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El Dec 2019
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
One where people will die
When they're asleep
And quiet.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
Where you can hear all types of war cries.
One where all types of people will die

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
With lots of fire and guns.
One where all you can hear are
The traumatizing sounds of bullets being released.
And the blood curdling screams of people dying.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
That the government can't handle.
With bombs designed as food,
And no ruler is there to rule.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
To where when you step outside,
There's a 98% chance you can die.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
Where all you can see is blood,  
And corpses.
And all you can smell is the putrid scent of rotting flesh and dried up blood.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
One that can't even compete with war.
One where peoples hearts are took over with hatred.
And the only thing on their mind,
Is death and ******.

You read it right.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
And the funny thing is,
I don't even know why.
Just another psychotic thought.
howard brace Sep 2012
He'd been conceived in Flamborough, so his little sister assured him some eleven summers ago, which was a tad hard for Rocky to swallow, she was a whole eighteen months his junior and then some... and at that age, well... what did she know, she was only a kid, "on this very rock" River insisted, kicking her heels in delight, "next to this very rock pool" they were both sitting beside, "one sunny afternoon eleven years ago..." and that was how he came by the name of Rocky... she taunted as the rest of the colourful story unfolded... and that she had it all on the best possible authority... although the more she thought about it, had she meant concealed... she wasn't quite sure now, it was all so very confusing at her tender age but thought it sounded close enough not to matter too much and that she would just wait and see which way the wind blew.
        
     It was conceivably an ill wind that blew no one any good that day, especially if you were a boy and just happened to be sat by a rock pool next to your little sister...  Having just taken a well earned drink from a neighbouring rock pool, Sockeye the floppiest Springer Spaniel this side of the Pecos decided that he was going to dig a hole and that he would be digging it deep, then changed his mind mid-dig and decided to have a more down to earth back scratching wriggle instead... then promptly flopped over and slid into the hole... life was sweet.  Now covered from nose to tail with every species of deceased shore life usually found frequenting the high water mark Sockeye, in a blinding flash of canine inspiration judged it would be in everyone's best interest were he to have a really good shakedown which always appeared to go down well on these occasions... and give everyone a good peppering, just so they could see exactly what they'd been missing all their lives.  

     "A rock of all places, for goodness sakes..." and what's more, it was this rock, "Yuk..." he jumped up and wiped his palms on the back of his jeans in disgust, then onto his tee-shirt, then sat back down again and began exploring his left nostril in quiet contemplation before finally jambing his hands back into his pockets... what in Heaven's name had his parents been thinking of..? what on earth was his little sister talking about..? and more to the point, what in fact did conceived mean..?  these were the questions that were uppermost in Rocky's mind as he poked an exploratory stick into the rock pool...  a baby crab marooned by the tide scampered sideways beneath a large pebble and stuck one beady eye out at him... Rocky's sister, seemingly in a world of her own, much like the baby crab sat on the edge of the noteworthy rock kicking her heels, an innocent smile curled the corners of her mouth as she quietly hummed a little song of tuneful bliss to herself and considered what further mischief she could possibly pass her brother's way.

     Rocky tossed a piece of driftwood over his sisters shoulder at a nearby flock of seagulls, squabbling over what appeared to be a discarded bag of fish and chips... Sockeye, simply knowing that his little master wanted to play a game of fetch gambolled after the stick, his ears flying courageously in the still Summer air and burst, amid a melee of feathers into their midst, only to romp back moments later, the stick all but forgotten in the excitement but now proudly sporting the derelict bag of leftovers and the odd splash of guano, his tail lolloping magnificently from side to side... and for the moment at least, leaving the fratching seagulls wheeling noisily overhead and to go about their daily business without further interruption... as for Sockeye, it had been a no contest situation.

     After fourteen years of valiant endeavour his father... Red, so named for his vivid shock of wiry hair, was still engaged in man's eternal struggle to win his significant other half's approbation with the manful art of deck-chair assembly, beach barbeque and other significant gentlemanly pursuits, all while strutting his manly stuff, sporting top of the range beach wear in accordance with the social etiquette of the previous decade... his masculine paunch slumping gallantly atop his waistband...  

     After the same fourteen terms of domestic servitude and the same thirteen identically overlooked anniversary cards a certain someone had no intention of allowing another certain someone to forget so much as one of them... his better half, so she insisted would ride rough shod, administering her own brand of justice at every given opportunity, in much the same way you'd brandish a royal-flush on poker night... or better still, a loaded revolver... and that she personally carried the burden of every ill-fated card that Lady Luck had dealt strung about her neck like Adam's original sin on Judgement Day.  

