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Marya123 Jul 28
Can you hear my thoughts across the earth?
You're the hero of their trivial play
Here, you'd always win, always succeed
You'd have all your fears kept at bay.

If only you would stop and listen
You'd know that I'd always keep you warm
We'd share our worlds in the best of ways
I'd be your umbrella in this storm.
Aural auspice austerity audible , augur aorist actuator , accidence ambience acoustics .
Counterfactual categorical imperative hubris .
Anarchy iconoclasm, invertible investiture, objectified manifest.
Chicanery dynamism's fealty.  
Ethology's entelechy, zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities, élan-vital's apotheosis, oneiromancy's apotropaic.
Chagrin ; fecund cogent apposite germane , inane inert inertia innate , propinquity habitation, proximity parameter perimeter peripherals .
Manumission gambit alluvium aloof , putschist kitsch , pandemicly phatic futurity fatidic, annex annul, extraversion embezzling euthanasia extortion.  
Extravagant exorbitance flirtatious flamboyance, flippantly flighty flit-ness.
Laborious beleaguerment, hypercritically meticulous tedium, diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt.
Ominous phenomenon portrayal spontaneous synchronous.

Financially responsible fiscal policy , plenary plenipotentiary fiduciary principle .
Incarnate encephala enunciate , synthetically conjugational conjecture juxtapositional adjunctly .
Noumenal sentience semantics.  Precociously petulant pedantic antics.
Zenithal azimuth entity zeal , transpicuous opacity , in extremis extremity cantankerous cantilever capacity .
Fulcrum fulgurous fulham presumptive.
Spanned collapsible feasible, vicinity victual vigilante villain, execration eventuation evocative vindictiveness vendetta vial.
Atrociously impetuous impudence impromptu innuendo juncture.
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts , ***** affectation exserted protuberance .
Sepulcher stratagem objectified manifest , protractive analysis dimensional delineation .

Impetus intrigue intuitional intrepid , impertinence important , inadvertency inapplicable , initiate innate interpreters intervene intricacy.
Investiture annuity equity indemnity capital appreciation .
Preeminently preemptive retrospectively retroactive , aegis vagary incite.
Quixotically enrapturing mesmerist .
Sycophant swagger asymptotic hyperbolic, estranged ensemble orchestration .
Histophysiology mendacity somatology morphology metamorphosis, blasphemous farcical fugue preterit orchestrations.    
Terrestrial equestrian tellurian terrene, spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.    

****** matrix apex axis crux , actuarial acuity incursive .
Semantic dialectics eclectic synectic’s , wanton wayward warranty evitable.
Catalyst , relative rationality / rational relativity , circumstance contingency .
Incessant barratry omnipresence presage , decadent arrogant , irksome ire Zen.  
Grotto grouch gumption .
Bailiff rake-ness rails , prerogative presumptive judicature.  

Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma , clambering clamorous clangor .  
Catatonic phonics , concoct catenary concatenation , conjugationally conjunctive clairaudience clairvoyance .  
Ambrosia elixir libation inebriation , mirador bartizan panoramic tableau.
Citadel pinnacle pique piquant , altruism endemic intrinsic indigenous innate , existential allegorical .
Prosthesis pseudopodium prognostication , crude lewd , social stigmatism blind , ghastly gruesome grotesque meld .
Bizarre bazaar demonically deviant denizen , grimacing gremlin greaves gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts .
Hideously horrible heinously horrendous awfully terrible , imagination's immaturity impromptu innuendo juncture , nuance ***** ,   incarnate encephalic enunciate .
Trajectory sordid transposition interlude rubato hi-jinks , nimbus nimiety nihilism .
Aura roan rainbow mare.  

Explicate zoomorphic zoolatry , exogamy of homogeny ontological ontogeny .
Astral projection prophylaxis protocol , telepathy teleportation .
Extraneous extemporaneous , embark embargo extradition , transcendental accession ascension , ecstatically euphoric meld .  
Deontological probity interstitial endemics , agnate aggregate amalgamated anathema android .
Translational interpretation , epistemology audacious pugnacity impunity.
Executant emulation simulation , evocative malfeasance mens rea  , geomancy effete.
Maieutic fallow feral .  apropos ipso facto ergo , carousing marauder syllogism .
Apostrophe means talking to the dead or perhaps those who aren't present; my use is a little bit looser, talking to the clairaudience of clairvoyance.  Astral projection distance traveled time spent.  Formidable foundry foyer fracas.
ConnectHook Oct 2018
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.

Hope-**** is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.

Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.

Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
B L Mar 2013
Mother Mary, Mother Mary, whisper in my ear.
Give me something tangible to touch –
Something audible to hear.
Send me a sign, so I know I am alive
I want to know it is not in vain that I let this world inscribe
This mark upon my soul. Give me a sign to make me whole.
Help me find peace through the chaos.
Just let me know you’re in control.

