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Bryan Lunsford Apr 2018
Our love had the essence of such a poetic start,
As it’s now quiet with nothing but slow songs playing in the dark,
I hear the rhythm of a piano fused elegantly with a lonely harp,
Where I lie here placed in my bed with a broken heart,
I write my emotions down and turn my pain into an art,
As I cry page by page and continue to fall apart,
I analyze our beginning, our ending, every moment and part,
With our love that had the essence of such a poetic start
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Anom o ly

Non-named, never imagined much less realized

The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here

We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.

Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?

Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.

Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question,  nor is good or bad. ******* Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.

I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.

First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>

Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice

Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
I checked 13 months later:Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date ‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw.’  I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.
Lizzy Jun 2016
Could there be something
In my head
That only my hands know about?

Because I'm not sure why
They refuse to stop
Tearing at my skin
Even when I begin to bleed
And start to beg.

Are my hands trying
To set something free
That's been locked inside me?
Or are they just performing
The will of my secret thoughts?
Destroying me without
My say in the matter.

I don't know why
I'm trying to analyze this.
It's just a nervous tick.
the wind that howls in the deepest night
is a comforting sound
the dog that moans in the earliest light
is a soulmate found
I abhor the thought of wistful bliss
of nervous laughter unprovoked
I slip into my warm abyss
this sea of pain on which I choke
I wade in pools of sought despair
while punks seek out their mothers
I dance on floors of rotted wood
and sing to ghosts of lovers
I find it my salvation
to document this pain
to analyze the demons
and revel in the rain
perhaps one day I'll leave this place
and walk into the Sun
to share the light of happiness
content my deed is done
whole new crop of oldies I discovered. (revised) I will mix old and new.
I listen to the words of tv hosts
trying – or maybe just pretending – to analyze
topical issues of the day in depth
on their panels with certified experts on the issue

yet in the end mostly remains a host of possibilities
rarely a clear decision
more seldom even a provocative conclusion
one could at least start arguing about

what happened to well-structured arguments
that did not lend themselves to fuzzy readings
but had a recognizable opinion at their core
challenging viewers to discuss some more?
Griping about the lack of good TV panels seriously discussing topical isses
Lilywhite Sep 2018
Oh the wayward motion that these celestial bodies tend to circumvent!
Do you take the time to analyze or ever wonder why?
A double edge sword, capable of discerning the heart’s intent
Might you care to venture there soon?

through crossed wires and code
yielding insight or an invite of some kind
with pictures, quotes, and anecdotes
Do you read between the lines?

Might I be the mirror that reflects your soul
Might I be the receiver of the light that guides you home
Might I be the kind of lady you’d want to pride around
Or Might I be a distant noise-- a sort of solemn sound

The way you shape your words, the thoughts you choose to speak
The many times you chose to share the inner-workings of your being
You plant a seed of hope, you give me life to breath

And even though you don’t think so, you’re quite a fantastic beast
Katelyn Billat Oct 2017
Its name is sadness.
Violent sadness.
It's creeping up again
It is giving me anxiety
Because I don't want it
To crawl in my skin
Again and be comfortable.
With the anxiety brings depression.
It's always been there,
Never completely going away.
But I can ignore and it slows,
Grows smaller everytime
I smile and laugh.
But every time someone leaves
Me for someone shinier,
The sadness spreads like wild fire,
Like the mold on strawberries
I cannot eat.
I wish I was born thin like her,
Perfect like her,
Golden like her,
The one who steals them away.
As I watch the monster crawling
Towards me,
I analyze it.
I watch the way it moves slow,
Trying to not be discovered
Like the way I do.
It moves swiftly,
Not in pulses.
I watch it creep,
Pulling itself from
Whatever depths it came,
Like the way I do.
And that's the scariest part.
I watch it's iridescent
Nails crawl closer.
It has a diamond ring.
...
So do I.
Hannah Christina Jun 2018
Some people claim that special intuition
to know another person's thoughts and mind.
I do not.

I did not read her like a book, so I read her like a poem.
Her words did not arrange a neat picture of who she was.
So I listened.
I felt
and I paused
straining to hear every moment.
Envisioning.
I reflected, then I listened some more.

I saw patterns repeated,
the strain
and the wince
and I tested hire they felt on my own face

After learning a bit of backstory I flipped back through
what she had said and let the context take effect.

I saw stanzas, couplets, and rhythm

I did not analyze,
I felt,
Hearing her song-story.

I might be wrong.  I might have projected too much of myself, or glanced over a detail.