     Red much preferred the shorter, more condensed name of Rock for his son, rather than the longer more protracted Rocky, as he struggled with the wood and canvas lounger badly trapping the mound of his thumb in the process, "Aaargh...!!!" plunging his throbbing hand deep into the cold, soothing rock-pool "aaah...!!!"   Still marooned by the tide, the baby crab stood poised and ready for action as it considered giving this latest intrusion a good offensive nip, then hang on spitefully as it gave Red the final withering once over with the same baleful eye it had successfully used earlier.

     Acknowledging her husbands misfortune with a perfunctory grunt as she rummaged in her beach-bag for the thermos, she refused to be drawn in where thumbs were concerned right now, after all with his DNA sequencing she was convinced he could probably grow a new one within the month... whilst Tina, well... she was just plain worn-out... but still rejoiced in telling anyone who cared to lend a sympathetic ear in her direction... and who in turn was more than happy to listen to the woes of others and went somewhere along the lines of... 'and had she heard any more of poor Mrs Dorey's lingering martyrdom recently..? you know, the downtrodden lady who lives in the next street but one... and how they would all miss her when she was gone... and how she couldn't wait...' and as rumour had it, neither could her husband...

      Feigning to be otherwise engaged, Tina... as her husband, now blowing frantically on his mangled thumb, stumbled backwards over the half erected lounger and with a spine jarring "Ooomph...!!!" landed squarely in Sockeye's subsiding earthworks... professed total disassociation with the entire fiasco as she plunged her nose even deeper into the overdue library book she'd purposely brought on holiday for just such an occasion, making it perfectly clear that she was a tourist and furthermore, planned to stick with the same itinerary once they returned home... and that while she was here, she did not under any circumstances wish to be disturbed, the notice was clearly displayed hanging from the door handle... but if anyone should, then whoever it was did so at their own peril... and she was keeping score... although a mangled thumb she luxuriated, with the same roguish smile curling the corners of her mouth as the one normally found playing around her daughter's... was equally as heart warming.

      All Tina wanted was one week of uninterrupted peace and quiet in Flamborough, preferably with a certain someone out from under her feet then spend what might pass for several undisturbed hours sitting quietly by the rock pool comparing notes on eye makeup and the feminine merits of pedicure with the little crab who, still marooned by the tide was now sat busily knitting four pairs of matching leg warmers in the cool, still water but that was only if that certain someone... a shrill  "AAaargh...!!!" somewhat more desperate than the first, ****** itself upon the as yet unaggressive afternoon as it gyrated across the warm Jurrasic rock and recoiled out to sea... "now where was I", twisting her book uppermost "oh yes..! someone was going to pay..." only now it was going to be sooner rather than later, but only if that certain someone didn't finish the seating arrangements before the Sun disappeared and drift into some backstreet tea-room before all the lemon cheesecake sold out, or was that she reflected, simply too much to ask.

     It was his Surname that Rock found so objectionable, or it had been right up until his little sister's enlightening disclosure, now it was both names Rocky disliked, it would have been far kinder had Rock Salmon been sandwiched between sliced bread and given to Sockeye... who's solemn duty, from the first mouthful to the very last, was to gaze up beseechingly from beneath the kitchen table  and devour anything that passed his way, even the postman had to be quick about his business or have his arm follow the mail through the letter box... then Sockeye would just smack his lips and help himself to seconds.  

     All Rocky's mum had thought about for the last fourteen years was seconds... every last solitary one of them since she'd suffered with an infection of matrimonial neurosis which had deprived her of common sense and her maiden name, from Chovey to that of Salmon and how with hindsight she should have taken an Aspirin instead, wedlock she asserted was everything the name claimed to be and was without doubt the worst move she'd ever made... and what's more was seen as a bad move in whoever's wedding album you just happened to be paying your condolences to.

     Rocky would never be so fortunate on that score, unlike his sister he was stuck with Salmon for good, his grandma-Ann by all accounts had been dead set against the union from word Go and saw his father as someone who would always be out of his depth in whatever rock pool he found himself in, swimming against the tide as it were, rather than going with the flow... and it appeared that Rocky, almost eleven years into a life sentence, was about to flounder in the same murky undertow as the rest of the Salmon family... only he couldn't swim.

     "There"! her husband exclaimed "all finished... better late than never eh', who fancies trying it"? his wife luxuriated over the words 'better late' and wondered whether her new earrings, her latest acquisition would complement formal mourning attire.  Red dusted off the palms of his hands with the certain knowledge of a job well done and cautiously took one step back, looking with justifiable pride at the outcome of his manly exertions of the last two hours, this was what holidays were all about he declared, one man pitted against insurmountable odds...  His wife meanwhile was getting to grips with more odds of her own than you could safely expect to shake a stick at... her husband being one of them.  

