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Stephen E Yocum Jul 2017
I rolled out of bed
to start my day,
but the power was off
my all electric home,
as still as a grave.
No coffee, or toast.
The refrigerator not cold,
the freezer started dripping
the contents soon to spoil.

No computer, no cell phone service!
I began sweating profusely,
no air conditioning to cool me.
Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert,
to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy .

I drove into town seeking a pay phone,
with not a single one to be found,
gone the way of the dinosaurs,
extinct now too I assumed.

My old truck had no computer chips,
most cars did and were dead in their tracks.
I needed gas but the gas station pumps
electric computer driven, all DOA to boot.

The Nations electric grid had crashed,
blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere.
All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired.
Everything computer related (and
that is about everything), had ceased
to function as had the electronic reliant
world we had created.  

The street throngs of dazed people walked
around like zombies, clutching blacked out
dead computer devices, knowing not what to do.
Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too.
As dependently defectively programmed as the useless
devices in their hands.

In a panic I did awake finding that
this scary dream world was indeed all fake,
a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking.
My electric clock was still churning,
It's music alarm blaring,
birds outside still singing,
my cell phone started ringing,
it was merely another Robot call,
Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
Imagine if you can some man made device or solar flare
knocking out all the satellites in space and computers on
earth, then this nightmare is not so far-fetched.
I actually did have this unsettling dream. The possibility
of this reality does indeed exist.
ryn Sep 2014
Elephant in the room*, shoo the hell away!
Don't stick around; I wish you wouldn't stay

Don't mess with my head, inciting all I feel
I don't need you here, I want to heal

Stop blaring in my ears, your noxious lies
I'm sick to the stomach with my pathetic cries

Resist flapping your gigantic ears
They simply just fan the rage in my tears

Quit blocking my view with your sheer enormity
Get out of my thoughts so better I could see

Halt your incessant skin rubbing against my sores
Chafing me raw on top of my existing scores

Pull out your pointy tusks, they poke and jab
I'm bent in many places; I don't need more stabs

Take your infernal rear out of my face!
I'm self-destructing, counting up the days

Cease your retaliation, leave with no protest
Go find and sit yourself in someone else's nest

Drop your intentions to stomp me broken
I'm mangled enough; almost misshapen

End this mindless rampage...please
Let me iron myself straight, in peace...

Dear elephant, have you gone?
Thank you for the blight of my time, you've spawned
Marina Kay Sep 2018
Now I know how it feels: serendipity;
I sensed it on that 26th of June.
At first glance ecstasy,
by the drapery,
where I first met you.

Rosy cheeks and warm summer air,
Walking side by side,
beneath the daylight's glare.
Pulsing hearts and feeling shy,
passing smiles with our eyes.

Armours fall as stories unfold,
I linger on every word you say.
Laughing with you as time ticks by,
All I want is to ask you to stay.

Cigarettes at sunset,
the music blaring high,
dancing in starlight,
bewitched by your eyes.
You lean in to kiss me,
it's surreal as a daydream,
sweet, and laced with mint and nicotine.

It seems like fate was at play here.
We were meant to be, dear.
Easy marks of Cupid's arrow,
left a feeling I can't outgrow.
Can it be too good to be true?
Take my hand,
let's see it through and through.

Serendipity was a sign,
You're worth the try.
I'll love you, until I die.
To Jordan.
Carter Ginter Dec 2012
The roar of the wheels upon solid concrete.
Suppressed by the music blaring in my ears.
Vibrations running through the wood and to my feet.
This feeling is unreal.

There's no time for thinking.
The music muting all thoughts.
Eyes staring, quickly blinking
Into the night, on the road ahead.

No destination in mind
Nowhere specific to go
Never looking behind
Only moving forward, deeper into the dark.

For a moment it is quiet
An intersection and a choice
Within my mind, a slowly building riot.
As I debate between left and right.

I give up on the decision.
Now only feeling my way
My heart leads my fate
And I continue out into the night.
Green and black,
Apothecary's wrath.
Who'll have your back?

Que pasa, black mamba.
Justice master,
Dance.

Never come down
after sundown.
Twenty four/seven trance.

