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Marília Galvão Mar 2015
Now I ask you to join me
Now you celebrate
Not being me. Not being you
Only Us for the great

UN
load!
DIS
arm!

EN
large!
OUT
side!

Some steps I will take
Be my guest
Pull your anchor
Out of the lake



We're
In the room
In the building
In the crowded city
In the country with thousands of cities
The country shares the continent with an enemy nation
The two rivals are carried round and round by the Earth's endless rotation
The Earth obeys the master’s magnetic line, burning since uncountable clock time
The sun is blind to his insignificance too, ignoring billions of other star mates, it can’t see through
Immeasurable it seems, magnifying! All of them such tiny little parts in one of Miss Milky’s arms
Some light years away there they are: Pinwheel, Cartwheel, Black Eye, Andromeda and Cigar
Unmeasurable it seems, humongous! All of them such a fading little part of the cosmos

There you are
Floating from a distance
Feel the empty ground
Drink from the fountain of existence

Still blind to insignificance?
Still convinced about the rightness of imposed beliefs?
Still judging others’ defects according to our pretentious and vain mind?
Still punching away the different, protecting the mold?
Still reinforcing illusory antagonism and insignia?
Still seeing only two sides?
Still holding to the pride?

Still
In the ******* room

Am I? Are you?
Let's try it again
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness." Mark Twain
Tommy Randell Apr 2015
This is the house that ego built

This is the mind all callused and worn
Its ethical basis tattered and torn
That sits in the house that ego built

This is the heart exposed for your scorn
That believes it is right and can do no wrong
That governs the mind
That lives in the house that ego built

This is the lifeblood of laughter and fun
That flows through the flesh that clings to the bones
That cages the heart that governs the mind
That dreams in the house that ego built

This is the stomach ulcerated with guilt
That feeds on the justice of a knife ****** to the hilt
Into the innards of turmoil and bile
That brings queasy reality into a mind
That rots in the house that ego built

This is the skeleton of upright intent
Its bones a geometry and rosary of ailments
That scaffolds a life of sheer ****** mindedness
That never quite does what the mind intends
In this ruin of a house that ego built

This is the skin that keeps it all in
That brings order and calm to the chaos within
Though it wrinkles with age, transparent and worn
A castle of walls, a house not a home, that ego built

And these are the eyes unfocused and white
Their cataract curtains dimming the light
On the ghosts and the memories wandering inside
What's left of the house that ego built

Man becomes man, life becomes life
A notorious continuance without rest or respite
Bricks become clay, clay becomes dust
Where now is the house that ego built?

Where is the mind, where has it gone
The purpose and promise of which it was born
The ego that dreamed of a house to be built?

These thoughts are the dust of all that was willed.
Seanathon Feb 2017
When I see this
When I hear that
And when I am most hallowed out
The arrogant side of me saunters in
And quietly says, something boisterous and aloud
“Let me show you just how I can be“
It says most confidently
And yet I wonder those words
And if my arrogance also says such things to me
Totally laughing at myself!
Marla Apr 26
Apologies, but you're not our problem.
We held up our end by getting you in debt,
It's not our fault you don't know how to spend.
We at least try to pretend like we care,
But you all are so inconsiderate and spoiled.

It's not so hard to get a high paying job,
I've had one here since at least '83.
Seems like you're all pretty lazy to me;
Go to unemployment if you're hungry.

Don't complain or try to change it,
You shouldn't have been born
If you're not "man" enough to make it.
Millennials like you are all the same,
Getting in the way of my retirement.

This generation has really gotten lost,
Homosexuals now have their own **** cause.
They're protesting and lying
Saying that the world's dying,
I really don't have time for all their *******.

Now I guess it's time for me to go,
Better make sure everything's rigged to blow.
I wish I could see the look on their faces
When everything is ash
And their children face extinction.
Jennifer P May 19
don't make a sound
they're creeping 'round the corner
watching and waiting
for our weakness exposed

go for the throat, soon as they see it
what makes you think you're so invincible?
A silent snigger is a lion's roar to me.
I reject them on every level,
From their shoes to their sickly smiles,
All eyes shall  cower from my glare
I will go my own way
Experimental verse for graphic novel about the life of painter Vincent van Gogh See  (collection for full list)
The engineers they tweak the DNA,
fostering changes to the RNA,
the plants becoming something else,
immunevolution modify man’s health.
And never will they accept the blame,
for their arrogance and dangerous game;
and when the food cannot be eaten?



History recall of the viral cretins.
The evolutionary end of humanity is the recombination of animal and plant DNA.
Cné Feb 2018
Much has been said
against me
however,
I will not be spiteful
or allow hatred,
the beast of darkness
that resides
in the black jungles
of arrogance
and ignorance,
to infect me;
for that is no reason
to give way to anger.
So I refuse to let anger
**** my heart;
for anger
is the scorpion’s poison
of peace
and love, it’s sunlight.
I choose light
contentment and happiness,
as poetry’s not a contest
of winners or losers;
it is the essence
of a poet’s soul.
Peace, love
and harmony
reigns over
anger, hate
and contention
Lawrence Hall Mar 23
Whether I am on the right side of history
Is a fantasy and an irrelevancy -
History had better be on the right side of me
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
D'Angelo Jun 6
So I'll write about you.
A lot of feelings I denied about you.
Every other night I fight about you.
Got a lot of pain inside about you.

Not enough crying I do.
A lot ******* hiding I do.
A lot ******* lying I do.
Last night I tried to cry about you.

So let me write about
everything you got me tight about.
The petty things you wanna fight about
but all my heavy **** you making light about.