     Having gathered her offspring with the promise of verbal earache if they didn't... and finished packing the beach-bag, Tina finally located Sockeye peering out from the shade of an adjacent rock, wisps of feathers poked tellingly from the corners of his mouth, his tail beating mischievously on the shingle decided in one further blaze of canine brainstorming, as Tina attempted to slip his collar on that a game of tag would just about round the day off nicely... Tina then devoted the next ten minutes chasing him amid unrestrained salvo's of cheering from the rest of the family... then bid goodbye to the little crab who, still marooned by the tide waved a friendly pincer in return... and trusted that she wouldn't have too long to wait for the next rising tide back home, then she slid off the rock with a corrosive... "the deck-chair attendant would have shown you" she snapped "and don't forget the deposit when you take them back" then double checking that she landed squarely on his foot she marched past, her floral sun hat jammed resolutely on her head at what she considered a jaunty angle with her equally jaunty, angular children scrambling in hot pursuit, back in the direction of their lodgings.  

     "Woof "..? said a bewildered Sockeye, bringing everyone to an abrupt halt... and with paws the size of place-mats, he wasn't going anywhere he didn't want to... he hunkered down with a look of hurtful accusation on his face, "oh yes you are my lad"! said his mistress "I've met your sort before" and knew exactly where to place the toe of her dainty size-5 as Sockeye, digging his heals in even further created swathes of canine furrows up the beach, leaving her husband the unwitting holder and in sole possession of the overlooked guest-house keys... and somewhat resigned to clean up his own masculinity and dismantle the recently assembled, now redundant deck-chairs by himself... as for Tina, well... she'd had quite enough excitement for one day thank you very much.

     Morning register was always the worst he thought, as they trooped back along the shingle beach, Rocky making surprisingly good furrows of his own... but the rest of the class loved it and saw it as the highlight of each day... Rocky's form teacher, despite showing a brave face was always hard pressed to avoid bursting into hysterics every time she worked her way down the register to the letter 'S' and would attempt to bypass it altogether, jumping from 'R' to 'T' and just prayed that no one else had noticed, but it hadn't taken the class very long to point out her oversight and... "please Miss" they'd all chant "we haven't had Salmon all week" and while the rest of the class were having convulsive fits, Rocky would elbow the lad sat at the next desk in the ribs... and promptly get one hundred lines for his trouble... thank goodness it was school holidays.  Why couldn't they have been given respectable names like Seymour Legge, Rock wondered, who sat over by the window or perhaps the teachers pet, Anna Prentice or even, Robyn Banks at a pinch, but definitely not what they'd been given and certainly not Salmon, they were the most hilarious names he could imagine and if someone was looking down on them right now he thought... then they had a very unique sense of humour indeed and Rock said so... "why" his little sister asked sweetly, "what's wrong with River Salmon".

                                                      ­                         ...   ...   ...*

a work in progress*                                                        ­                                                              240­6
Song one
This is a song about tarzanic love
That subsisted some years ago,
As a love duel between an English girl and an African ogre,
There was an English girl hailing along the banks of river Thames
She had stubbornly refused all offers for marriage,
From all the local English boys, both rich and poor
tall and short, weak or strong, ugly and comely in the eye,
the girl had refused and sternly refused the treats for love,
She was disciplined to her callous pursuit of her dream
to marry a mysterious,fantastic,lively,original and extra-ordinary man,
That no other woman in history of human marriage ever married,
She came from London, near the banks of river Thames,
Her name was Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill, daughter of a peasant,
She came from a humble English family, which hustled often
For food, clothing, and other calls that make one an ordinary British,
She grew up without a local boy friend, anywhere in the English world,
She is the first English girl to knock the age of forty five while a ******,
She never got deflowered in her teens as other English girls usually do
She preserved her purse with maximal carefulness in her wait for a black man,
Her father, of course a peasant, his trade was human barber and horse shearer,
Often asked her what she wants in life before her marriage, which man she really wanted,
Her specification was an open eyesore to her father; no blinkers could stave the father’s pale
For she wanted a black tall man, strong and ruggedly dark in the skin, must own a kingdom,
Fables taken to her from Africa were that such an African man was only one but none else,
His glorious name was Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
When the English girl heard the chimerical name of her potential husband,
She felt a super bliss in her spine; she yearned for the day of her rendezvous,
She crashed into desperate burning for true English love
With a man with a wonderful name like Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya.


