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Death-throws Mar 2015
Talk to me about indifference
Can anyone define it? Who defines ?
It’s a word we should understand clearly and fluently
Why? Well…Why not?
Because as humans, indifference is valued
Prized even
Genocide in Africa? I’m indifferent
Pity…
Poverty in our country? I’m indifferent
Pity…
Indifferent it is a word we should use so much more than we do
Indifferent to the screaming of my next door neighbours wife
Pity           …
OH Indifferent!  INDIFFERENT to the hallowed call of a child at the 6 o’clock news with a swollen belly and flies in his eyes
PITTY!
Indifferent to the passions of a man foresworn to his pride and under the influence refuses to admit to his shame!
BY GODS IM A ROBOT
Remove my emotional hardware its malfunctioning strip me of my programs their not the normal
Remove my speech circuitry I’ve been lying…
This hole time I swore closeness and collaboration..
Ideals you all share, seeing pain, listing to the agonising news off a car bomb in Syria! 118 dead! Thank god ill never meet them!
Did I know them? No? ! Well ill share a moment of agony and grief and then continue to buy slave made products and feed my mechanicals beasts with petroleum stolen from foreign lands !
I AM A ROBOT AND YOU ARE TO
Devour my heart it no longer beats, my eyes are desensitized, my spirit aghast at the agony of existing,
The high price of living I was told,
Stand fast and ready your ears like a galleon with no sails and receive the news of your defeat , or would you rather not be there to hear it?
It’s time to listen to the high price,
Social media seems to have developed unto me a craze for the worst ! ive liked pages that post videos of people killing themselves death fascinates me!
I have all of my needs catered for,  
have sources of entertainment
I have a job that allows me  to pillage part of the earth for my enjoyment
I have food that sustains me  and a group of robots that  I call friends, we share the same software  I can relate to them  via USB
And thus the only thing that excites me…that gets me going, that shakes my distraught existence is the thought of..not.
Of not existing
Indifferent..
Endure the agony of hearing that our own… brothers and sisters in humanity where killed,
Beings we share the same DNA for and beings we by some estranged number of generations are related to
Pretend to care for a moment
Indifference,
Watch my world ware thin
Watch my skin grow pale
Watch my organs fail
Indifferent.
Watch cancer take my loved ones
Watch fear destroy my hope
Alone I stand indifferent


Take me to emotion

This is not the way I was designed
The dull thud in my chest is not of rifle fire
Nor is it requisition of my life force of some higher being calling me home
No
It is the device that fights my indifference
It is the vessel that commands my soul to walk on broken glass
The dull thud It is the idea that in ideas we will never die , only grow as humans, within humanity
The dull thud ringing through my chest quickens  when I see you,
The dull thud dies down when I grow cold
It is not the pilot aimlessly guiding me through coordinates listed on a fact sheet like a tour guide
But it is the engine that drives me to aspire to be more, the location from witch I draw force, power,
I do not want to be a robot...  I never asked to be made of steel nor carbon nor sparks
An emotionless vessel to power through indignity and anxiety without a notion to an outsider,
Without consideration to feel
Without consideration to feel alive But sick…steel skin does not get ill without strain,
Steel skin does not grow pale or wither with age
The computer in my head will not fade with time
And my heart has never once stopped
I am not of robotics
I am not of steel
I am merely…
human
And I
Am not
Indifferent!
Scream to me the agony! AGH!  Genocide in Africa?  I will denounce myself to humanitarian work!
I will design my life to bring happiness and joy and inspiration to the masses! I will re-write the ground on which I stand in favour of my own desires!
Poverty in my country?! I will rise to be what is needed! And fall to be humbled!  I will writhe with angst until the government I serve hears my cries and writhes also! To change those laws written in stone and redefine what it is to be human! I will cry for every child living like a dog under the stars, under-influence and angry, because I am angry to!
The cries of my neighbor will be brought to append in front of a judge my community will whale together in her agony and burst forth with our love! we will provide! We will carry her down the streets and sing her name she is not a beaten dog but a queen of queens! As we deserve it!
I AM NOT INDIFFERENT
I am not of the programming I was designed,
Nor am I to append the functions I was written for
I am an arm that writes itself hole as it continues down the page..
I am not of machine
I am not guided by that actions of others
But I am the wholeness of myself
Though fractured I am pure,
Though ***** I am clean
Though broken I am definitively joyful.
I am not indifferent, and I will forever refuse to be so
Because if you take away my indifference…you bring me back
You will bring me back…to my humanity,

*L.G
JR Rhine Jan 2016
Just a little off the top.
Drawin' a dotted line
'round the skull
takin' your shears
just above the ear.