This stereo goes up to eleven,
Five-thousand watt bass machine;
Phat. Cruise round Isengard, Big Jump blaring.
Mitzi-turbos and ten-shpots.
Osiria Melody Feb 23
Gray, lifeless desk of blank vastness
Reserved for papers scattered
across its cool surface,
Like a disarray of blankets, leaving
unsuspecting feet neglected

[write]

Writing utensils yearning to
engage in a race of writing,
Cannot take off from a jar of
confinement: mini-prison
Liberated from their incarceration,
I pick up a writing utensil and write
Freedom, at last, to write without the
worry of apoplectic judgement

Writing is conversing with yourself,
No fear of judgement except from
your own doing
Lingering for hours like a tree
that's  trying to pull itself
out from the ground

[writer's block]

Black coffee envelopes the room
with a smoky touch
Atrocious LED lamp light glares at me
hard enough to hurt my eyes
Dissonance resonates beyond my
window, a border of security from
letting my creative thoughts
wandering too much
Car music blaring with
Doppler Effect (dissonance)

[write]
[write]

Frustration, more wary than my
stomach growls, signals that
I've been "out-of-it" for too long
Thought that my work
would be appreciated,
Only to get blank stares as lifeless
as the deceased that repose beneath me
(I hope that I've made them happy)

writer's block?

'Tis nothing eccentric about
being a poet, suppose I

i write in SOLITUDE



Melody
2/23/19
My eyes are like camera lenses.
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Time frozen
Horns blaring
Heart thumping
Palms wetted
Words in whorls
Nebulous thinking
Thoughts in twirls
Spinning in circles
Gaze hypnotic
Moment surreal
Vision kaleidoscopic
Life chromatic
Living hallucinogenic
Gone tripping
Psychedelic eyes
In psychedelic mind
Once more
Loved again

©  2017 Jim Davis
Everyone talks about falling in Love
How bout that getting caught by Love
RS Williams Apr 2016
Sit in stillness—
Allow the unrest
Of idleness
Contour the shape
Of nonentity.

Soon you’ll hear
A loud ringing
Within your ear.

The same noise
Howling staunch
Before you sleep.

The same sound blaring
As the world stagnates
And time loiters
And sorrow seeps up from the rug.

I don’t think you realize
You will never see him again
As long as you live.

For now he is a tall tale
Retold to offspring
A distant memory
A mythic architect.

Nothing in the past has ever occurred;
There is only now
And now,
There is only the wind,

And the world moves on
And time resumes clockwise
And his ashes are spread about the sea.
patty m Nov 2014
Vaporous conjecture
an ongoing lecture sets
alarms blaring, light years away
Godling on the fringe,
on a power binge
biting pitch-black,
ready to sack the experiment in

Beyond the rise blind eyes
needn't see to surmise the indeterminable
depth of the emptiness of Earth's shadow.
Fertile fields turn fallow as hate's ****
seeds countless war-torn lands
while grand weaponry expands.
Build until we annihilate whole countries at a time
in the sublime madness of power
the glowering fallout
suffocates our shouts of glee
gasping,  
                 we forget who is or was the enemy.

To our chagrin, infusions stimulate cataclysm,
while the sun with awkward precision
does it's regular crawl,
arcing against the skyline
until it hits an impenetrable wall  

Now viscous flesh
sits congealing
gelling in turbulence's unrest
unaware that the air is putrid
now that our planet's
completely compressed.

Good bye to war, greed, and temptation,
goodbye to love and lust and prayer
some will rot in a wormhole
and no one will know they were there. .
Others will  sink in the mire
some will travel to the outskirts of time
while the rest will simply expire
to the beat of this incessant rhyme.
Bryce Aug 2018
And now there would come a time
a swift sharp clock on the bed
Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells
Like an angry little arm
Charming if not for the alarm

And everyday I slap the face of it
Like an unwanted *****
And she is silenced
Quick unlike
Said chick

But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry
Nor cool or heat
There's nothing bothering me

Time just ticks off and I laugh at it

But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men
And yet I am not called upon them
Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts
No masterman
who failing to raise his hand
Clams up
With such poor artwork

Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan

Now In San Francisco
Where the alley streets stink of ***
And the European facades are just that
Crumbling
Poopy
And full of ****
And what yet are they dreaming to be?

The church that survived fire
Great conflagration
God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that,
Now did he?

He's a water-sign
Dolt
And water only jolts your mind
When it scatters true light,
Ain't that right?

But it's all the same
Just different hues
And the news
Isn't new
Just Blaring and yelling
And speeding television crews
Riding their stories
Up and down the many stories
Trying to build a city of angels
On a bituminous hill

Shills

No life skills

And I walk the city streets with a **** old leather
Brief
Casing the joints and rolling my own
Unhappy and alone
Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet
And he has no road

While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air
Going god knows where
Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball
Perpetually trapped in the machine

How bout Nippon
Or Hangujin
Or Han Chinese
Or Berlin
Anywhere but when
A little ways along the state
Of "in"

All these strange things
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2013
There are times in life
when a man needs change,
And I don't mean,
dimes and quarters.