Song two

Rumours of this English despair and dilemma for love reached Africa, in the wrong ears,
Not the human ears, but unfortunately the ears of the ogres, seasoned in the evil art,
It was received and treated as classified information among the African ogress,
They prevented this news to leak to African humans at all at all
Lest humans enjoy their human status and enjoy most
The love in the offing from the English girl,
They thus swiftly plotted and ployed
To lure and win the ******
From royal land;
England.




Song three

Firstly, the African ogres recruited one of their own
The most handsome middle aged male ogre, more handsome than all in humanity,
And of course African ogres are beautiful and handsome than African humans, no match,
The ogres are more gifted in stature, physique, eugenics and general overtures
They always outplay African humans on matters of intelligence, they are shrewder,
Ogres are aggressive and swashbuckling in manners; fear is none of their domain
Craft and slyness is their breakfast, super is the result; success, whether pyrrhic or Byronic,
Is their sweetest dish, they then schemed to get the English girl at whatever cost,
They made a move to name one of their fellow ogres the name of dream man;
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
Which an English girl wanted,
By viciously naming one of their handsome middle-aged man this name.

Song four

Then they set off 0n foot, from Congo moving to the north towards Europe abode England,
Where the beautiful girl of the times, Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill hail,
They were three of them, walking funnily in cyclopic steps of African ogres,
Keeping themselves humorously high by feigning how they will dupe the girl,
How they will slyly decoy the English village pumpkin of the girl in to their trap,
And effortlessly make her walk on foot from England to Africa, in pursuit of love
On this muse and sweet wistfulness they broke out into loud gewgaws of laughter,
In such emotional bliss they now jump up wildly forgetting about their tails
Which they initially stuffed inside white long trousers, tails now wag and flag crazily,
Feats of such wild emotions gave the ogres superhuman synergy to walk cyclopically,
A couple of their strides made them to cross Uganda, Kenya, Somali, Ethiopia and Egypt
Just but in few days, as sometimes they ran in violent stampedes
Singing in a cryptic language the funny ogres songs;

Dada wu ndolelee!
Dada wu ndolelee!
Kuyuni kwa mnja
Sa kwingile khundilila !

Ehe kuyuni Mulie!
Ehe kuyuni mulie!
Omukhana oyo
Kaloba khuja lilia !
They then laughed loudly, farted cacophonously and jumped wildly, as if possessed,
They used happiness and raucous joy as a strategy to walk miles and miles
Which you cover when moving on foot from Congo to England,
They finally crossed Morocco and walked into Europe,
They by-passed Italy and Spain walking piecemeal
into England, native land of the beautiful girl.

Song  five

When the three ogres reached England, they were all surprised
Every woman and man was white; people of England walked slowly and gently
They made minimum noise, no shouting publicly on the street,
a stark contrast to human behaviour and ogre culture in Africa, very rambunctious,
Before they acclimatized to disorderly life in England, an over-sighted upset befell them
Piling and piling menace of pressure to ****,
Gripped all the three ogre brothers the same time,
None of them had knowledge of municipal utilities,
They all wanted to micturated openly
Had it not been beautiful English girls
Ceaselessly thronging the streets.



Song six

They persevered and moved on in expectation of coming to the end,
Out-skirt of the strange English town so that they can get a woodlot,
From where they could hide behind to do open defecation
All was in vain; they never came to any end of the English town,
Neither did they come by a tumbled-down house
No cul de sac was in sight, only endless highway,
Sandwiched between tall skyscraping buildings,
One of the ogres came up with an idea, to drip the ****
Drop by drop in their *******, as they walk to their destiny,
They all laughed but not loudly, in controlled giggles
And executed the idea minus haste.

Song seven

They finally came down to the banks of river Thames,
Identified the home of Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill
The home had neither main gate nor metallic doors,
They entered the home walking in humble majesty,
Typical of racketeering ogre, in a swindling act,
The home was silent, no one in sight to talk to
The ogres nudged one another, repressing the mirth,
Hunchbacked English lass surfaced, suddenly materialized
Looking with a sparkle in the eye, talking pristine English,
Like that one written by Geoffrey Chaucer, her words were as piffling
As speech of a mad woman at the fish market, ogres looked at her in askance.

Song eight

An ogre with name Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya opened to talk,
Asked the girl where could be the latrine pits, for micturation only,
The hunchbacked lass gave them a direction to the toilets inside the house,
She did it in a full dint of English elegance and gentility,
But all the ogres were discombobulated to their peak
about the English latrine pit inside the house,
they all went into the toilet at the same time,
to the chagrin of the hunchbacked lass
she had never seen such in England
she struggled a lot
to repress her mirth
as the English
never get amused
at folly.