Cuttin' a close crop.
Burrowin' into the skin this time
'round the skull
now your clippers
smilin' so chipper.

Leavin' a head clean smooth.
Whistlin' at a near-finished work
'round the skull
peelin' back the skin
bravin' a peek within.

Grabbin' that comb with its fine tooth.
Unfurlin' that pink mass of quirk
'round the skull
eyein' where tendrils append
trimmin' the dead ends.
Insanity/conformity. Memories of old barbers cuttin em all high and tight existing among memories I wish they'd trim off.
Stephen Parker Sep 2011
Day's end, sun's caisson doth wend
Residual rays a respite to append
Twilight's shroud dreary dividend
Swirls of gray into firmament blend

Vestments of light shed sacral veil
Luna's naked, pale orb flashes its spell
Twinkling sprites across dark tides sail
Constellation's mystical portents braille

Nyx, Erebos eclipse Hemera's blithe melody with bass duet 
Earth's warmed bed yields its thermal blanket
Ocean tides move in rhythmic tandem to cadence of lunar clarinet
Swarming shadows stalk each footstep paring each dark secret


   Greek gods
Nyx: goddess of Night
Erebos: goddess of Darkness
Hemera: goddess of Day
Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
I was raised by a pack of fools
Who proclaim Caucasians are the best.
And are glad to fight, at the drop of a hint
To put the whole matter to the test.
They have an entire joke routine
And descriptive names they repeat
In minimizing and insisting that
Their right to decent treatment isn’t real.

There are references to some animals
And unfunny comments about color.
The statements about characteristics
Of body and features always go together
With a special set of gross anecdotes
To cover any kind of non-Christian belief.
And the refusal to consider equality
As a decent attitude stands in bright relief.

Beneath all this horror, not very deep,
Lies a sickening river of hate and fear
That fails to improve as education is
Rejected year after disgusting year.
Pointing out the error of their ways
Might earn you a punch in the eye
But the bigot hangs on to their rage
And never gives fellowship a try.

The American Bigot claims to be
A staunch Christian all the way through
Which forces them to hate and cheat
And lie as much as Jesus would do.
Of course, we know that Jesus was
A preacher of love and acceptance
But it seems that bigots never quite
Made that Jesus’ acquaintance.

So, here we can see we need to add
Some terms to this kind of individual
Whose relationship to peace and love
Is at best slight, scant and residual.
We also need to append to their titles
Of masters of anger fear and prejudice
The unhealthy pallor of indecency,
Dishonesty, inhumanity and cowardice.
betterdays May 2014
Now,
We are mellow.
Having spent the evening exploring the threads of friendship.
That had come adrift of warp, weft and weave.
Time and distance had
silks, snag-tagged-torn,
on the bustling-busy,
hectic-hustling of work
and family.

Teasing-taunt,
needle-gnawing,
small, gap-rip-rents
in the snug comforter
that is... the wonder of us.

Us, so many secrets woven. So many, nights of tissues and sobbing tears.
Darning in daring exploits. Cutting away knotted,
fear-angry-scream-fighting feuds.

Cutting work, for days of delight and nights of desperate yearning.

We used anything at hand, rough wools, pieces of string and twines.
To weave a blanket,
to hide us from life's storms.

We were,
so young, so strong, recklessly-brash,
stupidly-joyous
and braveheart-fools.

And now, time and age,
has softened our work. Felted and fuse-melded,
the fibres into a beautiful entity.

That we store-save in the heart's cupboard,
of special and precious  things.
It is an heirloom of sorts.
We bring it out,with occasional, humble-grace,
to be dandled and stroked with reverence.

Caressed and cossetted are our memories held within the abstract weave.

We are the dwindling
of a youthful exuberance
flung-thrown-heaved
to the wild winds.

So now, we are grateful to be curator-custodians of the retrospective nature
as we augment-append
and reiterate-repair.

A new thread here,
now,
embellish-embroider,embed
and tatt-stitch.
My son and your twin girls, squeezed, splashing
into your tiny bathtub
big-grin-giggling in the gurgling water.

Our future, here and now,
is the brightest of silks,

Our past, mellow and yielding in,
the luminent opulence,
angelically-asleep in,
the other room.
A Machele Aug 2012
'07:* girl meets boy, senses shocked—
life as she knew it forever swayed by his rash and carefree decisions
she grows, leaving the world she knew behind
metamorphosing rapidly, shedding the comfort of her caccoon..
sprouting wings where legs once grew

'08: time passes yet their feelings have not come to fruition
another man enters the picture, bringing new hope to love
squashing all ideas of it before it even has a chance to flourish
gone, never to be heard from again; back to the drawing table..
her flight path altered slightly, regaining composition—slowly but surely

'09: her light shines bright now, thru numerous trials and tribulations
enter: a new boy; his style & grace caresses her to the core
his soul intertwines with hers, pouring brightness over the dark times
little does she know the darkest are yet to come..

