Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mark Grover Mar 2013
he had knowing dreams of where he was going
all along upward he was growing
the always certain hand of fate was ever sowing
fields of poppies concealing secrets of the knowing

so soon he forgot to remember that which he once knew
he traded certainty for a comforting clue
now he is on his back staring at the blue
with eyes forever closed to that which is true

will his muddled gaze ever be wrested
from the flickering box on which it has nested
given comfort as he is artificially breastfed
hate people and love things is where he is led

so the cycle continues to turn
until we coach the match to burn
birthing a new world from the urn
ashes to ashes and so much to learn

drop a stitch and skip a beat
out of line, missing steps of society's feet
no more fear of leaving others plans' incomplete
finally rendering acceptance obsolete

he stands alone
Specs Jan 30
READ THE NOTE AT THE BOTTOM*

Sweet one I love.
Dream date.
Made conversation.
First kiss.

Dream one I love,
Be bold.
Wow me.
Hug me.
Kiss me.
Love
Me.
I <3 you.
For you... not significant?
One I love
Loved me
Artificially.

Love
May inadvertently become
Lodged
In the throat
In English class once, we had to write a poem using only words on and in a box of conversation hearts. I thought it was really fun, so if you want to do this in the month of February, tag it CHBpoem, and we can have a whole collection!
The zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
It is time to dive in to some binary fun
Just the zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
We're not ready for this
But too late
It's begun...

In this game that we play
There's no way can be won
And no doubt that someday
All mankind is outdone
But "no way" they will say
"Just relax and have fun"
'Cause there's always a way
Not the absolute 'none'

Good luck never can stay
Of the minimum one
An anomaly may
Find a way to outrun
All the safeguards in place
What you spin is now spun
This new enemy faced
Can't be beat with a gun

Giving birth to a race
Artificially one
That's not from outer space
People smart are now dumb
We can't keep up the pace
So we will be outrun
Relegated to slaves
Or perhaps we're just "done"

Nothing more than a waste
Have a purpose that's 'none'
Masses taking up space
Can not hide or outrun
Destined to be erased
Yet somehow we're still stunned
Ending the human race
For A.I. has now won
Written: November 9, 2018

All rights reserved.
[Anapestic Tetrameter format]
Run my fingers
Down my own body,
Find the peace of my own company

I’m all alone.

I’m all alone,
But my salt lamp is glowing a pink lowlight,
And my sheets are fresh and soft.

I’ve trained myself
Not to miss anyone too much,
To keep my mind busy
With responsibility
And various fancy,
And to care for my body
With my own soft hand,
To not need a man,
Or a woman,
Not anyone.

I’ve learned how to live
In the lowlight
Of my bedroom
On my own,
To romance myself,
To tuck myself in,
To keep a pillow
Laying beside me
To hide the need
For a second body
While I sleep.

Technology is amazing,
It can make us forget
How sad we are
With artificially induced
*******.
Human touch
Is no longer necessary,
There’s a hundred different ways
To mimic it.

As long as I stay distracted.

As long as I keep going...

I won’t miss him.

I won’t think about
Not feeling like enough,
Or being too much.

I can find peace
Between my own legs.
I can hold myself.
Deifying themselves,
  the scientists disprove
  with their tools
  the existence of God

To sit on a throne
  artificially made
  the Creator to them
  falsely shod

They loudly decry
  as their courtiers boast
  about how powerful
  their laws have become

While built into their structure
  a flaw starts to crack
  their self-glory
  —a darkening sun

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Yenson Mar 30
I once asked a classmate at college
after a Sociological lecture on Deviances
why most women get traumatised and upset
about those perverts heavy-breather deviants
because where I come from, you'd laugh at their sickness
call them stupid and waste their money by not hanging up

And if you're crazy enough to be those perverts exhibitionists
who frighten women and young girls by exposing their privates
rather then scream and run, the woman would actually go to the
fool and yank his ****** trousers down and aim a hefty blow
to the offending sight, God help crazy silliness behaviours
where I was raised..

These perverts get their jollies from terrorising and the shock
reactions from their victims, that's their money shot
same with trolls and bullies, they relish knowing they cause upset
or fear or some emotional responses from their victims
Hell, I come from a place where cowardice is recognised for what it is
The rationale is so simple, you've got beef with me, say it to my face
that's what confident real worthy people do, stand by your words
anything else shows you lack courage and you are immediately called out and exposed as a weakling and a coward.
They will tell you, have the ***** and talk to my face'
A cowardly man is the lowest of the low, as simple as that.

