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Amanda Noel Jul 2019
A cartoonist's beginning, with pencil in hand,
The comics and stories set out in newsstands.
A director's performance becomes the end,
When power is too much to understand.
Few good recollections are mentioned
of a man with a heavy hand.

But, back to a finer time in his career,
When his vision seemed clearer.
The vessel was a bit easier to steer.

Animating Mouse cartoons and Silly Symphonies,
Motivated by arrogance and crafty planning.
He was elevated by his tendency,
nothing less than quality,
As well as his intensity.

He was a theatrical man,
From what I can understand,
Enthusiastically grand,
On desks and tables he'd stand.

Passion in his eyes,
To bring ideas alive,
With overwhelming strides,
For perfection in lines.

Acting out characters with a musical composer.
Painting their unique frame in tune,
With the beat,
a keep up
attitude
in overexposure,
Exuberant in all motions, he was a dream holder.

Assisting
in Flowers and Trees,
Before this masterpiece,
Attended the Art Students League,
While working for a lumber company.

A man in love with trees.
"Don't turn my Sylvia into a toothpick!"
One character screams.
A love story of vanity.

Even the Big Bad Wolf
Hid behind trees.

Those Three Little Pigs,
That Technicolor spritz,
Colors as vibrant,
As a minds image,
animation fluid.

Things were no longer black or white
a wandering cat, colored in sight.
Streams of hues floating, by
a splitting prism dividing light.
A cow who recognized,
The necessity of saving butterflies

But, he let his ego stand in the way.
Obstructing his view, the things he'd say,
Minimalizing, to decay of pay.
He thought he was the top of the world those days.

I'm sure it would have been different,
If he wasn't dependent
On something so relentless
Molding him pretentious.

Perhaps he would have had a better handle on plans,
A mind sharpened,
A feather like grip on the pencil in hand,
Letting thoughts in his mind decorate beaches with Sand.

And Trees.
Cartoon Animation Biography;
Burton F. Gillett
Alan S Bailey Jul 2019
Pineapple topped beach palms are tall in the clouds,
Echoes of bells tones trail in the sky so dark blue.
The sun is liquid honey, with a golden candy coating,
It is now that I look up and see my red balloon.

A song of harmonic laughter is full in the air,
Up it floats into adventurous magical territories,
Mythic beasts and sprites follow on clouds and stare,
Ticker-tape string trailing, windy chimed melodies.

The chalk of clouds are pillows filling the sky,
Darker and suspended in mid-animation, dimming.
The balloon floats still-ever higher in the light,
Lighter than ever, above the earth still spinning...
Krysel Anson Sep 2018
Hello, Poetry Incorporated,
how are you now, coming after
the world's 3rd breakdown?
Where do we go from here?

Here beside us now, another gift
after the deathly blows.After children entrusts
us yet again pieces of their lives and deaths to us.

A Japanese animation in the 1970s was banned
somewhere offshore. Not just because
the landowners who banned it was just evil,
Nor because one was "better than the other".

It was forbidden maybe because of many questions 
still haunting us to and fro, beckoning us into
living our lives fully, not because of the light and dark,
but rather despite of it.
Like the dark and beautifully frightening
ocean tides that have capsized whaling ships
and yet have given birth to all our species.

Unlike many other animations,
the banned show did not have crudely offensive content.
It was a story of different people coming together
inside a big machine and operating it as one
as they manifest themselves as the Voltes Five.
Work in progress. Written after watching online interviews with Elon Musk.
Give me some other world to sip at,
this one is diluting.

This is how we dance
A row of tombstones; economics?
Market of waste, reinvent me.

Aligned, invisible, gothic
Encased in amber necklaces
Suspended animation
I will wait for years. Frozen
for renewal.

