,

Today I see a boy,    who’s sitting by himself,
One I used to know, not speaking to anyone else.
His grades are falling, his health is    too,
And if you try to talk to him,    he’ll just ignore you.

The girl that I mentioned, something’s really amiss,
It all started when I saw the,    scars    on her wrist.
Her sleeve started to rise, and she quick covered her arm,
No one else seemed to notice, but I saw the   self harm.
I wonder what made her do it, draw on her arms with the knife,
Like a pen drawing on paper, what could have caused her strife.

Dear Diary,

Last week,
She took her last breath, his was three days later.
In her letter, she said that we’d hate her,
That if we knew, we would call her a traitor.
That we’re not “real friends”, we were just trying to bait her,
Into caring for us, and making her think we were caring for her, to maybe help keep her afloat.
“But for the few of you...    who actually care,” she wrote;
“You couldn’t have saved me,    even if you wanted to.” I quote.

He didn’t leave a letter, or a text, or a call,
No one will ever know why he did it, or what caused the fall.
As he sat in his room,   alone,   as he felt the lone bullet,
No one know’s why the trigger...     why he pulled it.

Dear Diary,

When I saw those two suffer, it tore me apart.
It ripped a big hole,    right in my heart.
What happened,    it really did pull me to pieces,
How they handled their pain, the only way it releases
Was,
By scarring their skin, and cutting everyone off,
By starving, and blaming only themselves and they scoff,
When I ask,   if they’re ok,   and say that they..  are...     fine.

I was once told to speak the truth, even if my voice shakes,
So I stand here talking, as my lips quiver, and hands quake, saying that
Depression is a problem, that needs to start getting noticed,
As a real mental disease, not just some kid being unfocused.
It’s happened before, and it will happen again,
It could happen to someone,    you call your,    best friend.
340

Is Bliss then, such Abyss,
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?

I’d rather suit my foot
Than save my Boot—
For yet to buy another Pair
Is possible,
At any store—

But Bliss, is sold just once.
The Patent lost
None buy it any more—
Say, Foot, decide the point—
The Lady cross, or not?
Verdict for Boot!
Styles Oct 2014
Listen to your desire,
hear it as clearly as I do.
It touched my heart,
and feelings bled through.
Sharing this love,
A reflection of me and you.
Senses aren't always right,
Nor love, always true.
Cause reason, and emotion often confuse
What our hearts intent, instructs us to do;
My need is to love you...
My want is to be loved too.
Preferably; by you.
Right now; these dreams will do.
Amiss the actual,
I wish, this one wish
Would become two.
I am victim only to constant distractions,
restrictions, prescriptions, vicarious factors,
as various factions of elitism prescribe defeat
to the common man; the hard working talented
beaten upon by the self driven commerce land.
Businessmen, crooks, warlords and bankers;
victory purports itself the higher moral ground.
******* the world, lie on the crimson sand.

The brevity of riches in led laden ditches,
trenches v armistice; one man’s control over
cadets and lieutenants. Equality it seems
is general ignorance, propose roll reversal
and receive corporal punishment. Capital
interests will be met with bursaries, bail
out the banks and return to your knees,
put out your hands and beg for your feed.

If the top three percent own more wealth
than the lower half put together while
politicians claim to be fair-weather,
conclude that sincerities amiss, that
your representatives are on the pay roll
of profit driven lobbyists. Career crazed fat-cats
couldn’t care less if you're in tattered garments
or there’s a hole in your dress, their polished
boots carry them from vault to vault
while we fill another with oil-baron asphalt.

As social repression pushes populations
science progresses, enabling armed forces
to kettle us, cut us off and circle on horses.
Power-shifts across the globe become jaded
by investment with private militias and fascist
supremacists seizing resources from war
torn villages to fund their crude sourced
morality, migrants and refugee families
are vilified by ignorance forged in cynicism
caused by the inequality of education.

