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The collective mind is a wave pushing those resisting over and
pulling them up into it, to share the surf, to see the shore, again.
Lewis Hyden Jan 4
This beach is a seam
Where two oceans meet.

One glistens in sun!
Cool waves spill upwards,
Reach to distant clouds,
Swirl blue, shallow, and
Crash down into bright foam.

The other is still.
Seas of hot plastic
Weigh down on the sand,
Steaming like skillets
Under the cloudless sky...

Where two oceans meet,
One meets the other.
And as one grows, the
Other shrinks, staining,
Like seas of processed oil.
King Panda Apr 2018
I still skip stones
across your ocean—your foaming white
cut from the butterfly vine
flips the beached fish
into the definition of liveliness
takes to the sun—a pearled pantina of ocean rain
connecting my nose and mouth
into the rainbow vision
of your thin lips mending the
the maimed crab’s claw

this is how I will always think of you
my wishing well babe
neck-deep in sand
the butterfly vine entering your mouth
pulling your tongue to say
those three words aloud
finally, like you mean it
like I want it, the ocean tide
bathing my ankles
Johnny Noiπ Dec 2017
I wanna marry a chav
that looks just like
Britney Spears,
now, not ten years ago---
Barefoot & pregnant in yoga pants,
Barefoot mother slipping
into black stockings---
She idolizes her rivals,
Wants to be her own evil-twin---
I wanna marry the **** out of her
& watch her belly grow
in the sundaddy-o---
I want to take her ***
To the ****** Islands---
And watch her beached,
She is the opposite of who she is---
Completely manic up & running
She who stays within reach
Of images drowned
Between an old lady’s thighs---
Mother slips on black pantyhose,
Adjusting the waist over her *******
On Thursdays, sunnyside
every other day
Mother 8 months preggers in yoga pants
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.oh sure, just pass the mortgage payments, i might pay, when i pay off whatever life i lived, and the life i didn't... and some third-party-whatever... oh yeah... just fax me the existentialist details... overloaded with pop Darwinism for the simple answer of a complex question / mode of being... yeah... such the mode of being... give me the mean of non-being... the **** life once was, but became reduced to an epitaph... and only if, if! i am rich enough to afford a gravestone.

don't worry...
if we're just clausit instances
of humanity,
the whole closure chapter...
just wait for the Holocaust
survivors to die with the deniers...
and then you can come
after us...
i'm all up and arms for
en masse euthanasia schemes...
****... let's bypass
the ponces and cowboys...
i'm ready...
tick tock tick tock
tick tock..........................
           missing *****?
****... they castrated you before
they gave you authority
to **** me ethically?!
the *******!
          idiots don't even understand
the whole...
   altar, sacrifice of water mammals...
a beached whale is not
a beached whale...
******* can't even allow
a whale to commit suicide...
even whales ingest a Kamikaze
whales don't beach...
but what is the poor ******
going to do...
jump off a bridge?!
   i'm not buying it...
who needs to be saved,
if they can't even be considered
how can you, "save" someone,
when you cannot provide
redemption for them?
the non-redemption clause:
can't redeem them,
subsequently can't save them...
all you're doing is
prolonging their suffering,
elevating the suffering through
the elevation of failure
in the failure of ending
the suffering...
  so... no one spotted that
the beached whales...
as mammals...
were attempting to commit suicide?
beached whales are whales suicides...
no one saw that?
it wasn't an eye-sore
staring back?
the suicide has already a conundrum
before him...
the lack of suspense,
or rather, the element of surprise...
at least homicide involves
a rush of adrenaline...
       adrenaline... surprise...
     suicide avenue...
     brave people...
                    brave because there is
no suspense of surprise...
absolutely no adrenaline...
          the aspect of consciousness,
the contradictory "choice"...
that contradicts the "choice" of
encountering esse per se,
  or qua vivo...
          i'm not about to solve
this noumenon...
i can't solve it,
because the noumenon of suicide
is already a phenomenon of
a million counter arguments
worth justification...
      but a beached whale?
a whale is a marine mammal...
a beached whale...
what is it? usually a young male...
don't you find it odd...
aren't dolphins intelligent?
aren't whales intelligent?
      so something ******...
  couldn't exactly elborate the concept
of suicide... could it?
perhaps a stampede...
but surely not a suicide...
sure... intelligent animals came up
with with god...
but the same intelligent animals came
up with the paradoxical
contradiction, of suicide...
            beached whales?
you think they were ****** enough
to become, "beached"?
they were in the act of committing
to suicide...
and you were ****** enough
to make attempts at "saving" them...
whatever god is, within the focus of ideal...
suicide is, what god isn't,
within the basis of the inevitability of, will...
we're mortal!
Andrew Nov 2017
I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail

My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely

In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin

Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?