Mother Mary, Mother Mary, whisper in my ear.
I know each breath could be my last –
Yet, my death I do not fear.
I’ve been shackled by my questions
And I’ve watched them as they’ve grown.
I searched endlessly for answers –
When all along I should have known
That the answers I seek are not ones that can be found.
So I pray that you’ll whisper. I pray I’ll hear the sound.
I pray that death holds more than what we bury in the ground.

It’s been nearly twenty years, and somehow I still have faith.
But I fear the truths I know are lies; I fear that virtue is a waste.
Still, I wait for your whisper, Mother Mary, Mother Mary.
Despite how much I’ve suffered; this burden I still carry.
Because I trust this world holds reason.
I trust my struggle wasn’t worthless.
Mother Mary, Mother Mary, I pray I suffer for a purpose.
Osiria Melody Mar 16
I. The Neighbor
Eyes, two immaculate, circular egg-whites
Donning uncanny egg yolks,
Captures a commotion like a camera from afar

II. The Parents
Indecipherable words blurred with alcohol’s embrace
Battered, ****** knuckles striking “I hate you”
against her–helpless
She strikes him back like a match set ablaze
Bird-like screeches pierce the air from the depths of his cruelty

III. The Parents’ Child
Tomato-red ball bounces like a rabbit, gliding across the grainy pavement
Young child, innocent and carefree, bolts toward the ball with thunderous feet
Suddenly, a shock of lightning, blinding like the sun,
Obscures the child's vision (a car)
Ear-splitting burst of impact interrupts the neighborhood
Time took off from the ground, sending the child forward like an airplane, limbs airborne
Not an emergency landing, but an imminent one
Her severed head rolls down the road like a bowling ball
Body splatters across the neighbor's yard, sprinkler watery guts

IV. The Father
His mash potato knuckles, battered, raises into the air as if in protest
A visage ridden with contrition, contorts
Tears stream down his face like missiles (his daughter just died)
An explosion of resentment overcomes him (shock, pure shock)

V. The Mother
She, bloodied by his knuckles
Yelps in determination (she blames her daughter’s death on him)
She slams him with all of her will, ensuring his impending death (he’s a goner for sure)

IV. The Father
Now in supine position, mutters an inaudible “sorry” to his wife with an imploring gaze, asking forgiveness
As she watches him expire, grotesquely smiles (he deserved this)

V. The Mother
Sprinting from the scene, red and blue sirens, whirl and whistle endlessly, audible torture
She loses touch with balance, falling head-first to the selfish ground, forcefully embracing her
Crown splits open like a watermelon, its juicy contents ingratiate
itself onto the neighbor's yard (the grass looks green and red like a watermelon now)

I. The Neighbor
Processing this ghastly ghastly scene, succumbs to Death’s embrace from shock

VI. The Family
A fatal and unforeseen tragedy
Broke the silence in this town of tranquility

I drew my inspiration from witnessing a happy family taking a stroll in a park.
6:43am — A cold July morning
In northern hemisphere.
Early rise with books and coffee,
Her curly hair dishevelled _
Over dolphin patterned blanket.
Her lips gently kissing brown mug cup with undefined time interval,
My index finger cleaned her milk _
Stained upper lip.
Her voice reading softly a poem about sunrise,
My heart heard nothing but audible gold from her mouth.
Her ether's well fashioned larynx —
Gave birth to melodious utterance.
If hearing her reading voice was melody itself
What word will satisfy the art of her
Singing voice?
May Melody be redefined. Her voice is melody.

A shadow creeps across
the lawn

dragging a sudden sharp chill
in its wake

pulling the night behind it
before settling it into place

shadow by shadow by shadow
with an almost audible click. . .

. . .the sun is sunk.

The dark coalesces
around a tiny candle flame.
B L Sep 2018
With an audible sigh...
                 I curse the world to gain some clarity.
Things weren't so black or white before...
           But cycles of laughter and tears do well 
                                   To burn in their disparity.

Like washed-out sadness,
                     I'll make it hard to judge my smile.
"The sun may fade these colors," I say,
                  "But they'll be gone for just a while."

I exhale...
                                              ... And I miss you.
                Even though I’m left with just the pain
                             Most nights I alone past dark,
                 And curse the utterance of your name.

I longed for your shine
And the warmth within your Sol.
But your clouds gave way to Luna...

                                                       ...And I left.  
                             Still halfway short of whole.

For now, I'll do what I can to force these
                              clouds back over the moon.
Because even in depravity,
                                       Or lonesome solitude,
I find the comfort that is darkness...
                         And in the darkness I find you.