Song nine

It is a tradition among the ogres to ****,
Whenever they are ******* in the African bush,
But now the ogres are in a fix, a beautiful fix of their life
If at all they ****, the flatulent cacophony will be heard outside
By the curious eavesdroppers under the eaves of the house,
They murmured among themselves to tighten their **** muscles
So that they can micturated without usual African accomplice; the tweeee!
All succeeded to manage , other than Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Who urinated but with a low tziiiiiiii sound from his ***, they didn’t laugh
Ogres walked out of privities relaxed like a catholic faithful swallowing a sacrament,
The hunchback girl ushered them to where they were to sit, in the common room
They all sat with air of calm on their face, Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
led the conversation, by announcing to the girl that he is Victoria’s visitor from Africa,
To which the girl responded with caution that Victoria is at the barbershop,
Giving hand to her father in shearing the horses, and thus she is busy,
No one is allowed to meet her, at that particular hour of the day
But he pleaded to the hunchback girl only to pass tidings to Victoria,
That Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya from Africa
Has arrived and he is yearning to meet her today and now,
The girl went bananas on hearing the name
The hunch on her back visibly shook,
Is like she had heard the name often,
She then became prudent in her senses,
And asked the visitor not to make anything—
Near a cat’s paw out of her person,
She implored the visitor to confirm
if at all he was what he was saying
to which he confirmed in affirmation,
then she went out swiftly
like a tail of the snake,
to pass tidings
to her sister
Victoria.


Song ten
She went out shouting her sister’s name,
A rare case to happen in England,
One to make noise in the broad day light,
With no permission from the local leadership,
She called and ululated Victoria’ name for Victoria to hear
From wherever she was, of which she heard and responded;
What is the matter my dear little sister? What ails you?
Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya is around!
She responded back in voice disturbed by emotional uproar,
What! My sister why do you cheat me in such a day time?
Am not cheating you my sister, he is around sited in our father’s house,
Is he? Have you given him a drink, a sweet European brandy?
My sister I have not, I feared that I may mess up your visitors
With my hunched shoulders, I feared sister forbid,
Ok, I am coming, running there, tell him to be patient,
Let me tell him sister just right now,
And make sure you come before his patience is stretched.





Song eleven

Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill almost went berserk
On getting this good tidings about the watershed presence,
Of the long awaited suitor, her face exploded into vivacity,
Her heart palpitating on imagination of finally getting the husband,
She went out of the barber shop running and ululating,
Leaving her father behind, confounded and agape,
She came running towards her father’s main house
Where the suitor is sited, with the chaperons,
She came kicking her father’s animals to death,
Harvesting each and every fruit, for the suitor,
She did marvel before she reached where the suitor was;
Harvested ten bananas, mangoes and avocadoes,
Plums, pepper, watermelons, lemons and oranges,
She kicked dead five chicken, five goats, rams,
Swine, rabbits, rats, pigeons and hornbills,
When she reached the house, she inquired to know,
Who among them could be the one; Akhatembete Khobwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya, But her English vocals were not guttural enough,
She instead asked, who among you is a key tempter go weevil car no lawyer?
The decoy ogre promptly responded; here I am the queen of my heart. He stood up,
Victoria took the ogre into her arms, whining; babie! Babie, babie, come!
Victoria carried the ogre swiftly in her arms, to her tidy bed room,
She placed the ogre on her bed, kissed one another at a rate of hundred,
Or more kisses per a minute, the kissing sent both of them crazy, but spiritual craft,
That gave the ogre a boon to maintain some sobriety, but libido of virginity held Victoria
In boonless state of ****** feat, defenseless and impaired in judgment
It extremely beclouded her judgment; she removed and pulled of their clothes,
Libidinous feat blurring her sight from seeing the scarlet tail projecting
From between the buttocks of the ogre, vestige of *******,
She forcefully took the ogre into her arms, putting the ogre between her legs,
The ogre’s uncircumcised ***** effectively penetrated Victoria’s ****** purse,
The ogre broke virginity of Victoria, making her to feel maximum warmth of pleasure
As it released its germinal seed into her body, ecstasy gripped her until she fainted,
The ogre erected more on its first *******; its ***** became more stiff and sharp,
It never pulled out its ***** from the purse of Victoria, instead it introduced further
Deeper and deeper into Victoria’s ******, reaching the ****** depth inside her with gusto,
Victoria screamed, wailed, farted, scratched, threw her neck, kissed crazily and ******,
On the rhythms of the ogre’s waist gyrations, it was maximum pleasure to Victoria,
She reached her second ****** before the ogre; it took further one hour before releasing,
Victoria was beaten; she thought she was not in England in her father’s house
She thought she was in Timbuktu riding on a mosquito to Eldorado,
Where she could not be found by her father whatsoever,
The ogre pulled Victoria up, helped her to dress up,
She begged that they go back to the common room,
Lest her father finds them here, he would quarrel,
They went back to the common room,
Found her father talking to other two ogres,
She shouted to her father before anyone else,
That ‘father I have been showing him around our house,’
‘He has fallen in love with our house; he is passionate about it,’
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya was shy,
He greeted the father and resumed his chair, with wryly dignity.


