Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Rafał Jan 2019
Welcome, sir, and get up to the last dance.
Not my fault - you made the choice when you went through the entrance.
Have a little bit of patience, though,
I'm in demand on this masquerade.

Oh, how the lights flicker, see? And the shadows spoil my senses.
That's a tad senseless of you to get on my nerves - offensive...
But I understand the sentiment, you are restless,
Well, I never let you close your eyelids once you drop the curtains.
All the offenses a gentleman like you keeps in his memories,
You are a cancer to the working class.

Your defense is - you desired to be wealthy.
Have a glass of gin, your mouth seems filthy.
The oppression you have built, indeed
Needed  a mastermind, alike to mine
A nine to five would not be fine for us.
The masses abiding us; we even control the foreigners.

Please observe my lovely smile,
This balet - stand on your toes and prance around.
Like the puppet on the strings I have pulled a thousand times.
Are you sure you are worthy to see through my disguise?

Pardon me, sir, henceforth
I'm your conscience, the one you have cancelled
Hidden in the stacks of gold
But the truth is, a soul can't be sold.

Weep, my dear, in quiet sorrow.
For us, as it turns out, there is no tomorrow.
The combination of ***** and alcohol
Is known of being thorough.
All this injustice you have caused
Was working on the time you had borrowed.
The poem depicts the moments before the death of a powerful magnate/dictator who has acquired wealthiness by oppression of poor people.
Max Petersen May 2011
the sea's a show that gawks at the moon
what a lovely seat ive acquired this afternoon
a balet of this display deserves some show of gratitude
I think I, the moon will chose to embrace you
ill enjoy the feeling of falling into your mass
no matter the reprecussions
ive had enough of the cast
id rather be dead
than floating around
i the moon
chose to be with the ground
Jack Savage Apr 2017
DMT
"See you soon."
He says
Two set of knuckles
Leading me blind

I bellow it out
alike  
a forge,
out temple..

Pftffffffffffffffffffff

Coy,
Sunlight fades
as I begin
to steep
in the shade

Blackness,
like mist,
nearly pixelating
my daze

I'm blind,
I'm falling,
I've died,
Still,
same place

A tickle
of color
splashed trickle
in space

Playing
in front of
my eyes with
no face

This sprite
is electric
This Nymph holds
my gaze

To and fro
this vividity
does go
spinning and
swirling
Oh, what
a show

And then it
creates such
colossals
of glow

The colors
so vibrant,
with some I
don't know
This bright
neon orchestra
might be,..

Symphony.

Diamonds.

With eyes,
so alien,
akin flys,
I see

A figure,
no face,
pirouettes,
my treat

A sapphire balet,

next, a green man
whose stare
seldom left me
but (he) did sit, and
not stand

Entrapment
ensues, as I
couldn't choose
in-between, said,
sat man,
or falling
for blues
This one was harder for me to write, as I literally fail to fully encumber this experience in words.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.                    how about...
  we try...
and dangling
   a piñata on the end
of the stick, rather than
a carrot...
oh, i know it's not
exactly original...
but i'm pretty sure
the kids will like
the inversion:
where once was
the carrot,
   but now is the donkey...
oh don't worry
about the english girls
in york-shire...
last time i heard,
the pakistanis had
that covered...
what?
do i really look like
someone
who managed
to **** your m'ah-m'ah
with a harmonica?
the quest for sanity,
usually begins,
and ends,
with asking a question,
even it's:
mostly unreasonable.
HA HA!
apocalypse jockey
no. 1,
              'make sure you
tell nos. 2, 3 and 4 to take part!'
aye?!
  we go ourselves a fifth...
i'm not sure though,
the head "got in the way"...
he's either a camel jockey...
or a donkey riding
riddle;
        you take,
your chance bending
over a roulette,
chance is evens...
        no one is in favour...
unless...
   there's you,
and no reason
for the laughter,
which originates in
antisocial circumvent
  to creep up against
the socio-"apology";
       weirdos out!
weirdos in!
           what's suddenly
deemed "reverse"
about this sort of mentality?
ah...
the fathomable social security
of appearing: socially confined...
well...
             the worst life
decision i ever made was
enlisting in the university,
2nd best decision i could
have made? joined the army.
1st best decision i could
have made? joined a circus!
i just keep thinking of
the "trad." women in
this, ahem, "movement"...
and how important
home schooling is to these
women...
so... no public schooling,
and no experience of bullying?
just the extension
of the ed gein paraphrase...
just feeding on / off
the oedipus complexity
of...
              mothers being
overtly attached to their children,
esp. boys?
right...
        yeah...
that will certainly help...
     home schooling
is such an ****** infested
"riddle"...
          well, sure,
public education is not
the "answer"...
                but what these "trad."
youtube mummies to be
are advocating?
  