Here lie the symptoms of infinite regression,
hold mirror to gene-pool as it replicates
the same flawed equation, as populations
expire and conspire so does the problem.
Bombing a country without repercussions,
is as likely as a breaking the waters surface
without sending ripples to the adjacent atoms.
These are the dark ages of social stagnation.
Akemi Aug 2013
Blister bites
Beneath the skin
Of conflict wars
In ignorance

The border die
Was fixed at six
Symmetrical
To wilful sin

Change and change
Won’t come
Without collapse

Your lips
Your breath
Come without cracks and gasps
Your eyes
Your tears
Come without dust and fear

There’s something
Amiss
With the land we’re living in
Can’t quite
Place my
Ignorance on it

I once saw a man
Blended into the night
With a tarnished can and a sign
But everyone walked on by

I once saw a child
Work to death in the sun
With a knife and a gun
Against his back

First world?
Third world?
We live in the same world . . .
12:23pm, August 27th 2013

The comforts of first world nations thrive upon third world suffering, but people don't want to know :( they're wilfully ignorant because they'd rather keep doing all those things that make themselves feel good, instead of facing the consequences of their actions.

I still can't believe how selfish people are. It doesn't make me angry at people, but at the source of where this selfish image arose. We were raised back when TVs were still a prevalent part of our lives, and most of our shows were American (as New Zealand follows America more than Britain I feel). No matter the show; reality, drama, sitcoms; they all had this underlying current that you will feel amazing when you're rich. Practically propaganda for the capitalist system. Getting big, getting recognised, getting rich. As opposed to finding happiness . . .

I'm not surprised most people desire money now, or fame. They just recognise it as life, as if our social construct defines us. That's probably why so many people try to stay 'normal' as they grow up, and frown upon anything out of place.

I really do hope things change in the next few decades. With the advancement of the internet, kids these days are brilliantly perceptive. Hell, I taught twelve year olds who knew how terrible McDonald's was, etc. I even had a 30 minute discussion about our social system with one of them. I think he knew more than me :S
Grace Feb 2018
The words that drip from my mouth
Are not lust
But words of love that I long for
As I search the earth
For another lonely soul
I stumble across yours
You give me words of love and life
And in that very moment I believed you loved me
But I was amiss
Because what my love was blinding me from was the fact that
You only talked lustfully to me
And here as I lay dying on the ground weak and weary
I finally realize that
You truly did not love my soul
But everything else
OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL
Wherein,
by occasion of the religious death of Mistress
Elizabeth Drury, the incommodities of the soul in this her life, and her
exaltation in the next, are contemplated
THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY

...

Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
Let thine own times as an old story be.
Be not concern'd; study not why, nor when;
Do not so much as not believe a man.
For though to err, be worst, to try truths forth
Is far more business than this world is worth.
I'he world is but a carcass; thou art fed
By it, but as a worm, that carcass bred;
And why shouldst thou, poor worm, consider more,
When this world will grow better than before,
Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon
That carcass's last resurrection?
Forget this world, and scarce think of it so,
As of old clothes, cast off a year ago.
To be thus stupid is alacrity;
Men thus lethargic have best memory.
Look upward; that's towards her, whose happy state
We now lament not, but congratulate.
She, to whom all this world was but a stage,
Where all sat heark'ning how her youthful age
Should be employ'd, because in all she did
Some figure of the golden times was hid.
Who could not lack, what'er this world could give,
Because she was the form, that made it live;
Nor could complain that this world was unfit
To be stay'd in, then when she was in it;
She, that first tried indifferent desires
By virtue, and virtue by religious fires;
She, to whose person paradise adher'd,
As courts to princes; she, whose eyes enspher'd
Star-light enough t' have made the South control,
(Had she been there) the star-full Northern Pole;
She, she is gone; she is gone; when thou knowest this,
What fragmentary ******* this world is
Thou knowest, and that it is not worth a thought;
He honours it too much that thinks it nought.
Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom,
Which brings a taper to the outward room,
Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light,
And after brings it nearer to thy sight;
For such approaches doth heaven make in death.
Think thyself labouring now with broken breath,
And think those broken and soft notes to be
Division, and thy happiest harmony.
Think thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slack,
And think that but unbinding of a pack,
To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence.
Think thyself parch'd with fever's violence;
Thy physic; chide the slackness of the fit.
Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no more,
But that, as bells call'd thee to church before,
So this to the Triumphant Church calls thee.
Think Satan's sergeants round about thee be,
And think that but for legacies they ******;
Give one thy pride, to'another give thy lust;
Give them those sins which they gave thee before,
And trust th' immaculate blood to wash thy score.
Think thy friends weeping round, and think that they
Weep but because they go not yet thy way.
Think that they close thine eyes, and think in this,
That they confess much in the world amiss,
Who dare not trust a dead man's eye with that
Which they from God and angels cover not.
Think that they shroud thee up, and think from thence
They reinvest thee in white innocence.
Think that thy body rots, and (if so low,
Thy soul exalted so, thy thoughts can go)
Think thee a prince, who of themselves create
Worms, which insensibly devour their state.
Think that they bury thee, and think that rite
Lays thee to sleep but a Saint Lucy's night.