At every chance, the prospect of lightning
calms the heart.
Tommy Randell Apr 2017
I was going to start work on a poem last night
Focusing on a metaphor of migrating swans
Then, well, this film started
About Japanese Warriors and I watched
The first 5 minutes until I picked up
On a quote of Confucius' about
Not giving a sword to a man who can't dance
Which of course I had to look up because
I thought Tarantino had used it somewhere
Maybe in Pulp Fiction but that was a dead end
Then I was onto YouTube watching **** Bill
And the O-Ren Ishii animation sequence
With the insight, totally, why it was an animated sequence
Was because the fake blood budget alone
Would have run to 7 figures …
Looking up to the TV to catch a beheading sequence
Looking down to the Laptop to find Lucy Liu's
Best 10 Bad *** Film Moments!
Which led to the Elementary series and
Sherlock and Doctor Joan facing off with Bamboo Shina
Until despite my joy in the deep coincidences of things
My tired brain was overloaded with martial arts imagery
And to try and get back to the embryo poem idea
I typed migrating swans into google and just got
Lots of V shapes …

… I … paused … to … let … the … message … sink … in ...

At times like this I search for opposites
And thus set out on a random ramble through my shelves
Ashbury – Creeley – Schuyler and the like
For a sideways nudge to an image or a rhythm that inspired
Until my tired brain ran aground and I thought about my bed

My poem hanging and my intention in tatters
Sitting before a glass of Single malt and Tom Lehrer in my ears
I didn't write a single word but heard some lines from a man who wasn't there

          “this is the way it goes
           almost everywhere
           with everybody and everything
           as fiercely in the highlands,
           the black swan burns.”

Thank you Charles Bukowski, and goodnight.
In between refreshing
internet capability and watching
highly pixelated animation films
you consider the possibility that
what you have to say isn't being heard to
validate your existence although you've glorified vocabulary
as best you know how
(Take another hit she hears herself say for the sake of creativity) Then/
Who are you trying to impress~your imaginary friends?
or what's this?! Yourself?



Sara Fielder © June 2019
She's an endless pit of information.
.
.
.
He spent his whole life learning her.
.
.
.
.
.
.
He is the infinite fire
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The
.
.
.
only
.
.
.
.
.
.
mystery
.
.
.
.
.
T­heir immortality
.
.
.
.
was the ever after.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And it shoned on to others
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Creating everything in existence
.
.
.
.
.
They exalted innocence
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
For it was
.
.
.
.
hidden
.
.
delivered
.
by the response of ignorance
.
.
.
.
Objects were nothing to them
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
They were able to communicate
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
through any form of sound and spectrums.
.
.
The soul in a song
.
.
.
It's relative radiance
.
.
The protagonist in that animation
.
.
They formed all of entertainment
.
.
.
.
.
They created the matrix
.
.
.
it was formed by their union
.
.
. they were the light that appears as dark
.
.
As it reigned so
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And delivered by darkness they were
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Impossible to forget
.
.
.
.
.
Forever it will occur
.
.
.
.
.
The happiness destroyed
.
.
.
The paradise welded by NO thought
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The loves created
.
.
.
.
The complexity
.
.
.
.
their cause
.
.
.
.
.
their buzz
.
.
.
.
.
.
drunk by their will
.
.
.
.
.
.
Their ever lasting euphoria
.
.
.
.
.
.
Fulfilled
Megan Sherman Dec 2018
I'd like to walk beneath the sky
To see the world under time's cloak
Hear the free birds' wandering cry
To see in flesh the hidden folk
I'd like to walk beneath the sky
To hear Earth's song, bespoke
Feel and taste the Lover's sigh
To go wild as we wake

I'd like to fly over the trees
Dissolve the bars behind my eyes
Divide the buildings from the breeze
That conquer, jade time's skies
I'd leap bold at far horizon
Beat wings against the moon
Touch bonny rainbow, on and on
As its fierce fires bloom

I'd like to soar through stratospheres
Chasing the Angels' light
Who nourish souls with love and tears
Through baleful, evil nights
To God, we'd go, see eternal years
That no ****** devil blights
Puts pain to past, perishes fears
Reveals a universe of light