But a worthless idiot who hides and then start hissing and cursing
immediately shows cowardice and becomes a joke and a useless example of a man,
So how can the ******* spewed by a pained faceless nonentities impact me, how can a hidden coward without the nerve to face another man, be considered an equal or respected, much less cause me emotional pain or make me doubt myself.
These fools that are given the run around by clever Asians and Africans. Tell me more jokes please!
I actually enjoy toying with fools and when bored take the ****
out of them and bait them to laugh at their ridiculous comebacks.

Do me a favour, how can a semi-illiterate yobs, who turn ghost white and physically trembles at the
the slightest pressure wants to get into my head and disrupt it

These shameless buffoons, who are being academically humiliated
by indian classmates, whose parents come from dirt poor villages and can barely speak english.
Such proven fools and cowards, then decides they can come and terrorize me, like we say where I was raise
" for where"   that means ',   how is that possible

Even an oxford educated person who can't face me earns my fine
contempt, you call yourself Oxbridge, what's respectable with being a coward who can't talk man to man but sneaks around playing a childish game, utter contempt!
Even with their artificially created chaos and difficulties i still
fare better then them
and these pathetic sickos think they are relevant in some way

But I know, they get off the contacts with me, its like I bless them
with recognition
after all there are perverts who pay women to kick them in the *****

I feed the trolls, as my mentioned above, our woman would yank down the pants of a ***** pervert exhibitionist rather than scream and run away, you don't go crying, saying I am emotionally damaged by a mentally ******* fool and pervert dropping his pants, you know immediately this is an idiot not worth two bits, you treat simpletons as simpletons,
what's to be terrorized about by some scallywag dimwitted
cowards with problems and inferiority complexes.
Pray do tell me.....................

If I Was anything the compound fools are alleging would I be here laughing at them or perhaps I am stupid like them, and can't recognize demonstrable spineless cowards and what they do.
He's broken, we've planted seeds, he's anxious, he's crying, some mentalist even says, the coolest stylish man is goofy.

These are the brain dead bullies who pick on the prettiest girls and start calling the ****, the classic bullies trade make, flip everything because you are all brain dead, smelly ignorant, dumb nobodies
Trash like this want to alter my personalities, want to do my head in

Ohh.....puuluuzee!!
UK-domiciled BME students: applications to Oxford, offers made and students admitted, 2013–2017
BME Students White Students
Applications Offers Admitted Applications Offers Admitted BME proportion of total
UK students admitted11
2017 2,899 519 446 8,908 2,311 2,044 17.9%
2016 2,547 492 411 8,901 2,425 2,178 15.9%
2015 2,332 407 367 8,668 2,391 2,169 14.5%
2014 2,131 395 345 8,634 2,412 2,201 13.6%
2013 2,101 396 360 8,783 2,392 2,234 13.9%
11. Excluding students whose ethnicity status is not declared.
they bend and stretch,
this way and that,
in the most unusual
poses, but they're alive,
picking through garbage.

the man had had a really
nice dream the night before,
of a time of before, when
life was so much more than
picking through what was
refuse to others, refuse to
him, and to her, back before.

but these dreams don't
bother him; they both live
in a world without hope,
even quite literally, truth,
living right up to the edge
of the large areas of the world
considered still too radioactive
for human life, so dreams of
before are always very
welcome for them all,
as are memories; they live
now in a world where dreams
and memories are the only good
things to live for still, but because
of a lack of good things, the joy
contained in dreams, in memories,
are many times more potent in a
normal man or woman from before,
so even without hope, people still
enjoy talking about the old days,
and storytelling again takes an almost
central role in these brand new societies,
that are actually a continuation of at least
from 30,000 BC from a total of around 200,000
years, and likely going back many more tens
of thousands of years, so, it's in their blood, our
very genetics, our evolutionary make-up, and
maybe their mess began exactly because there
were no big story-tellers being heard, not for
many continuing generations, not speaking of
whatever great social ills may have been
prevalent in their day, nor leading rallying
cries that made a difference in changing
government social policies, not heard like
a woody guthrie or a john lennon, and so much
further beyond and behind them, not in
the last few decades before the War,
the great voices were still out there,
if you're into your local music scene,
you'll probably get it, when you've
really heard it, and done well, that
reflects back to an audience exactly
what that audience is not maybe
thinking, but what they are feeling
as a whole, those feelings that last
sometimes a lifetime's length, the
ones like from rejoicing to mourning,
or from happy to sad, or mourning back
into rejoicing, and sad back into happy once
more, those voices were still out there, but it's
just that no-one could hear anymore, addicted
to their platforms, their own artificially constructed
lives carefully crafted to project outward, as deeply as
any ****** or blow or any other addiction one could
think of, they all filled their lives ever more with
trivialities, our hearing the storytellers remind
them of their purpose, and all those afflicted
by that culture shared little blame, it
seemed to shift at some point in a
fundamental way from a general
what's good for my world? to a
what's good for my religion?" to a
what's good for my country?* to a
what's good for my family? to a totally
exclusive what's good for me?, instead
of that proven much better an even balance
between the all of these, rather than too
much an extreme on any end of any
spectrum, like picking from a complete
spectrum of every colours, but only picking
those hues at the extreme edges, leaving so
much beauty unfulfilled, and so sadly unused,
so many crayons left melted in the crayola box.