Remember when you
were just sixteen,
Driving all alone, solo,
in your old man's Buick?
All the windows down,
radio music blaring,
Your bare arm draped
out over the side of the door.
to better exhibit your bicep.

Hell mister, no doubt,
you were ten feet tall,
the king of the road.
Ever wish you had,
that feeling back again?

Cars were always my thing.
I owned some Detroit
Muscle, Full blown Chevy,
Firebird 400, Chrysler Hemi.
Smoked some tires and
went to Court a time or two.
Of course all that was long
ago in my fitter youth.

When I became a Yuppie
I acquired a Poodle Puppy,
a Porsche and a MGB.

But the ***** does turn.
and so then, did I,
And my road got,
a little bumpy.

Along came marriage,
then a baby carriage.
And a big house
In the Burbs.

Then came a progression
Of Volvo Station Wagons,
to Soccer Dad Mini Vans,
to large SUV's.
All for hauling,
any number of things.
Kids and dogs, strollers,
bikes, kites and scooters,
Fellow car poolers,

And less we forget,
"Pulling" things too.
Boats, RV's, Utility trailers,
and all nature of landscape,
gardening, and general
shopping paraphernalia.
Little League Teams,
Drooling big dogs,
Papier Mache Volcanos.
Home Coming Floats,
Once even a Goat
You name it, I hauled it,
Or pulled it!

Years rolled by,
eventually the Kids
flew the nest, got married.
And low and behold,
The wife and I split,
Each going our separate way.
No one's fault, just grew apart.
The thinly veiled allegorical
Previous Patriarchal
arrangement became,
A whole new start,
A workable self allegiance
to just one.

Soon once more, I was the MAN.
I ran out, bought a **** boat
But not having the kids around,
Soon sold it, having found out,
that alone, I was not a water sport.

I caroused around, dated women,
got my pockets picked,
learned a few lessons.
Fell in love, fell out again,
Took a few pretty good blows,
Right on the chin,
Even some down lower.

Round about then,
An Epiphany kicked in.
Remembered my most,
ennobling, happy events,
behind the wheel,
driving Dad's Buick.

As I stepped on the lot.
There was never doubt,
There was only one choice,
I just had to have that,
Little VW Bug Red Racer.

Nothing like your Mother's
Beetle, the engine's up front,
Not stuck in the trunk,
And man it produces over,
200 Big Time Horsepower
Not to mention,
Lays rubber in three,
Of six gears.
Getting all the while,
33 miles per gallon.

Receiving additional help,
from a sweet Turbo Booster,
Just like a big, Indy Track Bruiser.

There's 19 inch racing
tires and alloy wheels,
They look so cool,
Spinning in motion.

Dual stainless steel exhausts,
And best of all,
a cool collapsible,
Convertible top.

Rack and Pinion steering,
Handles like a sports car,
Yet still offers a backseat
To take my Grandkids,
out for a spin.

Dude, it's got,
All the bows
and whistles!

Top Down Driving is such a thrill,
Makes me feel sixteen again.
The open road, the sky above,
The wind blowing thru my hair,
what there is of it.

Perhaps the only thing that
Could possibly make this
Driving experience greater,
Would be to speed down,
The road, going eighty,
Behind the wheel of my
Little Red Racer,
Completely **** naked,
And of course all the while,
Feel the wind in my hair.

I don't know, I'm too old,
To call this a mid life crisis.
But on the other hand,
Maybe the acquiring of
This little red sporty car,
Has something to do with,
Those Testosterone shots I'm taking.
I'm even thinking, of dying my hair,
naw, lets not get crazy!
ryn Sep 2014
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight

Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants

Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due

Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind

Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry

What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?

Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth

Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels

Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by

Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
See "Doom Train"
See "Collision Course"
L B Nov 2016
Not the lone glory of an orange
basking in Depression’s dusk—
its fluted bowl of purple glass

Nor the fall ways of amber
Leaves burned by roadside
curling smoke’s sun-lit sash

Not tree-lined streets
rabid leaves’ raspy voices
whirling giddy in the wind—

...in none of these

But in the moments I filled with fixing
a lamp shade
painting this place
to a stern perfection

...I thought of you
ordering the tyranny of me
the glass of me
the concrete conscience
I must be right!  Mustn’t I?