'10: their obsession grows, littered with dishonesty & mistrust
an obvious love affair; tainted relationships append a broken start..
the girl—confused, lost in remorse—negates the power she knows exists in their love
he fights for her & she pushes him away, hopelessly overwhelmed by her guilt

'11: a new year; old habits—the glow of their love almost completely diminished
hearts broken, new relationships envelop their mistrust; loss, gain, loss gain
guilt finally replaced by regret, she realizes what she knew all along..
slightly shaken, she mends her heart & bandages her bruised ego
—in honor of the child now growing inside of her

'12: a beautiful boy brought into their world; blinded happiness—
a sudden change of heart from the boy, torn apart by his own insecurities and emotions
a bitter & resentful girl, grasping at the wind; no reciprication
finally—a break in the void.. hopeful at last, she is hesitant to be too greedy..
should she fight for him as he did her? or will their destinies choose themselves?

'13:* a twisted plot: boy #1 re-enters the scene; lost, desparate, & reminiscent of the past
tear-streaked and beautiful, the girl—now a mother—makes the decision she knew would never make itself..
squashing all traces of lingering hope in her now-adamant beau, she takes their son & leaves behind the life they knew; it is her turn to be greedy
dreams as fragile as rose-petals are crushed beneath the eyes of the friends she once called family
slate cleared; it is over before it began.. homeward bound—to the family she calls nothing

to be continued
harlon rivers Jan 2018
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly
over the perceived salience of his musings
  
It was as if there were a veiled mystique
that left hopeful understanding ,
                   ambiguously obscured ...

His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale ,
like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,
                   drowning acumen ;

albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions ,
scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye

                    Illusive accord ,
                    beclouded by seeming stigmas
                    borne of the flesh ;
                    delicately sensitive nuances ,
                    misunderstood imperfections ,
                    bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ...

In the hush of pensive repose ,
flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ;
bequeathed as if darkness
was magnetically drawn towards light ,
purging muted understanding ...

                    Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,
                    accepting , that all answers sought
                    are not meant to be understood

A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ;
the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved ,
befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat ,
understanding a circle is vulnerable ,
only makes it stronger ―

                    hence ,..
                    it had been written
                    in countless misunderstood ways ...

Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently
for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ ,
tattooed on introspective walls
far removed from the afterglow of light ,
where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;

                    heart speak hushed , deft words avowed
                    in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper

                    soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow
                    from unseen depths , permeating
                    deeply within inner realms

The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :

               "Spell words that bind together passing strangers  
                 Coalesce  thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone
                 Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual
                 hearts and minds with words of love and light.  
                 Conjure written  spells to bespeak sincerely ,
                 a faith in unabated love
"

and yet ,   he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words

…words grasped from emerging thoughts
                   drawn in to the light
                   searching for other adept words
                   to recite yet another way ,
                   sketch another word-scape ,
                   written with the relentless inexhaustibleness
                   of an unstoppable awakening ...  

Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light

                   he will write it again and again ,

                                          ... finding another way to be set free ...



                                                          ­       Harlon Rivers
Thank you for reading

Stanza in italics is from :
*Spell Words that Bind Together Passing Strangers*
entropiK Dec 2010
I am not one of these leather wearing ******* you see on **** sites. I am real. I listen to 911 calls on repeat. Images of gore, abortions, death, and torture fill me with unbridled lust.

Humans are amazing... Their build, their skin, with billions of embedded pain receptors. Optic nerves, sending horrific images directly into their frontal lobes. I love their faces, tiny changes in their expressions with different types and increments of pain.

There is such a glorious range and variety of pain that can be inflicted upon a human. Few appreciate the sublime canvas of a humans body. Each sense can be tweaked and tormented. All of there emotions can be played like an instrument, by someone with the right skills and tools. Their screams are sublime.

There is a certain kind of scream a person lets out, the moment they realize their own mortality, but it is beyond words. It makes me see red. I lust for it. I adore it.

I am free. I am not bounded by your conceptions of morality. ******, ****, and torture are simply choices. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want to whomever I want. Whether it is one death, a million, a billion, or an entire planet or the entire universe, it means less than nothing to me. I have no ideology, religion, or higher purpose. If the slab of meat and chemicals you call your mind is searching for a word to append to me, just think of me as an artist. My medium is flesh.