Still, I hope you feel the thunder.
Or that the light leads your way through.
I can't make this darkness bright, but still,
I think... If I can't discern what's true...
I hope you laugh, at least, in irony.
I hope you smile, at the storm...
                    That casts its shadow just for you.

I've found the lightning doesn't last,
And the thunder comes too soon.
So alone, in solidarity, I will fight my fate
To be construed...
                                          Against myself,
As the answers to my questions' echo --
               reverberating in an empty room.
yes I speak with angels frequently and please know they laugh a lot
here are their suggestions if you wish to pay them any mind (or heart)
keep thy name as close as bone and let nothing make you part
until the ages shift and spirit breathes its song of peace
into the rifts that caused the continents to drift and tore the world apart
all become audible riffs, licks and beats that inspire the dancers in our heart
to merge each rhythmic breath and heartbeat discreetly
into random crowds of people
carrying the message in one embodied breath after another
that all human beings are indeed created equal
and she watched as his fingers grazed her lips
eyes never left hers
in soft voice
barely audible
'i'm sorry'

and that was more than enough for her
cos even without words
they both knew this had to end
they both knew
she's sorry too.
When in large groups
They're audible
But unintelligible
It's soothing
I don't have to be a tentative listener
White noise is somehow calming
s Oct 2016
you're most beautiful when you're completely unaware of it, in your raw and natural state, stripped of all your facades, just you, pure you

i still fail to comprehend how beautiful the sight of you waking up in the morning is, the sheets a mess, your sleepy eyes and your hair in all its untamable bedhead glory and the sunlight filtering in through the windows and hitting you in all the right places just to make you look even more beautiful

it's those moments i treasure when you're laughing with your head thrown back and tears brimming your eyes or when you aren't saying a word but your eyes speak volumes or when our shoulders bump or our hands brush, followed by a series of blushing and barely audible mumbles of sorrys and excuse mes and it's especially when you smile a genuine smile, a smile worth the entire universe and a smile that isn't hidden beneath any masks, just your smile
ktle Jan 13
I’ve kept you in my head so long
That the walls of my mind
Are painted with colors from the day we met:
Clouds scattered against the bluest sky
I had ever seen.

The floor is littered with poetry
Some of the finest I’ve ever written.
On the side is a locked box
With a barely closed lid.
Inside are the words I have yet
Spoken and said.
And they will stay
Unspoken and unsaid.
I  sit across the cold box
With my back pressed against the wall
Reminding myself that it’s time
To let it turn to dust.

Your voice won’t stop echoing
From the record player in the corner.
Dents on its side and
A fire under it
That refuses to engulf
The oil I spread.

The door in the back leads into a room.
Puddles of tears littered across the floor.
The record is barely audible as I approach
The center,
Which despite the pain and memories,
Still beats.
One day, I will be strong enough to paint the walls white.
The season is changing
And so am I;
The soft touch of Spring
Has left the sky
And the harsh light of Summer
Streams in reply
While the clouds drift away
With an audible sigh.
The vines are a'creeping
Up and around
While green grass is growing
To cover the ground,
And the leaves are so breathy-
just whispering sound,
As the wind floats on through them,
Casting shadows around
Over hill, cross the field,
I can hear the call
Of the cold giving way
As the plants grow tall
And as I age too
I look and feel small
Like a walkway of mem'ries
Photos on the wall,
Telling my story
Wending it's way round
I feel rooted,
Attached to the ground.
What was is not what is,
And life is no game;
Life goes on,
But am I the same?
Or just like the seasons,
Do I flex and I flux?
Will I answer my questions,
Or do I question too much?
Existing outside of this existentialist ruse,
I sit and I ponder,
I think and I muse.
The wind answers nothing,
Nature's secrets to keep,
As I sit and I struggle
With a feeling lodged deep
Of confusion and progress
And confliction eternal
Between Summer and winter
Autumnal and vernal.
The flowers that bloom
Near my feet seem to nod,
No heaven to answer to,
No devil, no God;
No one to tell them
What they must be,
No decision to make,
Thus, blissfully free.
Bobbing and swaying
They bend in the breeze
A humble display of might
Born through ease,
A pillar of strength
Upon bended knees.
So too shall I be
For my confusion is gone;
I shall bend with my troubles
yet be as strong
As the mountain I climb,
As the rock I sit on.
I shall fly in the sky,
Yet remember to land;
I will open my mind
And keep my plans.
I am not just one person
My whole life through,
I will be many more
I'm Me!
Nice to meet you!
When I look into the mirror
I see a girl-
A girl who hides behind her skin
I see a girl-
A girl with a look in her eyes
A look of regret
A look of sorrow
A look of a painful experience
I see what you've made me to be
I am a victim of yours
I am the girl they talk about
I am your victim
I am the girl you damaged
I am your victim
You're ******* victim
When I look into the mirror
I see nobody
I feel nobody
I hear nobody
When I look into the mirror
I see the fear blazing into my eyes
I feel the masculine of your hands beaming down on me
I hear your muffled groans and audible grunts
I am what you've made me to be
I had a life
I planned a future
I wanted love
I wanted a husband
I wanted children
I wanted so **** much but-
I want you,
I want you dead
Buried six feet plus in the **** soiled ground
I want you gone
Banished to hell!
When I look into the mirror
I see the outcome of my most horrid nightmare
I feel the bile rising in my throat because you never fail to make me sick-
I fear you
I hate you
I ******* HATE YOU
But you're the only one I can think about.
I was raised
I was loved
I loved too
But you took that from me
You took so much from me
Confidence, you took from me
Bluntness, you took from me
Pride, you took from me
I believed in myself
I had faith in myself
But you took that from me
I see you, Often enough
On the streets, selling dope
Riding around, lookin for ******
In my dreams, ****** me again!
You destroyed me, you took my womanhood away
You did this to me!
I can't walk outside alone because of you
I avoid alleys because of you
I hide behind tinted sunglasses hoping and praying I don't run into you
You changed my life in more ways than you can imagine
I am not the same person I used to be
I am not the same person I was last year
I am not the same person who completed high school
I'm not same person who politely introduced myself to you
I am not the same person my parents knew me as
I- I-... I am nobody
All because you took myself from me.
megan Aug 2018
with every click of Their tongues,
i am acquiescent.
Their words fill my lungs,
audible discontent.