                do what i didn't
do...
             forget the university,
even if it's associated with
studying chemistry...
join the army... **** this *******;

or at least profile yourself
for a career in the construction
industry...
     as little of a #metoo
           worth of a movement
in that industry as...
   you'd get lumberjacks
playing the ******* piano...
    you safe bets are either the army
of...
what beats the army...
the construction industry...
              women engineers...
yes... women roofers...
bricklayers?
     then imagine me wearing
spandex and dancing
the ******* riverdance attempting
to pretend: balet.
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
/however democratic, still the despotism of time, with void came thought; with writing, a sense of relief: penny-sweet lottery, of an android abstract, when presenting man's nuance, of formerly stated examples of, adventure, surmised by... countering the stealth infringement of insomnia, the death / 5pm of dreams; and the reiteration of claustrophobia, within the confines of cognition, prefix, (ergo) summation, suffix... the egg is both a chicken and a per se without an ergonomic transition parallel of stated question...

can't cure people of an
apathetic "utopia":
in the hands of however
many rhymes,
and anarchists,
would be "communists"
from Birmingham...

once upon a time
the allure of the Reagents Park
mosque, now the reality
of ginger ***** in a flurry
on a face...

      and some gestapo
lark song of "freedom"...
Soviet balet on t.v.,
     as entertaining as
  the capitalistic momentum
known as a woman hybrid,
lodged into frame,
  as a camel overladden
with silken leeches and some other
lesser opioid dreamers:
mine?

crawling with a toddler,
kissing it's tender head like
slurping down an oyster,
a mother... and a suitcase brimming
with ***** bottles...
the sad part of the tale is:
what doesn't allow itself
to die, but remains remnant
in the mundane everyday...
or how ghosts are pickled
and later spawned into
chewing sand...

   ******* preposterous,
this antithesis of gravity,
extending in a culmination
of a giraffe or an ostrich neck
imitating a ladder,
and three magical beans
falling to craft root,
   before the yawn of an ogre
making stance:
as some word ought to be
written,
          -qua -/- si- sorted,,
   writ as bound, "open"
and "closed":
          thesaurus:
tis no book for young men,
even though the land
has earned status of:
jeans and the awaiting old man
readied for the plough...
          
Shakespeare howled a dying breath,
came hogmanay,
and the populist uprising of
auld lang syne...
             trivial urbanism...
of the former...
    pauper, king and merchant
and... a lesson learned
in order for the same mistake
to be towed along...

local: not outside this song
is an effort to be minded,
even with a name like Mozart...
      of man but of no people
such excavations of a blank variant
to make gimmick out of pause...

   rhyme exhausts
the "greater" deed, to a "lesser" fathom
bound...
     not my eye upon the people
dwelled;
            perhaps a shame,
        or i, akin to spider by webbing
towed a signature...
     suffocating moth,
     by miracle a perfumed cotton...

if only pop appealing...
            inverting their own:
               slack of sight...
                but not when sharing
path, her cycle and my feet,
having to make way
for her thinning,
  would make, entourage of
an 18th century perfumed wig:
  
pleb among plebs:
my gold a thought,
their gold,
                your: tirade.

— The End —