I walk among you. I understand you better than you understand yourself. I have studied the human body, peeled back the layers of flesh, the emotions. I see right through you. I am the nice, unassuming person you know. We share secrets. Some of you like me. Some of you love me.*

None of you know me.



I am, *sadist.
i tried this today! its what i got, haaaaa;
its lame but watevsssss
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2015
It's 5:00 pm,
any poems to share?

my watchwoman, Seamless Siri,
my conscientious conscience,
gives said inquiry daily,
at the precise heure de rigeur,
with the perfection of a
mechanized soul attending to her
imperfect human programmer

poetry, a sometime thing,
comes when it comes,
what the query,
my godmother faerie,
truly seeks knowledge of is
something she cannot measure,
like my counted steps and distances travelled,
what this overseer mine truly seeks to know


why am I here?*

Here. On this earth.  On this site.

have you any new written proofs,
your existence on this day to justify,
were your failings and flailings,
surpassed by any acts of kindness,
this new, freshest penmanship, a reflection,
an accounting of grace and worth,
blogged and logged here
as if only I had
one day,
one poem
left...

at tabulation time, the incisor bites,
are you juiced or morbid,
this, your essayed life,
are the words,
deemed shareable,
is their value,
calculable palpable?

Siri inquires but you are jury

at the late afternoon
trial by fire,
wherein my singed bunt offerings
are produced
at the
wake of when,
my nom I do append

am I deserving
of your recompense
of one more day,
one more poem?*


~~for Harlon~~
5:13 pm
November 21, 2015
Corkey Hawley May 2010
It's a dim & drizzly Memorial Monday
Hell, it could be Sunday or any other day these daze
The BBQ pickin party's cancelled
due 2 more rain and things finacial
We did not escape the flooding after all
the AC was out on the hottest day I recall
the heat & humidity is so oppressive
makes one's instincts blur & become panic obsessive
On a day set aside for all to remember
Those who gave all & did not surrender
Is marked with a lack of labor & shopping mall sales
No football, no banking, no courts & no snail mail
So I'll have another chunk of dat brownie
and wash in down with some good ol' Tenessee JD
Take another puff & drive another nail in my coffin
Until my head stops aching & can stop coughing
What will dis day bring?
Maybe I'll just sit alone with my guitar & sing
Play me some blues cause the mortgage is due
the roof is still leaking, two cats have nine kittens & I'm blue
I'm so broke I can't pay attention
to all of the things that I owe I've lost my retention
YA, I got dem steadily depressin'
Low down mind missin'
Everything is way past due
I got dem Memorial Blues