Song twelve
An impromptu festival took place,
Fully funded by the father of Victoria,
There was meat of all type from pork to chicken,
Greens were also there in plenty, pepper and watermelons,
Victoria’s mother remembered to prepare tripe of a goat
For the key visitant who was the suitor; Akhatembete,
Food was laid before the ogres to enjoy themselves,
As all others went to the other house for a brainstorming session,
But the hunched backed girl hid herself behind the door,
To admire the food which visitors were devouring,
As she also spied on the table manners of the visitors, for stories to be shared,
Perhaps between herself and her mother, when visitors are gone,
Some sub-human manners unfolded to her as she spied,
One of the ogres swallowed a spoon and a table fork,
And Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Uncontrollably unstuffed his scarlet tail from the trouser,
The chill crawled up the spine of hunchbacked girl,
She almost shouted from her hideout, but she restrained herself,
She swore to herself to tell her father that the visitors are not humans
They are superhuman, Tarzans or mermaids or the werewolves,
The ogre who swallowed the spoon remorsefully tried to puke it back,
Lest the hosts discover the missing spoon and cause brouhaha,
It was difficult to puke out the spoon; it had already flowed into the stomach,
Victoria, her father, her mother and her friend Anastasia,
Anastasia; another English girl from the neighborhood,
Whom Victoria had fished, to work for her as a best maid, as a chaperon,
Went back to the house where the ogres had already finished eating,
They found ogres sitting idle squirming and flitting in their chairs
As if no food had ever been presented to them in a short while ago,
One ogre even shamelessly yawned, blinking his eyes like a snake,
They all forgot to say thanks for the food, no thanks for lunch,
But instead Akhatembete announced on behalf of other ogres,
That they should be allowed to go as they are late for something,
A behaviour so sub-human, given they were suitors to an English family,
Victoria’s father was uneasy, was irritated but he had no otherwise,
For he was desperate to have her daughter Victoria get married,
He had nothing to say but only to ask his daughter, Victoria,
If she was going right-away with her suitor or not,
To which she violently answered yes I am going with him,
Victoria’s mother kept mum, she only shot miserable glances
From one corner of the house to another, to the ogres also,
She totally said nothing, as Victoria was predictably violent
To any gainsayer in relation to her occasion of the moment,
Victoria’s father wished them all well in their life,
And permitted Victoria to go and have good life,
With Akhatembete, her suitor she had yearned for with equanimity,
Victoria was so confused with joy; her day of marriage is beholden,
She hurriedly packed up as if being chased by a monster,
Sympathy I feel for those who haven’t seen what I’ve seen, and for those who have felt what I’ve felt. The embodiment of my regret, shining with all the light once saved me, now engulfs me in torment of my mistake. As I orbit in harmony with the rotation of a green star, that is much more than just a green star, I ponder what my life would be if I still had my green star. I know that in time, this green star that means everything and more to me, will collapse and perish, but we will only be able to see the star frozen in time, that very instant before it collapsed, desperately clinging to one single moment. I still cling to that moment, the moment I saw my soul break free from the chains that I thought would hold me down perpetually, in her eyes. I don’t quite know how it happened, I wasn’t looking for it, I wasn’t on the make, it was the perfect storm, I said one thing, she said another, and the next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my days in the middle of that conversation. It’s painful to admit that I ruined the most precious friendship I’ve ever had, which tends to sting more when she was the only genuine friend I’ve ever had. I prefer solidarity most of the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t long for a companion every now and again, but lately that desire grows stronger and stronger, holding on to the memory of the companion I once had and lost. My life on Earth, my past life, would be considered prosperous; I was one of the top aerospace engineers in the world, which is a very time consuming and painstaking practice, but exploring the unknown territories of the universe had always been my passion. I didn’t have much of a family, my mother and father passed away when I was 22 years old, and my brother and I severed ties shortly after the death of our parents, and I had not desire nor time for a significant other, let alone the willingness to dedicate my life to another person. I always believed that I embodied the definition of misplacement, I never seemed to fit in any particular group of people, nor with any other person, really, I enjoyed getting lost in the sea of my thoughts, riding the waves, pondering ideas, asking questions that can only be answered in theory, which essentially renders me incapable of interacting with others. However, being your own best friend can sometimes lead to psychotic thoughts of self-loathing, and eventually the last straw broke the backbone of my perseverance, and I convinced myself to commit suicide. Originality and pretentiousness ****** me, demanding myself to end my life a way no one else’s life has ended, and my imagination spiraled into a storm, brainstorming my own demise. My most recent endeavor at the time was to manufacture a personal bubble that would sustain in space, and