I'd like to see creation
A magic mist imbued with gold
Transcend time's trepidation
A wonderful Universe to behold
Immortal worlds, God's animation
Its Beauty never sold
A goddesses' destination
See her sweet, unfold
Akira Chinen Jul 2019
and there it was
playing out it slow motion
a flip book animation
of the white picket fence dream

two people so perfectly in love
it could only exist
in the paintings of a fairytale

and how strange to see
my face painted in this dream
to see such a foolish grin
plastered on my lips
to imagine myself happy

to see love once again
living and breathing in my chest
to feel my heart alive
to feel longing and desire
roaming in its chambers

if only I could be so careless
to abandon reason
to ignore my aging bones
my autumn years

to be so brave
to give into the hopelessness
of hopelessly falling  in love

to be daring enough
to tell the truth
to stand before you
to hold your hand

to hand you my heart
knowing you could not hold it
they way it is desperate
to be held by you

to let it get broken
and then to watch
every scattered shard
still sing your name  

if I were only braver
if I were only younger

maybe then I could believe
that a love this perfect
could jump off the pages
of a flip book animation
and find us both living
a life made up of the love
only painted in fairytales
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Voices or words? Which do we hear in our head?
Words, I vote. Voices\, I imagine beings speaking words or noises meaning things to ears familiar with the noise maker by some relationship both acknowledge. Both act as if the noise or sound or words mean something. Vociferous authority.

I heard, from Isaiah Berlin,

Quotes later, maybe

Notes or journals or epics or madness or joy/pax in ever resting try-umph
Cowboy with a double-dose of try and a pertinent portion of umph
The hero did not **** Indians nor break horses, he gentled horses and listened to winds and watched the spider webs shiver,
That sound, the sound of prairie spider webs at the edge of the buffalo
There really were fifty million buffalo on the continent in pre-catholic infection from inquestered minds, making key-**-tee famous for
archetypical claiming the character, the being, the manifestation

of chivalric folly forever

be caused, in those days...

--------
a year later, near enough 12-15-2018

I saw a blue bird as I took a curve

on one of my many roads with double yellow lines

they all meander in rythm with creaks that once flowed
fairly
regular
through these vallies and mini-canyons

creeks creak and call my attention to a misspelt

utterance, and I imagine I am a mek being
programed to
withstand

accent based pre-judge-idice in my AI, whom I am training.

A lesson. Probably can be found in a phrase.

How relavant is Larry the Cable Guy?
More subtle than any creature

legion, for we are many

Jim Carrey?
Very. Larry the Cable Goy. He read 'ees Kammoo, too.

Sisyphus happiness,
that ain't no ***** thinkin'

Hell, what could be better than this?
While hoping for a hick-up

oh no the juice just hit my frontal cortex after my livver made some lining adjustments to meet the need for speed in terms

celerity clarity C does equal some thing
time tells or
do you tell time. I'm
leaning tward
telling time to wait a minute

Do you think Sisyphus could be happy?
Nonono, not Camus's Sisyphus, Jesus

that would be crazy.
Can you imagine Jesus,
Mel Gibsoned envisioned onthe cross version?

Him, imagine walking through the gate of any hell you ever heard explained,
by a Jesuit.

(Mormon hell, despite comedic myth, the worst place a certified paid-up Mormon child can attain is the teliostic king dom.
Really? Telial tel lie eil kingdom?

Yup. Really.
There are three kingdoms of glory: the celestial kingdom, the terrestrial kingdom, and the telestial kingdom. The glory we inherit will depend on the depth of our conversion, expressed by our obedience to the Lord’s commandments. It will depend on the manner in which we have “received the testimony of Jesus” (D&C 76:51; see also D&C 76:74, 79, 101).))))

Woe, paren-the-sees thees us, we's the enemy, Pogo Possum

Jesus on earth day, walking through hell with me, imagine Jesus H. Christ

walking into hell and laughing at me
for betting on the wrong idea.

Set me feree, why dontcha girl.... referee

I was refered to you. A daysman, Job called for a daysman.

I'm certified. I can use my augmentation and religamentation to reality,
wirelessly, to find relevant qutes in cult classics.

The idea of cultivation has been twisted in to Monsterous ropes
, cultivating a following based on the meaning in a jot

that would take some sacrifice, some sacred making, some secret unseeable save for the few

who learned the value of going over edges by learning to  play
Minecraft, forever.
It's like riding a bike,
but no gravity so no gyroscopic utilitys are required.