The religion of our lives
Driving through Sundays with Polkas blaring
feeding the ducks
and a roast at noon
Waffles and TV later
Lassie and You Asked For It
Wiping my mouth on a Sunday sleeve

I asked for it, alright

He came and went
to the smell of Ice Blue Aqua Velva

He came and went larger than life and first on the scene
to hurricanes, fires, muggings, and races
and of course—THE SHOP!
in an amazing array of uniforms and vehicles
Ambulances, wreckers, pickups, and police cars

He was terrifying! Wonderful!

We would love at a pained distance

His cabinet in the cellar was always locked
But now, just suppose—

if a kid were to haul on its handles...
supposedly—the sheet metal would heave and roar
with the thunder of him!

And those late nights
those harsh ****** lights
lidded hundred watt cones
in the spotlight of THERE
where I wasn’t
in the odor of oils too noxious to dare
beyond the girlish shadows—

he cleaned his guns

I waited and watched where everything seemed
to be
What...?
It seems—he just pushed her against a wall!
I step from girlhood
with my two-cents worth
and it seems I will not be Queen for a Day!

I take my vows!
I swear I will not scrape wax
from the corner of the kitchen floor with a knife!

I have waited.  I have watched
the routines of his mornings
He’s brushing his teeth; he’s combing his hair
he’s tying his shoes while he chats with the cat
I can tell you the creak of the stairs
and the sound of his footsteps rounding the house

...the routine of his return at supper
the routine of anger
My routine of being late—
and as good as dead
squeezing behind—
HIS CHAIR
Praying he wouldn’t notice the mud
Praying for the epiphany of his good mood
when the TV and me--

wouldn’t be blamed for the downfall of the nation
We were not Polish, but my Dad's French-Canadian family lived in a Polish community.  Thus, the fused culture and all the happy, Sunday Polka music.

Lassie, You Asked For It, and Queen For a Day were popular TV programs of the 1950s.
~for Cathy Leff, curator~


no bugler blaring ‘pay attention’ to me,
no emergent bad news bearish telephone cell call of an absurd tonal,
no alarm clock retaliating agin a humans daily defying double-slap,
no young children sneaking in, with a guard dog in accompaniment,
   joy-ending a deep parental sleep from the exhaustion they induced

but as if shot, the humans burst into alertness,
from prone to moan, they instantly revert, becoming **** Erectus,
gasping from shock troop dreams, and a chest-pounding message,
a whisper growing, an ever increasing crescendo, an unnatural law,

an unsullied foot-stomping battle cry that self-terrorizes, undeniable:

write me, your poem, write me now!

ah, it must be 5:00 am...
mariamme Jan 21
my smiles are so noisy
corner creases crack me open
like glass, fragile. friendly.
can you hear me
even as i hide my face
teeth like crooked pearls;
i crunch the icy anger to bits
make room in my mouth
to fit the love & light.
loud like sunlight blaring
forcing the sad shades away
tongue twisting, trying to
take laughter's shape;
i guess i'm still transparent
shaky smiles like sobs
the edges of my composure
frayed & yet so friendly.
you can tell that i'm trying.
21 jan 2019.
Krison Oct 2018
Light awakens,
shakes and beckons,
Come and see my shine.

I pierce the dusk,
away the dark .
For shadows pay no mind.


For the green does call me so
"I've seen"!,  unchain my glow.

This the maker of the grain.
That dictates heat in rain.
The day within the fog.
The loss within the gain.

For you cannot drain
the sun .
You cannot cause it pain.

For it is yule that's burned to death,
The dusk to make the dawn.
And never can you stare in awe,
At it, such blaring might.

Unless it be, by nightly stars,
When it allows you sight.
Seen from all it's children,

Europa, earth and mars.
Akemi Feb 2018
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus.

Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the

In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands.

i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery

THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk

THE DOOR SLAMS GALL BUCKLING FIT ODE BREATHLESS CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER BUT THE SOUND REMAINS

Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus.

the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
In this catastrophically worthless point of my life I find myself intersected by my failure to sustain a relationship, my alienation from left-wing collective politics, and my consumption of Faulkner and Ligotti, unto the birth of self-destructive pessimism.
Matterhorn Feb 8
Walking into the building:
Cold parking lot,
****** music blaring from that lifted truck,
People honking;

Glass doors,
Short, insufficient eye contact,
"Good morning!" from the lady who guards the door
With a laptop and a forced smile;

Quick strides,
A pinball-like dance,
Yelling, screaming, arguing, sometimes fighting,
Fake greetings and meaningful silences;

A tiny bubble of social-media-manufactured society,
Without the trials and tribulations
That make one human
Or the experience that makes one sensible;

I can't ******* wait to graduate.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
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