condensing a spaceship into the size of a smart car was the threshold between my pathetic life of this planet, and self-destructive glory. After a year of an extremely unhealthy intensity of research, my talisman of my soul, my most cherished invention, my cosmic coffin. I traveled from my home in Anchorage to the highest point in Alaska, Mount McKinley, and inserted my body comfortably inside my space bubble and proceeded to ascend into my eternal salvation, ascending towards achievement of my life’s dream, ascending the edges of space, where no human has ever occupied in history. The butterfly feeling in my stomach, caused by the sheer joy I felt, is probably the closest feeling I had ever felt at the time to true love, the irony of my affection for death. As I slipped past our atmosphere and found myself floating closer towards the stars and planets, I sat down and enjoyed the galactic show of entropy before me, and after a while the visual melody put me in a hypnotic state, and before I knew it I was being stated down by a saucer shaped spaceship with luminous blue lights encompassing the round edge of the ship. I felt my capsule gravitating towards and entering the ship through a small hole on the underbelly of its structure, that appeared to look like a portal. As I passed through the light I was being observed by a feminine looking blue creature, with bright green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the moonlight, and long, luscious blonde hair, straight and smooth as silk. She was tall, which I realized as I stood up out of my capsule, about an inch taller than my six foot frame, with long, skinny fingers and decently big webbed feet, and a long slender tail hanging down from her backside that wasn't quite long enough to touch the ground. She had shiny, scaly skin that had a deceptive rough appearance in texture, but felt soft and smooth when her hand reached out to embrace mine, and she said, "Hello, I am called Elora, what are you called?" Still in shock, the only awkward response I muttered was, "Eric" and she asked, "Why are you here Eric?" As I regained my quick wit I declared, "Does anyone know why they're here?" She smiled, exposing her sharp white teeth and proposed, "Well, you can help me find out." I think it had something to do with the adrenaline rush caused by the mystery and uncertainty of the situation, but I caught myself grinning, I didn't even realize I was smiling, it was an odd, unfamiliar feeling, but I was madly attracted to this blue angel from the stars. I spoke to her about my life on Earth, and my elaborate suicide plan, and she explained to me that she abandoned her home planet Eridani to conduct galactic research, and that she was from the Altair race. She elaborated on how life on Eridani did not satisfy her, and that she would spend her life roaming around nebulas, exploring galaxies, researching stars, and documenting her experiences. She showed me a star that she claims as hers, a green star called Zohra, which was her favorite star because she said she could only feel happiness when looking at it, to which I said, “It reminds of your eyes” and she looked at me and seemed flattered. She loved that star, her eyes lit up brighter than the star itself when she would stare at it, hypnotized at the sight of it, which I cared little to notice because I couldn’t look away from her. I couldn’t quite understand how someone could be so invested in something like that, something that just sits there spinning and spinning, peacefully participating in the orchestra of the universe. I think she was so fascinated by this object because she felt the same disconnect from others of our kind. The lonely, outcast feeling connected us, ironically, and we carried on intriguing conversation for what felt like an eternity, and I only wish that conversation could've lasted longer. I found in Elora what I had not found in any human being, she understood me, to the point where I was convinced she had mind reading abilities, and her understanding me didn’t diminish her interest in me, like what usually happened to me on Earth. I found happiness in her company, I found salvation in her embrace, I found unparalleled beauty inside and out, and I found myself in our friendship.  As time slowly rolled on my affection for Elora grew increasingly unbearable, and eventually the realization dawned upon me that I had to inform Elora of my feelings for her. We were accelerating towards the Crab Nebula, and I noticed the blurred blue light in the center, wrapped around by streams of red and yellow light, holding the blue heart in the center together. Elora was to me what the red and yellow streams were to the integrity of the Crab Nebula, without those streams, without Elora, my soul would fall apart and disburse, just like the blue light in the center of the Crab Nebula. When I turned, looked her square in her eyes, her gorgeous eyes that were accented by the light emitting from the Crab Nebula, those eyes that pull you in and leave you in a trance, those eyes that display the beauty of nature condensed into two little spheres that seemed to effortlessly gaze inside my soul, breaking down every single wall that I have ever built up to hide myself from other people, and uncover everything I so desperately attempted to hide deep down, and I said to her, “You are the only reason I’m still alive, the only reason I still want to live, the only other soul that accepted my lost, broken soul, you are the most amazing, most beautiful creature born from the stars we now roam around, I tried to die to see what heaven is like, but heaven can wait, because there is nothing more I want than to be with you until the day my soul