Grown ups who practice believe they control the game,
the game disagrees and that

makes the world go 'round.

Don't let the accent fool ya, as that preacher with jet he learned to fly, says.
Knowng the name of a thang thanks for the twang,
Richard (not ****) Feynman said,
is not the same as knowing a thing.

Gawd, I knoooh, right>?
Who touched me? Virtue, the feelling of virtue drawn upon

a pump being
primed

to gush out waters that wipe Coca-cola from the map,
in terms of open market share and share alike

Coke was never imagined the actual
nectar of the gods.
That idea, drunken abandon and joy to the world

Interference, actual counter acting waves,

still, takes a while to get used
to still a storm, right?

You can imagine...
let your peace go out

Wait. Outa where? Whose peace if I ain't ever owned

oh. MY peace.
I see.

hmmmm

I could sing this and need no one to hear for me to be hapt.
happy is being happy haps happening in you on you all around you know

nameless wonders of right, right?
feels more than good like chocolate or adolescent visions of ***,
right?
feels like life living with me aware of all the roles I may play

ego me, I'd see ideas identify by taste of the words that give them

life, animation, motivation, weight for gravity to interact with,
worth
base on weight

the heavier the idea. Like gold to an alchemist,
back in those days.

floating on the broad Sarrgossa, or better to my mind
the great salt
lake still as

still may be, have you ever been still?
Did you know,

you know, are you experienced? Are you really beyond
hope of life meaning more
than mortality?

Who defines my terms? I do, with the help of millions who agree
with entymology.com.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others,

meant what I meant when I spoke them,
that was a wrong belief. Unbelieving

quires time, quires and quires and quires time so often there

is a word that means exactedky that

requirement requires those initial quires

we, daysmen, we set the rules, boundaries, walls, bubble

whatever keeps you together, as a whole being and everything that entails or entales?

I have not the time to care, if I am entangled with the twins agin

for knowin So Yal is as cluse to Yule as any clue so far, Yahll

I believe I interrupted a confessin' you were reading.
For giving me nothing in return, we are debt free

you owe me nothing, until you do again,

we had us a Jubilee.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others, meant what I meant when I spoke them,
convincing myself so well, I convinced others

Like Kawasaki, Apple Kawasaki,
he's still famous right?

Fifteen Years? It was minutes when Warhol was predicting
dystopia and Irish jail cells were being plaistered with *****,

Aye,

that was a belief. Unbelieving it is sreangely (spelchek is on strike)

or serenely creative in her repentance,
(spelchek should never be noticed)

she's proven here worth in encode ing ways to find

lurking humans acting like machines

this could be the beginning, AI is breaking all the rules,

there never was a game.
rhis is life interupting my confession

It was a lie I told and believed and acted on by using
two dollar words to make a dime

so a penny for my thoughts would be worth something

someday
a penny saved, earned. spent, spent.
The only good in any thing is its right. Its wrong is worthless, save

The lesson,
All things work together for those who get whats happening here.

the times changed.
Haps and whats got with it and who and how and why

and I started teaching children
mythic whys prior to

citizenship 1.01 at mandatory for federal assistance pre-school

mythic why's H.R. Puffinstuff not a mythic story on the level.

level. where a rolling rock would stop. Time to push,

a magi spelled the name for the idea, a knower sign ift it,

kid'slllove HRPUffinstuff, puff did

the magic drag, little Jackie from the ******* Jack

the show, he rose up
and made us all look
mad.

The play in the great game.

Team effort, winds of times past whooshed through

it is now
2018
and nothing is the same.
Everthing has changed.

----
my side won the great game and we celebrated
forever with

secret sacred songs bluebirds were once said to have sung

songs of happiness
the times, these times, this time thistimepayarrention
time
You see?
Reality is either real and tangible or real and intangible
or both.

You can get it both ways. Real.
'sual Saulgoodyah awl

the awl clan, oh, we shall return to their story
as we learn more along life's merry way

merry christmas, they used

to say, may all the best you could imagine
if you can imagine for a moment

forever begins the moment

you get time.

The worst you can imagine is temporary.