Append Just had 2 write dis 2 get my daze started, U all have happy :) Memorial Day, Doc
mzwai Aug 2014
"I am made up out of dreary routinely aspects."*
.
The afternoon always spans out throughout each morning,
And I awake within each in a bed I have spent eternity within.
I unveil the sheets, stand myself up onto the ground,
And rub my eyes of their tiredness.
I adjust the straps of the clothes I wear, and stand up
And just wait there.
The room is usually empty and often I feel like I am apart of the paint of the walls.
Like I am stuck upon them like a rock in the concrete or a figure that can be scraped from it.
I un-mount my position like a fly un-mounts a jar and swindle across my bedroom to
The door and go through the unfamiliar house to the kitchen where I collapse onto the chair.
I stare at the table, and caress its granite. I stand up and fix up the coffee in the corner.
I listen to the whistling of the kettle as it replaces the birth of an old silence.
'Its cold outside' it reminds me. It's always cold outside.
I pour the coffee and add the sedatives that would otherwise leave my thoughts racing within me,
And sip from the cup as I stand in the corner.
I leave it, sit at the table, and stare at the granite again.
The wind outside is not whistling, but rustling the leaves. I am reminded of thunderstorms.
Lightning, thunder, clouds, lightning, thunder, clouds,
I sip the cup again.
There is an old familiarity behind the noises outside the window,
I **** myself uselessly to infatuate a rhythm to the steps of the branches of the winter trees.
The kitchen is filled with the noises of these audacities,
and once, perhaps last year July,
Their repetitive sounds would escape their waves and induce me frightened alone in my kitchen chair...
But now, they do not frighten me.
Not since last year July.
I pick up the teaspoon from the side and enter it into the cup,
Neither have been washed from their last usage or usages.
As I stir, I hum a melody that is quieter than the rustling. A melody that is quieter than me myself.
When the coffee cup is empty, I lay my hands onto the granite and force myself up.
I stumble towards the door and through the house and back into the bedroom.
Sometimes the days are loud, and sometimes I am a figure to its silence.
I enter the bedroom and sit at the rocking chair that would of belonged to someone else
In another world where there was furniture for the restless women who stayed awake...
And I do not rock, I only sit.
My sleeping gown covers my legs,
but if I could, I would imagine a dress much shorter than this.
Showing the scars, the marks, the knees, the bones, the skin layers, the worn-out
Wrinkles and the sighing thighs.
I would picture their lengths dominated by the visibility of threads of cloths that
Are for some other woman in some other world.
I sit up and almost fall,
Then use the armchair to balance me as I mount onto the carpet,
Where I stand again and tremble.
I walk towards the bed,
Then turn around. I exit the bedroom.
I walk through the house and past the kitchen and enter
The bigger room with the chandelier and the grand piano.
There are picture frames in this room, but they do not show faces-
They only show sentences.
Scriptures,
and I ignore them, and sit myself at the grand piano.
Middle C has turned from the ivory color to
Brown. And I blow the dust away.
Ave Maria begins with the note G,
But I play the highest note on the set of keys
With my left hand,
Then roll across it one by one as if I'm playing an infinite scale.
And watch my fingers as they shake upon each valorous key.
'One, two, three' I whisper
Then play another note.
'One
Two
Three.'
I put my hands to my side then realize that there are tears rolling down my cheeks.
There is no window in this room,
I hum again and now it is the loudest sound in the house...
But it is still, oh so quiet.
The furniture in the room is all in standard condition,
As I stand up, I close my eyes and remember them without having to look at them.
As they are, as they have always been.
I walk to one of the walls that present four picture frames.
All of them show a man and a woman in each-
And all of them are blank.
There is a quote underneath one of them that reads, "The house must be tendered well-
for now home is where the heart is."
I read it out aloud, repeat it, then read it out a third time.
"If home is where the heart is," I then say, "then my heart must still be in July."
I look around...
"Last year."
This is my house... And it has not been tendered in a very long time.
I walk away from the wall again, face the piano,
Then walk out of the room and past the kitchen to the bedroom again.
There is a bathroom to the side, I remember,
I enter it and place myself fragilely at the sink and the mirror.
My face is in its center, and the tiles around of me create a green shade to my pale skin.
There is little hair left on my head, but I brush it away and look deeply into the shallowness
Of my eyes.
I hum again,
and I am echoed by the tiles of the bathroom walls.
But I am still oh so quiet. I hum louder.
Then I turn to the bathtub in the area of space in the corner of the bathroom.
There is still water inside of it from the previous day...or week.
I walk to it and realize that there are no windows in this room.
I enter the water, and sit in the bathtub.
The dress floats at the surface.
I am still humming.
I submerge my head within the water,
then bring it out after a few seconds.
I submerge it again and keep it in for longer,
then bring it out again.
I submerge myself within it again...
It is drastically cold and it's temperature permeates my bones and leaves me feeling
Bloodless.
The water enters my nose, my mouth, goes down my throat and suddenly,
I am out of it again and choking at the head of the bathtub.
I bring myself out of it, weakly and exasperated, onto the bathroom tiles.
I exit the bathroom and walk back into the bedroom.
I collapse onto the bed and then pull the sheets on top of my dried shaking body.
I exhale...
"The sheets used to love you." A voice in my head says.
"If you were to veil yourself every-night like a queen in marriage to a dead man,
Then no one would blame you for never actually showing yourself."
And I listen...
Then that is exactly what I do.
I think about the loss of my neurons,
Then append my thoughts to race under their sedatives as I pull the sheets around my entire body.
Eventually, I stop shaking.
But when I open my eyes, I realize that only my body has.
"I wonder how these memories would feel like," I whisper again,
"If they were in the mind of some other woman,
In some other world..."
I close my eyes,
I close my mouth,
And I go to sleep.
This Time. Now. Where the Monuments will speak
The Prince of the North cheers the Dame on her Guild
That at last would their worth-bound Souls will keep
Fifty-Starred Trials wipe this Cankerous Field
Happy beseech, clime this Eloquent News
Her Skill with Striped Sorority will merge
Towards append - prim Victory ensue
Then their braised party for Red Cups will splurge
For now. The Board. Make focus on her Craft
Point the Latin Consulate with reprieve
Evermore. Support. Bless this penchant Draft
Pawn bets by Prayers; As what you believe.
So the Dove perches. Its beak drops a Pence
Which slots your Alarm; Then improves you hence.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Your Youth. Your Time. Your placed Investiture
So did these Ringers let your Throne announce
With fresh commentary spring your Boys pure
And clasp their Spirits for Victory enhance
Now there's the Go! Humbled yet so Pronounced
To apply Punctuations for your Team's End
Which the Lion roars their Thoughtful Doubts bounce
And Mark every Tariff they could Append
When most Nations laugh, they Green in Despair
Why his Coloured Mane kept whipping the Waves
Perhaps Leisure, his fleeting Vice repair
Kept hard-earned Fortiments from Woes and Slaves.
Still on still, these Songs by Splashes carry
Another Batch-of-Stamps; To Home they tarry.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Melissa Taylor Feb 2010
And as i go to write you, poem,
i think of what you should become
who you should talk to
where you should run
how you should rhyme
if you should whine
wondering, all the time.
Which words to pick
which way to go
if my images will stick
if my emotions will show.
I know i will be
smiling at the end
up for everyone to see
now i must go append.