When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw
The tide came in and beached our feet
Surrounded then with sharps ans stones
Our clothing all got wet, and sand filled
Our long plaits dipped in the salty green

The sea swishes and swirles its bubbles
Deep orche beige floats the seaweed
Waves luxurious slippery wig let
Watched we did in awe and felt the swell.

Love Mary ***
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.i did write about rooney mara once, didn't i? porcelain beauty... eh... not mandible beauty, the sort of beauty parallel to the Mona Lisa... the sort of beauty that's not mandible like the beauty of a fat *******'s beauty of stretch marks and extra flab... ******* a beached whale... you know... a mechanic's type of fetish for a broken down car engine... rooney mara? ms. porcelain doll beauty? that **** you just paint, you don't **** it... thinking to yourself: if i **** it, will it break?!

                       is... is...
this guy known as
singing the song
dyslexic or something?
no, wait, wait...
he's hiding a lisp?
**** it... i'll just do
the camp *******
of reading the sunday times
style supplement
magazine, interviewing
cheryl tweedy...
who the **** put on
van morrison's
brown eyed girl on?!
thank-you-very much...
like... a face that allows
you decentralize your
phallus from orientating
it around cow Martian
testicles and...
those floral patterns
in a ******...
   kinda like... joey fisher...
see... i'm under the
polygraph of a liter of
ms. amber...
     who the ****... ha ha...
lies when drunk / drinking?
she's about a liter tall...
(insert snigger)...
and she has a Havana ***
all that's missing is
pickled onions...
and some raw cherry
ah ha ha ha!
god... i love reading these
i love women in general...
not unlike those glory days
when women found
*** easy...
with the likes of...
oh **** me... there's a list,
which implies a colon:
tony curtis...
   shhhhh... it...
  i can only think of tony curtis...
charlton heston doesn't
really fill the bill...
ooh ooh!
  **** jagger!
**** it... let's leave it at two...
in the meantime,
the bite of reality:
*****... what you gonna do
when your favorite
sugar-grandpa is kicking
the bucket?
   fix it up with the types
of losers of my generation...
lament of the first world war...
the missing men...
or the Haj route to the Kaaba
of a Saudi Sheik's harem?
   i'm a father every time i ****
   daddy in a tissue...
both father... and genocidal
maniac... i killed more "people"
than ******...
hey...   appetites are appetites...
but it's not as bad as if i was
given the incentive of
a circumcision...
   now... you have your dress of *******...
and i have my *******'s worth
of tux, white **** and bow-tie...
we're even...

and to even think...
when we were leaving high-school,
i wrote down my ambitions
in the leaving book my two prime
either living a bohemian lifestyle
of an artist in some European
capital (Paris... god, please, Paris),
or becoming a priest...
   well... i'm doing both...
a covert monk...
          there's the god's **** of beer,
there's ms. amber,
the marquees de bourbon...
                usually a newspaper and
a blank space in pixel paper...

poor boy gotta laugh...
poor girl gotta fish, tame or hunt...
rich boy gotta party...
rich girl gotta dream about
a fling -
some variant of an indie
romantic comedy.
mark john junor Aug 2018
a storm rode up slow on the sea's horizon
filling our senses with its wild winds
we spent that night passing a bottle of crisp wine
by candlelight while the sea rocked us
like children in the cradle
but our laughter and words were
so alive with long roads
so rich with our full years

morning found us taking on water
so we turned to make haste
for some near uncharted island haven
and we beached her on untainted sands
with its stretch of palms and gentle *****
while sailing master worked mend sail, patch hull
we walked far up the shore and found a secluded spot
and there i lay with you
drinking in your taste and body
feasting with you on the sweetbreads of our love
till we were full and were left with only soft smiles

we sailed once again as dawn overtook the sky
sound once more and making good time
with a beautiful salt breeze in our sail
beating to windward
with a loving song to our hearts
these the days that my heart will cherish
these are the living dreams that
my worlds foundations are built upon
i knew i would marry you
you knew i would always be yours
from this day till time cease
Sav Jan 6
If I could,

I would like to capture that summer.

At least, what I can remember.

Right now I am drunk and thinking about you.
And even though I know it's over and what happened for a reason I...

I don't know Hannah, maybe writing to you like this can help with passing by you.

They say time heals all wounds but it's been a thousand moons since I've last seen you.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not singing this song because I still want you.

I mean I still love you but I also love someone else for the right reasons.

For sure.

But still, I can't get the colour of your hair and eyes off my mind.

Sometimes... Anyways.

If you could have at least given me the common decency to let me down easy.

You didn't have to drop me like a beached tree after Christmas.

I think the reason I still think about you is because you never said goodbye.

And although I don't cry about it anymore...

I still think about it.

Thanks for the poems I guess.

— The End —