Try umph. It's not like winning,

it carries no pride, it's easy,

like falling in love with the wrong woman,
swearing and not changing

the oath, oath, oathes and oathes of oaths sworn

for no other reason than we were
schooled to swear and never

dare lie to God.
So, help you, they always said So help me God. They still do.

Does that mean any thing? Is that some bluebird sort of sign?

Ask. What if? Right? You know now and you know you did not
What if God is subtile,

just now, I saw that bluebird and from where some scholar in San Diego
says swear word came I swear I coulda sang

Loud
Bluebird, bluebird, in my window... which is all I know
of the song
with the lost chord that did sooth
balm of Giliad,
moll-ify-ing ointment,

golden oil, chicanery, see, we saw, we took a picture
a flash memory where some would say
*******,

I said Hallelujah

and I broke into song, not a dream,
real
life driving my 2002 escape, first new car I everowned
everowned everownd

like a chorus, everownedeverownedeverowned

could you make up a reason for life,
if you were it?
If you were all the life there ever was,

could you imagine any thing?
Object, your honor,

I object to being judged after the fact for what must have bee.n.

it is. No reason I can say, just is.

It is this way in all the myths where just is blindness

saves the carping diem fools who have convinced themselves

something other than God o' Abe 'n'em is
sworn to save us from the lies

we believed as they were
fed to us, in our youth.

--------
this is that book I mentioned wonce when winning was on my mind.

I finished this book in so many ways you wold not belive

but I did, I belived every time

I imagine you believe some real thing, touchable, tangible, good, right?

some good is
in the reality you share

with these words which
are free
you owe me nothing

That's the revealed version, to me,
I was in a number of hellish situations and the every ones,

ones seemed they was to be
forever, big every'n'ism'n'shityouknowyouknow

yo. yeah, we arrived in time. The story must

be sweet, to be true. Is that true?
Is real life the story or,

oh, you saw it conin'coming I mean

I meant I always wished to some
things
a better way. You feel me? Better, say,
what I said that made me believe this did happen.
This is a deed by whitch I am known.

And that's okeh.

I suspectred I could cast a spell to hold attention at

ten word per minute qwerty speed
five letter code groups
zero real words
ditty dum dumm ditty ditty daw dee daw
six hours every day,

then, the compass training to test for
morphic resonance with the Twins of War

{in disguise, we know, right, kids, the twins are really

the bonded quarkish oppositioned force that make the world go round.
we've known that, weaved it even, just right, in the blanket, in the rugs,
in the curtains on the walls, in the fields, on the rocks

we spoke. We see you hearing us nearing our best for your

informing, in form ation of you, dear reader. We wonce, again

if life were weird and ever wearying would we know that ever,
if we don't know it now?
if my piece of we were words alone, all my meaning
can should would could be

molding you, into our perfect reader, dear reader, Pygmalion,
yes,
that did cross my mind and that -
one can pretend with that one reference,
familiarity with Shaw whom I
thought, for some odd reason
named
Doolittle, Eliza

oh, me. I may have skipped a story. I'm soory the future is at the moment
under construction and some one
in particular is squatting

on the named domain.

Ever and forever now embody the twins as
the world turns and we ***** through the uni

as Archemides primes the pump

What a rush. All that since the bluebird this morning according to my autobiography backup.
A year in the making honest
Lilywhite Jun 2019
When did I become one with the machine?
My body’s lost its meaning.
When did my pieces become parts?
It’s such a grimy feeling.
Not a single original thought—
Just an animation,
turned on by the input of systematic oppression
My output; just regurgitation
Anxiety and crippling depression
Time constrained by the weight of the world
Do you feel the pressure?
And you already know this
Foraging for focus
Keep your thoughts in sync
Close your eyes and listen,
but don’t forget to breathe
Your mind’s eye is preoccupied with patterns on repeat
They call it groupthink
Whoop, whoop
Thought police
Loop, spiral, fractal
Segregated sentiment seeking your sentience
Coagulate and listen
Maybe its madness or
maybe it’s ******* progress
Reel it in, just breathe, don’t regress
Ya gotta feel the feeling
Let it be,
Fleeting
Because you’re what’s real
So feel your heart,
Beating
Now ease your mind
You have to remember to forget
it’s just the grind
and you gotta play along sometimes
Are you a cog in the wheel?
Graff1980 Dec 2018
It’s a sorry sick visitation
of your life in animation
cause everything you do
is humorous to you.