2/13/10
copyright 2010
By whom, strike Courage, does infect the Louse
Whose ominous Trails let ****** Thoughts to bleed
Then the Female - whose Nickels cost the House
Let wounding Heresy spore Thumbs to speed
Maybe my words be Words permit bequeath
Append your Permission my Heart pretends
Else voice this Rebel; Be Rebel's own beneath
Harm my Efficancy will purse Contends
Though pause the Bitter Pill invite to swallow
Only through your Certificate spot this Call
Yet by Wisdom-Tooth's share spare this Sparrow
Knowing, by Mammon, Like-Hands do appall.
So her Perfume - inspire for your Date
Absorb her Womb's Treasures though none too late.
#tomdaley1994 #tomdaleytv
Diljeev Aug 2021
Pages be poured out,
be torn out books,
they all append with
you getting her looks,
how alluring she is
and will always be,
reborn each time
with no memory,
the seed once was
or the fruit it could be.
Thieving a mere sight
here and there
is worth every bit of
the herd's pity.
Kevin McCarty Nov 2011
Life was taken away not too long ago
near was the one I had once called dear
no longer was my Love, though my love remained
her face (a shining star) now set aglow
her body soon to melt away as like the snow

little I remember of how that day went
for all I knew is she lost her hue
warmth that remained was eaten up by the hungry earth
the hole lines its self with my velvet discontent
its sinister works being fully spent

what she left behind is a question I face
annoyed I am to this never ending void
that has carved out its home in me
filling its nothingness into all my space
never at rest always apace

clouds of black form over me
clouds of black “attack!” is what they say
continuing on throughout all that was good
clouds of black, my true friends they be
for they blot out the sun from hitting me

maybe in my mind I’ll see her again
if not, to just play those memories (they turn out gray)
faults of the past fight out the good
they leave none alive in their campaign
leaving the battlefield in unending strain

who pushes me to sit on such a mood?
death’s very breath teases me these days
could it be him? or is it his own guilt?
which puts him in a place of being so lewd
his job needed be, makes him not lightly viewed

‘what ifs’ plague my thoughts and despair
they begin to tell me of that which should’ve been
they mix my yesterdays with now and future
it seems they get energy from the very air
I have to breathe no matter where

these thoughts are my last gift to her my Friend
the pieces of my heart are too small for a restart
my knowledge will only come with my obsession
this all I have left to append
I will not ever again befriend
this was for English class and I listened to the band Evanescence to help get ideas going
Tout seul au plus profond d'un bois,
Dans un fouillis de ronce et d'herbe,
Se dresse, oublié, mais superbe,
Un grand vase du temps des rois.

Beau de matière et pur de ligne,
Il a pour anses deux béliers
Qu'un troupeau d'amours familiers
Enlace d'une souple vigne.

À ses bords, autrefois tout blancs,
La mousse noire append son givre ;
Une lèpre aux couleurs de cuivre
Étoile et dévore ses flancs.

Son poids a fait pencher sa base
Où gît un amas de débris,
Car il a ses angles meurtris,
Mais il tient bon, l'orgueilleux vase.

Il songe : « Autour de moi tout dort,
Que fait le monde ? Je m'ennuie,
Mon cratère est plein d'eau de pluie,
D'ombre, de rouille et de bois mort.

« Où donc aujourd'hui se promène
Le flot soyeux des courtisans ?
Je n'ai pas vu figure humaine
À mon pied depuis bien des ans. »

Pendant qu'il regrette sa gloire,
Perdu dans cet exil obscur,
Un oiseau par un trou d'azur
S'abat sur ses lèvres pour boire.

« Holà ! Manant du ciel, dis-moi,
Toi devant qui l'horizon s'ouvre,
Sais-tu ce qui se passe au Louvre ?
Je n'entends plus parler du roi.