I can not recite her story or show you her heart,
but I listened to her poem and that is all that I can do.
Born Jun 2018
I don't want to be content with what I know
I don't want to wake up to that regular normal life
The predicatable pattern
The usual circle

I want to to challenge my reality
My ever constant changing perception
Expound on my imagination

I don't want to settle for that regular normal life
I don't want to live and not taste the waters
I don't want to be limited by "this is how it's always been"

I want to deeply and empathetically  analyze
Transform the meaning of reason
Offer a vacuum of doubt instead of acceptance
Be critical in our dawning reality

I want to listen, truly listen and observe
I want to know why you believe what you belive
I want to think
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red **** –
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in ****)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still –
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam –
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** ** – old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap –
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot –
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them ***** – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows –
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys – )
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

**** is known for lack of stasis –
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze…

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

Penguin Poems Sep 2018
Poetry is my check of reality,
Where I put my past in front of me
And analyze for hours, using all my power to discover what it was that went wrong.
I wish it didn’t have to be that way,
Because all my scrutinizing does is lead me astray from the path I was meant to take,
accumulating more mistakes,
and in the end I only end up with more heartbreak.
Last time my heart was this broken,
Nothing I felt went unspoken.
Now that the same part of me is missing,
Nothing I feel goes unwritten.
Explains my recent ‘boom’ in poetry and interest in it. Life has been tough recently.
Monique Aug 2017
I hide behind a mind engulfed with poisonous secrets I dare not to leave my mouth.
My feet are buried in shackles latched onto them while my skin drips in doubt.
My hands are stitch behind my back with threads of weakness.
My mouth expands while the truth is caged behind my teeth because it’s no one business.
I open my eyes and it flutters more than a bird in fear from a threat.
I lean my head to the side and analyze this disastrous home tormented by time but hasn’t given up yet.
I watched it light on fire.
I’ve seen it dismantled by hurricanes.
I heard the walls and wood creak from the distress.
How can a foundation be so strong after a wave of events?
We all are broken homes at some point of life even if it doesn’t make sense.
Financial crisis, heartbreak, anxiety, school, family, work, depression, racism, we all experience a wave that changes us for the better or for the worst.
Sometimes it becomes so consistent like an epidemic that one can feel curse.
Then we question, “why did I go through this? What did I do to deserve such a traumatic blow to the head?”
And we search for these answers in the same place that hugged us with so much agony and the countless stress it led.
Early nights turn to restless nights in bed because we force reality to sink in our head but it covers our nose and mouth until we faint in a pool of insecurity and beg for these feelings to dead.
Make it stop,
I’m drowning.
The sky turns to a bruised face and wakes up the roots with its tears.
I feel so connected as the drops fall to the floor because it reminds me we all break no matter how much we can bear.
I observe the rain dance on the sturdy house and admire it as the beauty glisten,
I grew a love for this home because it rebuild as much as despondence knocked on the door, it ignored and refused to listen.
It upholds its commitment to itself to never give up.
That no matter how much times it can get rough,
Know that you can survive and pretending your problems don’t exist will never be enough.

-dpk
Don't give up, it will get better. A home can be broken down but the foundation still remains so it can be rebuild. We all are a home, build yourself.
J Rodriguez Apr 2017
A lot of people are so quick to criticize other people not knowing what they go through or went through in their life . I met a women she was always grumpy . In my head I was like she's a ***** ..  so I would always be in her class room .... I'm the type that will sit their quite and analyze you ...so I'm looking at her just by me staring at her while she wrote down my assignment I asked her if she was okay .. she look to the side and said yes me knowing she wasn't she wouldn't let me see her eye to eye I noticed she had a patch on her face of make up not blend to well I noticed it was a bruise.. when class ended I waited to be the last one out of the students went up to her and told her that is not to late to get away from the toxic relationship ,she didn't know what to say she couldn't speak her voice was in knot she leaned over to me I ended up hugging her she cried in my arms and she said I try my best to be perfect and im not good enough . .... it broke my heart when she said that a young beautiful women dealing with a ******* Scumbag.....
Gods1son Nov 2018
I go everywhere with my heart
Watchful not to be controlled by people's influences
I allow myself to view from their lenses
And analyze properly with my senses

My heart is a torch that
beams as I walk through the path of each day
Revealing the green snakes sneaking under the green grass
Shining on the gem within the dirt

Provides me with courage and strength
The drive to go the extra mile
The reason my face wears a smile
And above all, provides the check to remain ME to myself!
Disclaimer: I do not own this poem, but I feel the need to pay some respect to this girl who was driven to suicide. But please, read this as a piece of art, something left behind by someone in distress, not something to cut up and analyze. Enjoy.