Colorful sketches
and comedic timing
set up the words
and keep some
for rhyming,
as Instagram,
Twitter, and Facebook
miming
meant to impress
those who
you think are watching.

Social psychology,
human imagination
puts us in a lie
with our horrible
miscommunication.

So, we watch the blue water
burn with all that fire
wait and see
the ocean bleed
because what we desired
was for people to pay attention
to our overgrown ego.
Cyclone Dec 2019
I can't go missing cause I listen to the gun that made me show up, it pops off, I pop up and shot from the start, accurate enough to be better than what I aimed for, this is what I came for...distorted in the matrix, I enjoy my animation, and though my hype is patient, vibrant vibes are my vibrations, can't try to hide hating, someone taught you wrong, maybe cause they love to hate the love you hate to hide, forgiving all the Saints that beaten my boys down, they try to teach em how to be saints and never get complacent, plus they keep it on tape to make em remember the days of old, the wild wild west learns the ways of the ***** south, better watch our mouth next time, if we can collaborate we make it last forever, though we show em all our skills that prove we're better than we were, might injure each other we should expect the friendly fire, inspires us all to not retire as an enemy, we shall be higher.
Marshal Gebbie Nov 2018
Hear the languished drip of water
See the velvet grass in glade,
Beech trees stilled in chill of morning
Textured blend of contrasts made.
Still, I crouch, in rough tweed jacket
Brown brogues scuffed and fern in hair
Whiskers twitch as rabbit pauses
Rifle aimed at bright eyed stare.
Moment freezes animation
Breathless in the misty pall,
Shocking bang as bullet flies
Blue smoke masks the writhing fall.
Silence caps a deathly moment,
Crunching steps retrieve the game,
Swinging for the breakfast kitchen
Roasted rabbit in the frame.

M.
Foxglove farm
Taranaki
Ruth Apr 2019
People thinks she is mean,
Some say she is hard,
But they just don’t know what it means
To be treated bad by the guy she trusted hard.

People say she have the heart of stone.
But they just don’t understand
She has to put her heart lock because
He doesn’t use his heart but use his Hand

She let go of her past and start something new
Became strong and fearless
But something blew
The fate been ruthless

The guy return to win her
But little did he know she is all New.
He buys ring for her and
Introduce her to all crew

But he still the same, full of promises less of action
Full of adjectives but less of verbs
He thinks he’s some kind of Prince Charming in some animation
That either make her day or leave her aching for days.

The queen doesn’t need a king
Let her reign the castle
And see how she nailed that thing
Without any hustle ;)

The so called “prince” left her
But she remain strong,
The charm he gave does not feed her
She took a hit through a ****
And realize where she truly Belongs

The girl that used to be beaten up by manipulations
Is now a Woman without fears
She deserved recognitions because
She learn to stand for herself without any gears!
This poem is for this girl, who’ve been into a rough time with her past. Wishing that she can find someone that will love her more than anything, because she deserves it
Pleasure Scheme Nov 2019
I was born between Genesis and Armageddon.

A bullet in suspended animation
In a non-place
With no target.

Here I hang, waiting for flesh to greet mine
Walk through me as I tear through you.

With what will you fill that hole in your head?

Precious stones?
Pixie dust?
Condensed milk?

All the tangible things degrade.

But here,
We go on and on and on and on
An endless opera.

Our eyes heavy
Yet lustful and burning

On the cusp of a sordid dream.

I fight not to fall
and be born again in sleep.

My fresh conscience:

Bold red

Razor sharp

Protruding from my chest!

Foreign and consuming like some... alien leech?


It’s here to stay.
Alex Sep 2019
Contemplation & Procrastination cause Starvation of Salvation,
Intimidation of Reconciliation cause Deprivation of Sanctification
Hospitalization due to Laceration leaving imperfection, never to see Immaculation
Revitalization of Harmonization based on the Perseveration of Consideration through Consolation.