- Ah ! Tu prends, à l'heure où nous sommes,
Dit l'autre, un bien tardif souci !
Rien n'est donc venu jusqu'ici
Des branle-bas qu'on faits les hommes ?

- Parfois un soubresaut brutal,
Des rumeurs extraordinaires,
Comme de souterrains tonnerres
Font tressaillir mon piédestal.

- C'est l'écho de leurs grands vacarmes :
Plus une tour, plus un clocher
Où l'oiseau puisse en paix nicher ;
Partout l'incendie et les armes !

« J'ai naguère, à Paris, en vain
Heurté du bec les vitres closes,
Nulle part, même aux lèvres roses,
La moindre miette de vrai pain.

« Aux mansardes des tuileries
Je logeais, le printemps passé,
Mais les flammes m'en ont chassé,
Ce n'était que feux et tueries.

« Sur le front du génie ailé
Qui plane où sombra la bastille,
J'ai voulu poser ma famille,
Mais cet asile a chancelé.

« Des murs de granit qu'on restaure
Nous sommes l'un et l'autre exclus,
Là le temps des palais n'est plus,
Et celui des nids, pas encore. »
Terrin Leigh May 2015
secret isolation, best effort to hide
uncertain reply, when confronted I've lied
explanation escapes me, hard to defend
sincere self malice, to this vice I append
commonly pity, never love; lines eyed

misunderstood, breath of relief; brief reside
calming warmth runs down my arm, loony implied
appalling the stranger, understanding friend
Take with you the culprit, I offer to you

genuine compassion, all judgment aside
gentle and doting despite red tears I've cried
embarrassed Achilles wrist; don't condescend
perceived unshakeable, now I see an end
silent, spoken: vicarious Love; tears dried
Take with you the culprit, I offer to you
another rondeau
Vivek Gupta Feb 2019
I see this bright night!
I see this darkened day!
I see the darkness light!
Which in the morning fades away!
I see the space end!
I see the time append!
I see this beautiful dirt!
I see this infinite Earth!
I see these coal shine!
I have what's not mine!
I see you but you don't see me!
I am in this cage yet i am free!

         -Vivek!
Penelope Winter Dec 2021
I wish that I could tell you where this little train is going,
I wish that I could promise it will make it to the end,
But whatever light or shadow at the tunnel’s mouth awaits,
The journey to my blessing count I’ll wistfully append.

- p. winter
Wistful is my new favourite word
Allan Pangilinan Aug 2018
The world is a series of Plato's cave,
Where one tries to free thyself every now and then.
Each time thereafter we hope we come out brave,
Battling all lions in the previous den.

Every time we get out, we become different,
Our understanding is broadened,
Definitions aren't always what they meant,
Connotations continuously append.

How many times have we said, "I know better now,"
Just to be slapped with something we thought we knew.
We might have a semblance of the answer to "How?"
Yet iterations immerse us to the world anew.

For today, I say that I see clearer - again,
Only now am I equipped with other nuances.
This knowledge might be obsolete in near time dear friend,
But now I acknowledge to comprehend all the processes.

While it's true that I have seen blue,
I have yet to see cerulean, cyan, and prussian.
And while I know red as I believe I've seen it's hue,
I have yet to discover carnelian, persian, and venetian.

We take stock of what we've experienced,
Build on the foundations that we have made.
Someday, sometime, somehow, it will make sense,
One day, we will be able to identify and act on every shade.
Mickey May 2020
The truth is.
Love will not set you free.
And I know we want to believe in this so badly because it is scary.
If love does not set us free, what does?

You.

You set yourself free.
With every step you take, every goal you reach and every obstacle you overcome.
Little by little it is freeing you into yourself and into the one person you really are and want to become.
And then when love crosses your path.
Grab it with both hands and append it to your self created freedom.
Cause this love.
That is something extra, a gift, an addition.
Will not set you free.

But you.
You will.
Devon Brock Jan 2021
Pick one.
Step out of the book clean,
any book, whether bible, cookbook
or blue novel append the phrase
“In the beginning” to the mouth of it:
Harissa & Preserved Lemon.
In the beginning step off from there.
In the beginning there was
Harissa & Preserved Lemon.
Go forth into the worlds
reasonable and unforeseen
& flush with the knowledge
of nothing that precedes thee,
flush as nothing precedes thee
& graced that every fowl or beast
or behemoth fish or mite is
beholden to the tongue
that would taste its name
& every breath spools out
a world anew spewed from
the mewling attentions
of short—tenured gods.
We,
short—tenured gods know
nothing of what we make
until the meat is tendered
& the stew of our lives
cools in that blue porcelain
bowl we save for Sundays,
velvet to the throats of those
that would devour us.
AngelAutumn4 Mar 2019
I have no leg to stand upon,
physically and metaphorically so,
When it comes to the world of pain.
And how ironic is this, that bliss should overtake me when drawing upon that well.