I meet your eyes
you don’t even see me
You hardly respond
when I whisper
hello
Could be my soul mate
two kindred spirits
Maybe we’re not
I guess we’ll never
know

My own mother
you carried me in you
Now you see nothing
but what I wear
People ask you
how I am doing
You smile and nod
don’t let it end
there

Put me
underneath God’s sky and
know me
don’t just see me with your eyes
Take away
this mask of flesh and bone and
see me for my soul

Alone
Taken from '13 reasons why' by Jay Asher
Spoiler ahead from the book! Look away if you don't want to know what this poem meant!
-----------------------------------------
Hanna Baker wrote this poem because she was afraid of dealing with herself. And she used her mom as an excuse, accusing her of not accepting her when she should have been saying those words into a mirror. No boy was overlooking her more than she was overlooking herself.
But the book implies that there is a deeper meaning than just these simple sentences.
Tyler Godsil Feb 8
The stars' reflections flicker within daring eyes,
The poetics of nature linger within my fleeting guise.

Cigarette lips making me feel like I'm alright,
Begging out the best version of me tonight.

Proudly bringing this moment to it's crisis',
Free in the grasp of golden irises.

Torching the remnants of my minds manuscripts,
Warmer than the feeling I find between your hips.

Forgetting time and just thinking of you and me,
Because by morning I don't know who I'll be.

When I become a prisoner of my own indecision,
And confidence becomes subject to a hundred private derisions.

I'll pry and **** upon words that mean something,
Analyze until they're reduced to sweet nothings.

Meekly **** all traces of nerve and boldness,
Leaving only memory of a temporary indulgence.

That for you will soon hastily forget;
But I will hold as a lovely regret.
Still workshopping this one, any feedback is appreciated!
mariamme Feb 27
each time i hear you
echoing somewhere deep
in the dark of my heart
it feels like a betrayal
a smile at first then freeze
feel memories slither
whisper pain into the peace
you never made decisions
to hurt me purposely
but i wonder if you heard me
in the hallway of your heart
opening doors to hidden things
you might not want to feel

was i an angel after
or before the ceiling shifted
and broken conversations
took up all our time

i know i never was much
but you are here still
echoing harshly
and i ask myself "when"
pin the pain down interrogate it
for an expiration date label it
box it up and say goodbye
to the demon i love deeply
even if love is inaccurate
and full of lies

and overanalysis decomposes
the conversations we have
watch memories rot
i open a message you sent
and let it fester
as if empty friendship
could silence the echoing
of the way i once felt

so every time i hear you
echo somewhere deep
i don't ask you when or why
or how your day was
or if i am still an angel hiding
my wings behind your heart

i let you echo til it dies
and pause to analyze
until the pain is purposeless
and i pay it no mind
27.2.19
indigochild Dec 2018
-blank-, i know when you ask
me how i am and you look
at me with those eyes

                                                        those eyes i hate to lie to

you crave to know my
inner truths and desires

                                                        ­                                               but, -blank-

i know you better
than you know yourself
                                                       ­                     and i know that it will
                                                                ­                          hurt you too much

and you will want to
do something about it

                                               because you always
                                               try to fix things
                      
                                                                ­                          i don’t need fixing,
                                                                ­                          i need you to listen

and i know it will
keep you up at night

                        because you will want
                        to think about what is best
                          
                               ­                                   i don’t need whats best for you,
                                                                ­               i need whats best for me

and i know you will
come to conclusions,
analyze the words i spit out,
and search for cracks
in the sealed lines

                                                          ­                               but the truth is you
                                                                ­                               will never know
      
                                         it’s because i care so
                                         much what you think

but, -blank-,

                                                      ­   sometimes you don’t understand
                                                                ­         that i am living a life worlds
                                                                ­                         away and you only
                                                                ­                                   see the parts i
                                                                ­                                           want you
                                                                ­                                                 to see
- "How are you?"
                                                                                                                          "I'm good."
I've been you!
So I know what you're up to

I see those scholars of the future
in my crazed up dream
they talk about you and me
all the things all the me I laid here

Try to analyze what I speak
Try to know what I never knew
try to know more than I do
making up stories about what I meant
but still you've never been me
and I have no time to think twice
My fails and my smiles are only mine

I've been you!
And I appreciate the effort -I do-
But wonder only once
if, before reading anything
you bled at all
k Jul 2018
Where do you write something you want someone to read
but you don't want them to see?
Almost a year ago, I did some pretty messed up things
and no, it was not grown up of me
and yes, I still feel guilty (at least a part of me does)
and no, I still don't think I "needed" to
However, to think you have done nothing wrong
is an outright lie

Is belittling someone a sign of love?
Is masking someone's voice a sign of affection?
Is closing the doors on things I was not ready to leave behind
a sign of your attention?