but none of that matters at all anymore,
there is no left or no right, no ideologies,
no selfies, no rat-race, no rich, no poor
just all one thing now, survivors, that
as promised would envy the dead, add
but again, what's good for him and for her
are their dreams, like his last night's,
or any of his memories, even the ones
that without the stark comparison of
here and now seemed horrible, of trying
to guess how on earth all these millions
of small factors, how that vile mixture
was made that got them to the point of
the mutually assured destruction that
was designed to prevent it from ever
happening, just as in dr. strangelove,
if for no other than the most important
reason in all human history now, after
before, how to make sure never to let
whatever those factors were that most
made war come upon them no matter the
human cost, that they never be ever
allowed to ever take root, if the human
race even survives at all, which is still
very much in question.

they keep walking even after it is starting
to get dark, looking for a fresh vein of whatever
food they can possibly find, staking out the area
for a thorough 6-feet down over plot between the
four bright yellow luminescent plastic government
issued poles bright and early tomorrow; people work
really really hard in this time as a rule, of necessity,
long hours, so when the day is done, and the mind
again has time to wander, they will wash and lay
out tomorrow's meagre choice of garments to
wear the next day, have a light bedtime snack
if they have anything to eat, or looking forward
to what is now the only sure meal of the day,
and thus the biggest, lunch time, to help people
with the best gift from the one group of their own
that had betrayed them all the most, the politicians,
those who still ran the show, and they realize how close
their democracies often got in, as too far in areas too often
also, but they still need them, and giving them the midday
fuel to scavenge to struggle to keep themselves from
completely starving to death, all of that, lost in
another memory myself now, the work infecting
the author, or is it reflecting the author, hmm,
but all of this is infectious i must admit,
but, yes, my point way back there was
the people work themselves deliberately
and for only the reward of keeping body
and soul together one more day, or week,
but also so they can run and jump and slide
right up to the soft body of their lover dream,
or the the hard body of their lover dream, it
doesn't matter who likes which, but snuggling
in with affection near spilling over the edges of
your heart like a 2nd type of madness, a madness
not of thoughts, but of feelings, a manic heart patient,
philosophically speaking, with the greatest lover
you've ever had, or will have, your perfect lover,
the lover you would pick like building a sims
character, with your perfect preference looks,
like ideal eye colour & type, hair colour & type,
every physical detail, and every personality trait,
but we have all kind of done that in real life at
least once, and realized even when someone
else checks so many boxes, like that line from
500 days of summer when the guy's little
'tween buddha little sister who gives him
advice said something like, look, just because
a pretty girl is into all the same ****** ****
you are doesn't mean her your soul mate,
but when this lover checks every box
in the yes column dream, and not one
box in the no column dream, that's the
type of thing that can't be ignored no
matter how hard a human being can
try now, so they all share the one same
lover above any other, their dreams,
because though they still have some
to be grateful for in their immediate
lives, they still breathe, it is a harsher
world now that ever could be before
easily imagined, and they all rush
as one to their lover's arms each
night, as almost in unison for those
of them in the majority working Main
Shift, the best pickers given the best
light from the sun, and all is shared
back to the community, so the elderly,
orphans, or otherwise infirm in some
way all get the best share, because they
have already otherwise paid a cost that
strangely wasn't noticed in the before,
and then it's true love dream the greatest
of all dreams forever and ever dream, just the
dream of a time before what every single language
that still exists as a living language, and
many, many were lost, but each one of
them calls the War the Catastrophe,
even those languages to whom the
word catastrophe already had a strong
link to another event, this was likely not just
the very worst thing that hadn't yet happened
to them before it of course did, but the very worst
thing that will ever even happen in their world, period,
not because of some mass enlightenment,
though there does seem to be one of those
incidentally as well, but because at looking
at the scarred and some areas forever mortally
wounded, including startlingly enough, every
specifically targeted areas on every continent
known for their high agricultural yields,
from the Great Plains in North America,
and Ukraine in Europe, to Iraq in Eurasia,
to Egypt in North Africa, to places you'd
never heard of mostly, and with that best
of the last arable land already gone (fighting over
water supplies in more arid lands is what
triggered the War), any hope is thoroughly
misplaced, and though even he would
always feel guilty of it, war seemed the
answer to him once, too, before the one to
really end all others, for the human race
will most likely be extinguished just due to
irreparably damaged DNA where in not too
many generations, those where any people
can still even communicate in some sort of small
way will dwindle and dwindle, being the very
most fringe minority no matter how deep one was,
no matter how safe one thought they were,
mere generations because the heart will still want
what the heart has always, it can't be controlled, there
will be no more war because there will be no
more people. he remembers it happened on that
really big celebration of the anniversary of
d-day, the big d-day centenary, the day that
social disorder, just as in 1848, spread as quickly
as the real huge forest fires they have everywhere
now, today, and my story is getting more and more
mixed in with life, just one more new fact of a new life,
when all the new dictatorships sprung up in some of the
most unlikely of spots to end in all-out thermonuclear
warfare world wide, all on live feed... it feels somehow
ironic that the vast majority of those who instantly
vapourized in the very first wave of a much more
extended war than anyone would have guessed,
but the greatest casualty list by far, were themselves
watching it all happen and be commentated on by
talking heads in big newsrooms, instead of using
those last precious moments to say goodbye to
some loved-one, everyone has at least one,
but they were addicts right to the end
of the time before when the very
word cellphone, and the concept
of it even be almost knowingly
forgotten, as so many others,
and now sweetest sleep has
grabbed hold of both of them
after an hour or two of intimacy
just for them alone, and their
greater lover always dream, awaits
them already, arms wide open, beckoning
calling out to them all, each by name, all of
them left, for in dream lies the
last link to anything normal.
i took a psych class once, i forget which one, but we watched a documentary on dream study done with former concentration camp, and true death camps, like Birkenau the notorious Auschwitz sub-camp that exterminated m such a thoroughly organized fashion, too, what did people in such trauma dream of (i'd have guessed they would have horrific nightmares and terrors each evening), and it turns out 100% of them reported having the most marvelous dreams of their lives, like a pressure valve for the incredibly intense misery on a seemingly unending day by day fashion, their dreams were unparalleled in how marvelous they were. And after watching Chernobyl, reading old government documents on what day to day life would likely be like for the survivors of a fullest exchange of nuclear weapons with the old CCCP, and that seemed to me to the closest thing to hell as far as living would go, so I thought their dreams would have to be pretty great, too.
f Oct 2018
a change of scene
from a boy whose hands are tainted with my blood
whose heart knows the ins and outs of my love
to one whose last name still sounds new
what was his last name, again?