Always got insight on **** you wanna be right about.
You focus on, who's right and who's wrong
that's not even what the fight's about.
I know, you want me to be quiet now
because I got your *** on trial now !

I know that "hot seat" got your *** on fire now !
I done brought it to the table
time to dine now !
I know what you're feeling inside now.
I'm ******* up your pride now
but keep that energy, why you being biased now ?!

I'm done "letting it slide" now !
Ain't letting **** fly
I'm done playing pilot now !
See, you done sold a lot of dreams
but I ain't buying now !
And you done told a lot of things
don't be quiet now !

So, after I write about you
after this, fight, about you
and after all this crying I do...
tonight I won't cry about you.
Thom Jamieson Nov 2018
In every direction, to the limits of sight
Squirrels
Scrambling to fill their cheeks
With treasures to sustain
The coming sleep
In every corner, of every block
Squirrels
Frantic, pacing, scouring ground
For imaginary ignitable jewels
Dropped in a dream the night before
Down the paths of affluence
Opulent interests guarded with teeth
Squirrels
Frenzied hoarding for more
Smart black top-coat,
Covering a shiny shell,
On stiff skids of leather
And an armor of importance
Spitting orders, to the others
To forage and pillage,
And steal the nuts
To fatten and fan the
Flames of false dignity
And good intention
Inside holes hidden deep.
I love squirrels, the furry kind.  I carry peanuts in my pocket at all times should I see one.  They are simple, non-judgmental, and what you see is what you get.  I love squirrels, the furry kind
Nesma Aug 2018
Dear me,

I hope this letter finds you kind, I hope it finds you at ease,
I hope it finds you as you were born.. a soft spring breeze.

I am writing this letter to inform you that your time is not up, that you still have space to unfold, that you are a continuum that doesn’t have to settle for the broken uni-verse where you were unraveled.

You, love, are not limited to your synonyms.

You, love, can develop into a hurricane that doesn’t dwell in a farmer’s cabin.
You, love, can develop into a hurricane that travels between the back of your mind and its front.
You, love, can develop into a hurricane with a FedEx envelop for a title.
You, my love, can develop into a hurricane that transports your memories from the backyard of your colon to the backside of this letter.

You, love, can develop into a sandstorm speaking the names of the Saharas to your left and to your right.
You, love can develop into a sandstorm that does not blind the sufi midnight traveler.
You, love, can develop into a sandstorm that travels beyond the desert.
You, my love can develop into a sandstorm carrying a water-well for the thirsty.

You, love, can develop into an ocean that doesn’t stand in arrogance where there is land.
You, love, can develop into an ocean that waxes and wanes to the rhythm of the moonlight caressing you.
You, my love, can develop into an ocean that doesn’t erode the rocks standing on its shore.

You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that makes a home of all the other seasons.
You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that gently ****** through a baobab tree trunk.
You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that playfully tickles the arms of a refugee on her bus to camp.
You, my love can develop into the synonyms you are not limited to.

Kindly find attached to this letter the love your father has tucked in bed a long time ago and never double checked on it.
Kindly find attached to this letter the understanding your mother stored in the kitchen cabinet she is too short to reach.
Kindly find attached to this letter the forgiveness you have tried to grow out of sunflowers seed every winter.

Sincerely,

Yours.
Megan Sherman Jul 2018
In age of old, in time that pass like tides,
When Prometheus lived and Lo! He strived,
As thirsting for Heaven, he climbed its hills, and trees,
Clenching at the Sun, its spark he seize.

The leaves, they warmed, turn bright and evergreen,
As Prometheus, he to fierce fire wean,
Swell lips sip lightning, of the nascent noon,
And divine heat from his hand duly shone,
To Roses, who sing, uprise and sweet rebel,
In bloom to conquer, vanquish concrete hell.

A wish for fire, fulfilled, angered Zeus,
He thought the fire be given, not to choose,
That excellence with fire, laurel his,
"A crime against the Gods Prometheus did."
For glory of the light from Heaven sent,
The hour of his favour now gone, spent.

Smite down the hero, tear ambition down,
Old Zeus, but young ambition wears your crown,
For daring, striving why not badge of God?
The Promethean vision all time hath applaud,
It art of upper world, belong in sky,
Praise Prometheus as fire goes roving by.

Mind gilded by the golden, whirling thread,
You seize from Heaven, through the Earth now spread,
Bringing hope to hearts, life to the dead,
As for forgiveness of the Gods you plead,
For an uncriminal act and sublime deed,
The arrogance of Zeus? Need not to feed.
Kara Jean May 2016
The urge to feel guilty taunts your being
Contradiction fabricated to be easy
Calm an effortless nothing but emptiness  
Young doesn't come free
Excuse me, don't spill my drink
Confidence is a thin sliced arrogance  
Let the bold quake
The pass is always a day late
Step into the florescent light
Here the rumbling crowded sky
A chant only stripped royalty earned
******* fantastic isn't learned
Swells Jul 2018
the bones were hard to give up,
they pushed out like daisies
caressed under the hounding
heart of a copper sun.
unbridled and undried they bore
zealous arrogance of themselves,
petals dripping ****** convictions
and vibrating like awful angels.

under cruel devices they tried to
soften my bones and mold thick skull
constructed of lackluster candles
on their last flame.
days passed like doctors and white nurses
examining old wires that pray tell
the routines, the stools, the teeth.
i am their Jesus, their Lazarus.

my hearse, my sheep keeper,
my pretty things,
i become the acrobat at the
finale, the last supper,
supplementing at the **** of my
recovery. i lay my skin down for all
of you to see:  here is my breast!
my toad belly!  my glass feet!
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