i swallow Their disgust,
mostly misinterpreted,
i nonchalantly combust,
now i am free.
Candy Flip Mar 2016
When I was a child, there was something mildly special about standing in the garden, late into the minutes leading up to my bed time. It was something about the thrill of disobedience, as if I were already an adult, making my own decisions.

This poem is about my testicles.

A thousand twinkling freckles gazed down at me. Joining the dots with a finger extended high as if gripping an imaginary pen, lines would appear. The celestial wrinkles of an old woman who wears these wrinkles with pride – the imprint left by a lifetime of smiles like how an old arm chair wears the imprint left by a lifetime of back-sides.

A singular eye governs the sky, and through what I interpret as a flirty act of desire, winks at me, through a thirty day cycle. I let out a giggle, and wink back.

On the horizon, trees sway in a purposeful and rhythmic way, as if conducting a symphony meant just for me; the delicate harmony of distant car horn beeps, the melody of crickets and bird tweets, and the gentle percussion of snapped twigs and crushed leaves.

Blades of wet grass become fingers seductively passing between my toes. A gust of wind blows and like a comb, massages out the knots in my hair, whispering through a foreign tongue pros into my ear.

And I can feel it inside, a connection with the night. As passion builds, a bird takes flight, and I let out a confident breath: I am in love with life! I’m in love with the Earth, warm days and clear skies. I’m in love with nature: the birds and mammals, snails, slugs, spiders and flies.

I await a reply.

Which doesn’t come.

Years go by.

And then, half way through my puberty, when the world was not so alien and new to me, I had the sad epiphany that maybe this symphony of car horns and bird tweets was not meant for me.

That, if I were not standing precisely here, or had tragically lost both my ears, the trees would continue to conduct their tune, unstirred by the news that their audience had disappeared.

And with this realisation, came an audible, synchronised plop, as – like a penny – my two ***** simultaneously dropped as if recoiling, paralysed in shock.

Then in the following silence, a tumbleweed drifted by as if to imply some kind of mockery to the thoughts going through my mind.

But of course, it was just a coincidence. The tumbleweed, in its oblivious innocence has no knowledge of the context of my thoughts, like a bolt of lightning can’t appreciate its momentary grasp of dominance over an angry sky. Like an atom doesn’t appreciate the burden of the service it provides, like a poem doesn’t appreciate the metaphors woven purposefully between every line.

And how could I sleep at night knowing that a hurricane could slip into existence, tear its way through a village of innocents then ******* in an instant leaving no form of apology or reason?

This is the dilemma of owning a conscious mind in a world of impartiality.

And if you don’t mind, I’m going to divide this audience into two sides: those who are matured and wise, and when they look at the night sky, see those wrinkles reflected in their own eyes – and those who are young and naïve, to whom this insight may come as a surprise.

To the wise and mature, I assure you that we are all in fact slowly dying. The only reason you’re alive is through generations of successful breeding and surviving. God is dead, and love is a chemical compound produced in your head.

And to the young and naïve, I’ll leave you with this line: despite the pessimistic undertones this poem implies, if you just don’t worry, you’ll turn out just fine.
I will now write all my poetry in pros as I feel like it leaves more freedom for my presentation.
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