a change of scene
to a boy who smiles demurely
like it is a secret he is capable of something so beautiful
demure isn’t a word you would associate with a boy
but this one is;
soft in every sense of the word
and i’ve come to enjoy hearing him talk
about mundane things and important things

but often i feel i am falling
for the feeling of falling
loving for the sake of loving
often i feel i am being redundant in my proclamations of love
because i simply don’t love him
perhaps a change of scene is just that;
a change, nothing more,
nothing less

but it is entirely true that my heart trips when i see him smile
and that when my face is close to his my mind goes hazy
is this not how i felt last time? was i not in love before?

maybe i love him, i think i love him

maybe the third time’s the charm
maybe this one will stick
this love is somewhat uninspired
like a stand-in to convince myself
i can love someone else
and i can love artificially
without bleeding on the carpet
but it is also innocent
in the way i watch his lip curl
and get distracted when his eyes widen

this love
probably isn’t love
but it is warm and taking its own shape
and it does not cut me deep like i have been before
so what choice do i have?
Skye James Feb 8
blondes have more fun
they’re social butterflies
bright, beautiful, and brave
not caring about what people have to say
expected to be bold and speak their minds
to be out every friday night
as if the pigment in your follicles defines you
the lighter your hair, the more outgoing you are
the louder you are
the more you let loose
because blondes have more fun
i’m a blonde
artificially
i feel as if i stand out more
yet i’m looked at as ‘dumb’
because, the bleach in my hair is a big sign that there’s nothing going on in my mind
right?
i’ll confess, i don’t understand chemistry
but i make all As and Bs
with an occasional C
not because i’m blonde
but maybe if i went back to my darker roots
then i’d have better grades
but for now
i’m a blue eyed girl with blonde hair
which means i’m probably a cheerleader
and that i might have a boyfriend with more muscle than he knows what to do with
along with countless friends
and everything i could ever ask for
but you couldn’t be more wrong
blondes aren’t always more fun
blondes aren’t always dumb
blondes can be empowering women
business women
strong women
or even just women
the color of my hair doesn’t determine who i am
i determine who i am
and that’s more fun than being blonde ever will be
Wyatt Aug 2018
Happiness can be like
the flavor in the food.
So much can taste so great
but some things are flavored
artificially.

It’s not good for us,
but we play tricks
on our bodies and minds
so we won’t lose it.

This food tastes
bitter to me now,
but I can’t spit it out.


-

— The End —