....
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
    No want of conscience hold it that I call,
    Her “love” for whose dear love I rise and fall.
Jack Dec 2014


Chauncey was a gardener
At least that’s what was said
His roses were his masterpiece
A perfect shade of red
Petals always perfect
Satin was their feel
Appearing artificial
Though every one was real
Every day he tended
The weeds he’d bend and pick
His plants they stood so straight and tall
Aided by a stick
Bound with fabric wire
Green about the stem
He would gaze for hours
He was so proud of them
Surrounded by such beauty
Still something was amiss
He loved his precious flowers
On a wondrous day like this
But in his heart was lacking
The affection he required
He was a lonely gardener
Now growing in desire
Until the fateful morning
When up his path she walked
Captured by her smile
He could hardly talk
A very special woman
Had come into his life
He was very certain
He’d make this girl his wife
His heart was filled with happiness
Beneath the skies above
For Chauncey was a gardener
And Chauncey was in love
Her beauty was so precious
From her head down to her toes
When he looked into her eyes
He saw the perfect rose
Every day was special
In all that they would do
She told him that she loved him
He said, “I love you too.”
His heart was steady beating
His smile grew so wide
As if a wondrous garden
Was blooming deep inside
The fragrance overwhelming
The colors bright and new
He found it hard believing
That all of this was true
There was one little problem
They lived so far apart
The missing, it was growing
Tearing at her heart
She promised she would love him
Until her dying day
But it was getting harder
He lived so far away
Then he received a letter
From the one he did adore
She told him she was sorry
But she needed so much more
He pleaded “reconsider”
He loved her oh so much
She said that she believed him
But missed his loving touch
Dark clouds started forming
So black upon the sky
He found that he was all alone
His garden it had died
He looked on wilted blossoms
Fading quick to brown
Nothing much was beautiful
Growing from the ground
Weeds as tall as buildings
Thorns to rip his skin
He locked up tight the garden gate
He’d never tend again
He sat beneath an oak tree
For months it seemed to be
When sprouting from the soil
A spot of green to see
He watched as it was growing
It seemed to call his name
It wrapped around his ankles
Out in the pouring rain
When a shadow formed behind him
The sun began to glow
A figure was approaching
Someone he did know
Closer it was moving
There before his eyes
The plant that wrapped around him
He suddenly realized
She had come to find him
Her heart broken in two
She told him that she loved him
He said, “I love you too”
She said that she was sorry
But she was just afraid
Fear of getting hurt again
The decisions she had made
He promised he would love her
Forever and a day
She did not need to worry
He would not go away
He wants to only love her
And make her life complete
Her love was oh so perfect
His lonely heart did meet
And then just like a miracle
Because his love she’d chose
Out there in his garden
Bloomed a perfect rose
Sparrows started singing
The skies a lovely blue
He told her that he loved her
She said, “I love you too”
Her red roses have thorns
Her black demons surreptitiously lie
It's like witnessing good flora be dissolved
By potassium hydroxide
The only trouble with her is this:
All the while she is looking inside
With a magnifying glass
For each and anything amiss
I'm viewing her with a kaleidoscope

Yet I magnify the intensity of her colors
While she resides within
Her fractured self-image
But she's metamorphic
Beneath that stress and pressure
These tests cause duress
And weigh heavy burdens
Upon her chest

Yet instead of diamonds
She produces a blue sapphire
Something a little brighter
To which she can hold on tighter
I hope the load feels a little lighter
As I throw my rope in
And climb down there with her

Picture us collecting leaves
With hearts on sleeves
Forming jewels, relief swelling our heads
Instead of the familiar usual ache
Of wondering fools

Let's weave and wind our own designs
And leave the threaded webs
Of past mistakes behind
To the point in time
Where pressing rewind isn't so lonely
Stones can be cold, or shine like silver
Because we both know that gold
Is cheap and phony

But not the heart of the ocean
Deep with devotion
A jewel of eternal love
With Blue Sapphire eyes
I will light up your dark skies
And reveal to you the stars above
This poem is dedicated to the brightest light in the room. I love you.

— The End —