As I’ve had my fair share,
Of scars to bare, when it comes to conflict.
Yet when looking at it by that lens,
I find it necessary to append the phrase,
“It’s not so bad.”

Because those days have come and gone,
And many more will follow,
So when time comes to call upon,
The pain I’ve gladly wallowed in,
I have no leg to stand upon,
And so my sorrow ends.
I have Cerebral Palsy which affects my mobility specifically as pertains to walking. Sometimes this causes my legs to just give out on me seemingly at random. I’m just poking a little fun at my own expense :p
Gods1son Jul 2019
Taking undue advantage of people
By concealing key information within
terms and conditions
"Nobody wants to read this long texts
Let's collect their rights from them"
Let's have them append their signatures
on the click of a single button
I AGREE
Keshia21lb Aug 2020
Dear sunset, read this and feel bliss. I want to feel that with you, I want to see you grow old , I want to have ppl tell love stories of us, I want to laugh silly with you. I want your head on my shoulder as we sit on a park bench and reminisce about stories from our childhood, our future plans and our fears and our hopes.

Flowers and trees, sunrise and sunset, downpour and shine, laughs and smiles, giggles and tears of joy, bliss and lonely days, risks and fears, dreams and fantasies, aspirations and plans, photographs and memories, notes and little sweet nothings.

Joy’s in bed, scrumptious dinners, and a night of talking with sweet tender massages. I wish to come home and make you my refuge, my escape, my haven and my comforter. I want to prepare breakfast for you, I long for us to have a romantic dinner. Let us travel the world, let us explore places together, in the process get to know more about each other.

Let us start a friendship and let us make memories. I will open myself up and allow me to enter your life as you enter mine. Cherish the company of your children as we usher in a harmonious blending of families and relationships. Be honest with me for I will be honest with you. Be ready to accept me for what I am as a human being and I promise to be understanding. Let us play this game called love where we will be winners and only adversaries and trials will lose.

I have been waiting a long time for you. I aspire for you to be my inspiration and the giver of giggles and giddiness. I am overflowing with love and affection and I aspire to spend all my waking days with you. Be my girl, my woman, my friend, my partner and my soul mate. Come into my life, you are more than welcome. I want to feel your presence, to have the warmth of your embrace, the tenderness of your kiss, and I wish to be the recipient of your love and care. Kiss this frog, unleash my heart, allow our heartbeats to append and collaborate true love.
David Hilburn Sep 2019
Safety first
Said a yearning sunshine
To the best of me, reaches for sense and burst
When an avail is ours, to complete a sigh...

Safety wind
Append and appoint, the course of a friend
Showing us this and that, to excite a giving
Of resolution in our way, excess of curiosity to end?

Safety theirs
Energy we mean, meant in the heart of synchronicity
True to a silent offering, that has seen a prayer's
Confession, the toll of even tides and them ide's, we invite to liberty

Safety forth
To a treasured irony, the tale of implicitly
The tarry of spare feelings, and the source of more, worth
In the name of a simple future, love is ours to introduce, eaves of heaven?

Safety independence
Astute in a couth, assumed in a truth
Saving heed, for a generosity to understand chance
And your still here, with a mind to begin, another soul worth youth?

Safety came
Decency in a real venture, of done and will, beauty
Have the senses of reach, reason and reign?
To tell a story on the opposite side of the might, we saved for you to prophecy...
Flamboyancy? Known to sing before asking a friend, is a fate also my friend?
Shadrech Kayombo Feb 2019
Dear dear,
As the sun sets behind the brow
I solemnly declare my vow

I steadfastly wait for you on this balcony
Until I conquer your colony

The feathers of my heart soar all over
In search of you my lover

Oh little love beast where art thou?
Is it beneath the river bed?
Because I can risk swimming the crocodile infested Zambezi

Is it at the mountain cliff?
I'm ready to stride through the sharp edges of Kilimanjaro
Be the bow and I be the arrow

This heart is red filled with roses to the brim
And it bleeds with love extreme

My desire for you races at supersonic speed
How glorious You and I together
Like wakanda forever

be my Lady I be you lord
Your Baron and you my baroness

The cravings for you knows no end
Wend your way through my heart
Seal yourself within and append
Together like incense we may ascend
Above all clouds and storms,
All Fears and snares

— The End —