And no, that wasn't the end of it
And yes, I'd rather let you read between the lines
because even writing this in memory of things
that once were,
is giving you way too much of my time

Nonetheless, I do not hate you as much as I thought I had
I just have one question,
where do you believe it went wrong?

Could it have been the numerous times I warned you
that something is bound to go awry?
Maybe it was hidden between all the times
you were busy tweeting about how awful I was
while I begged for forgiveness from a problem
I did not create

I can only request one final thing,
take a moment for yourself to replay the words
that we once spoke to each other in your head
Analyze the seconds we spent together

Remember all the wasted parts of my life spent on
trying to earn your approval while you
continue to let everyone know
just how awful I was to you

I dare you, after all of this is done, to come back and
accuse me of being
"emotionally unavailable"

Fortunately for me, however,
I've come to terms with things that once kept me sinking
and I've found the things that keep me afloat

So for now, I bid this chapter of our lives
a soft, sincere and sweet goodbye

(P.S. You may have once had me
wrapped around your fingers, but if
I learned anything from you at all,
it's that I will always be stronger than
what I think I can't handle)
Jules 1d
When I was a little girl,
I could get away with hiding under the covers
To escape my fears and frustrations...
Now that monster under the bed
Won’t abandon my mind.
I consider myself lucky
If I manage to sleep
For a few hours once a week...
You’d assume I get lonely-
As I stay up all hours of the night
But I’m only ever alone with my demons-
Their voice would overpower everyone.
My very own beasts
That only come out when I’m at my weakest
When I’m jittery and jumpy
Already expecting the worse...
They make me doubt every little thing
And hit me where it hurts.
While I lay on my makeshift bed
I rethink and analyze
Everything I’ve ever done or said
Until I’m utterly full of unjustified “mistakes,”
And end up doing something to myself
That I always regret.
I wish I could go back to the days
I could dream through the night
Knowing the sun will rise again tomorrow.
Now I have to battle with myself
To just survive till dawn
With just a sliver of hope
That maybe.. just maybe
Things will be better the next day
For an insomniac,
This is my daily, routine nightmare.
Will I ever finally put my health first
And put up a real fight?
I need to be strong enough
To silence my torturers
Even if it’s just for a night
This is one part of a collaboration style thing with the amazing poet (and my best friend) Lost Soul. We took the same theme and wrote a poem using our own unique styles and experiences. Make sure to read her side too! (It’s way better!)
Nonna Jan 29
Like a pencil marking
You fade as I erase you from
My Mind
But your imprint will always remain
My always there ghost

You follow me
I analyze my every breath and movement,
You're the bomb
I'm the trigger

Your collar slowly becomes tighter.

I'm waiting.

My body grows heavy
but remains light for you
I'm hauled away from everything good.
Your shoulder hurts pressed up against my chest
I feel but I can't move
Imprisoned in myself
I lay
I lie

You lied
I thought you'd be gone
But I knew you weren't
I prayed
This is a nightmare
You were the worst I've ever had
But that's okay

I knew this inevitable kidnapping would eventually come.
I'm relieved
I'm shackled to you
There is now no me without you
This isn't my love being written for you
This is my fear

As it pours outside,
and my parents are looking for me
I'm with you
I hate this body of yours
I hate it when you crush it against mine
I want my nerves to fry

But waiting for this inevitable kidnapping was worse.
Grace Jan 30
There is nothing more beautiful
Than the power
Of the human body

The twitch of a muscle
Flexing behind taught skin
To do what you've asked of it


The rush of crimson
Flushing cheeks
When a loved one
Is in close proximity

The awareness
Of who occupies a space
The quick ability to analyze
"Are we safe?"

The pounding of hearts
Racing in tandem
Entangled in covers

The intricacies of our bodies
Are profound
How could we believe
We were anything less than absolute
When you can't sleep in Kansas...
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