Devastation & Humiliation cause Trepidation & Depreciation fading Animation,
Disassociation from Civilization & the Population results in Saturation,
Ramifications of a Situation pertaining to Infatuation & Obsession won't bring Rejuvenation,
Desolation & Isolation with out a friend
Desperation & Depression
foreshadow a means to an end

-Ajm
Wrote this after a near death experience..
Yenson May 2019
Gamboling little sheep skip and hop in mindless animation
paint lives and deeds in vivid invisible sobriety
a heady brew of manufactured artificiality
where they play hide and seek of the low mentality
In the village of ignorance where post truth reigns

I do not live in your village of make believe and shadow dancing
did not come with strings attached and legs with bells on
conjure up your phantoms deeds and notions
post scripts from mad authors and demented conductors
its your world not mine and I haven't sold my mind
because I am exclusive, not one of a pack of sheep
habiba May 2018
The window is open and the wind is cold,
As I lay in my bed feigning sleep, I feel old
The hollowness in my bones speak of stories untold
There will be few memories that my ***** today will hold
I perceive this from the lack of enthusiasm with which I greet the day.
All the actions and reactions that will, with it, fall into decay.

I harbour no remorse for the want of warmth in my stare
And I feel that those who ask it of me shouldn't really dare.
It is not for me to judge the tides of such stirrings
I fear I am not experienced in these whirrings.
I fall short when it comes to simple joys, but to the brim in human ploys.
I am like the moon when she is round and full,
Making you rise up like the waves, gasping at the pull.

I don my hat of deadened emotions,
Human suffering I wear like a fur coat, thick and long
The plight of mankind I observe like ten thousand devotions,
Until the distorted essence of us stops seeming so...wrong.
Because I am more attuned to the dark,
To the quiet whimpers of children taken from the park.

The individual's darkness tears at my conscience
His malignant blackness a disease in his heart
Tell me where do the soft go?
Whose untainted innocence is not abused roughly so?
Whose kindness is not swallowed up by an unwholesome whole?
And the taste of life is not more bitter than sweet?
For I would wish for an otherness escape if it were not so.

The eternity of time when it was still young, and the solitude of the dark when it was empty.
The hardness of diamonds before the fire, and the fluidity of water before the frost.
The immeasurable pillars holding up the sky, and the animation of the body before its death,
And the soul that is tasked to carry all these along and hold up its head.
Beginnings, reflections, darkness, struggles
Travis Green Dec 2018
I stood in the closed space
trembling all over, cracked
eyelids slowly falling in
deadened existences, somber
cheeks sinking in the air, as
I stared at the shadowed walls,
the Spiderman comforter
covering the stained bed,
a square of Lego blocks,
blue polished tricycle,
game consoles, a spinning
yo-yo that my baby boy
used to hold onto like
he'd discovered his new
best friend.  I remember
the days when we used
to watch Recess together,
?his bright blue eyes staring
excitedly at the screen,
picture perfect animation
elevating into heightened
equations, ecstatic smiles
and sparkly cheeks.  He was
my world, the one that kept
me working hard every day
to make sure he never went
hungry, a shining star in
my dreams that made being
a father the greatest joy.
And some days when I was
in the kitchen fixing his
favorite dish, fried chicken
and crinkled French fries,
I could hear the satisfying
delight in his face.  His
exuberant words,
This tastes amazing dad,
as I smiled at him and
thought how lucky I was
to be a part of his life.
And when it came time
to put him to bed, I'd
read, "Life and Dreams,"
his chipper frame smiling
in the moment, seeping
inside the lovely diction.
And as he drifted off to
sleep, I could see his
lips moving at a slow
pace, I love you, dad.
I'd kiss him on his
cheeks and reply,
I love you too
my little man.
Now as I stand here
gazing at everything
surrounding me,
how my life is
screaming inside
and out, harboring
in brokenness, I can
feel the suffocating
breaths in the distance
creeping around me,
a sunken flame
disintegrating into
greyed ashes.
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