slips away from my body, I am madly in love with you Elora.” I poured my heart and soul out to her, bleeding out every ounce of passion and love and sophistication to her, exposing every bit of my emotions, leaving me naked and defenseless before her. Different scenarios raced around my head about how she would respond, and she glanced down at the ground, looked back up at my blank face, and she said, “My people do not love, we do not believe in love, and we cannot love. Love, no matter how polarizing it may seem, always fades in time, everything fades in time, love fades in time, ideas fade in time, you will fade in time, I will fade in time, in the end, nothing is perpetual.” My heart sank down into my stomach, and right at that moment I grasped the idea of why they call it “falling in love” because I landed harder than I could even fathom, I did not know that such powerful emotional sorrow could physically hurt so bad. I dropped down to one knee, and the streams of tears ran from my face and splashed down on the ground, like delicate little glass beads shattering as they made contact with the surface, shattering like my heart and soul. The pure agony and embarrassment of staying with the love of my life, whom I had just made an absolute fool of myself in front of, was enough to crush any man’s esteem, so the only rational option I could think of was bail towards my space bubble, and go as far away as I possibly could from the light that saved me. With every inch of separation between her and I, my heart and soul grew sour and stone cold, and new theories to rationalize my reaction and actions that followed. As a child I went to an amusement park, and I was particularly frightened of a certain attraction that lifted you straight up, a couple hundred feet, and dropped you straight down, and now I realize that my fears of love are comparable to this ride. I was so mortified by the ascension, which precedes love, that I could never enjoy the thrill of the fall, even though this time the safety harness didn’t soften the landing. I came to the conclusion, after years of thought, that I could not blame Elora, it was who she was and there was nothing she could do to change that, and instead of accepting the fact that she did not love me, I cowardly abandoned the only thing in my life that I gave a **** about, I ran away from the only other being in the universe that could make me smile the way she made me smile. After years of solidarity and self-loathing I realized that I would much rather spend my life with Elora, even if she didn’t love me, as opposed to regressing back to my lonesome life, only surrounded by a vast, more captivating scene. The only reason I am still alive is because I have not given up hope that one day I will find Elora again, and I will beg for her forgiveness, and hopefully I will be able to cherish every precious moment I spend with her. I solemnly believe that the slim chance will occur that I will once again see that face, gaze into those eyes I once did, and curse my old self for being foolish enough to leave her. I am not certain, but I can only hope that she is at least indifferent to encountering each other once again, but if she denies me I cannot blame her, because after all it is my fault for my impulsive escape. But for now I wander as a nomad amongst the stars that form constellations that all remind me of Elora, watch the planets rotate, and reminisce on the time we shared together, the time I took for granted, time that I consider to be the most precious moments of my life’s experience. I spend most of my time roaming around Zohra, which was where she and I parted ways, in hopes that one day she will return to her favorite star, to find me right there waiting for her, however patience has not served me well, and my actions which I so deeply regret caused her to abandon the star which she claimed as hers, the star that radiated happiness upon her, the magnificent star that embodied her in beauty and essence, to avoid the thought of me leaving her, which is justifiable because she was probably very flustered by me scrambling to leave her after my episode. I rotate around Zohra, observing its physical qualities, seeing Elora’s face every single time I look upon its surface, but one day the light exiting the pores of the planet grew significantly brighter, and Zohra began rotating and shaking at a phenomenally fast speed, and I witnessed Zohra swallow itself in a supernova, creating a black hole. I interpreted this to represent the death of the hope I had to once again see Elora, or maybe time had taken her like time had taken her beloved star. I allowed myself to succumb to the irresistible force from the black hole, and the death of hope I had to once more see the angelic face of my love, swallowed my space bubble and my hollow body occupying it, to the point of no return, where I can no longer regret what I had done to her, because in time, my love for her destroyed me.
adshimabuko Sep 2014
I've been crying since the day
your tongue turned into
a stage of dancing lies

my hair pulled back
to hide the smell of
dead thoughts of us

of how leaves look prettier
when they're dead in autumn
of how I would be prettier
if  I were dead too

the way your fingers lit in passion
whenever we touched
the way your fingertips sparked the fire
of cigarettes smoked to the bone

I remember the smell of your hands
danger with a glimpse of loneliness

I liked it
I loved it

The day your tried to bottle up
all the love I had for you
and the glass didn't resist

the day I stole your gun
to make you say you loved me
the way you took it from me

the way I understood you'd never catch
the stockholm syndrome from me

I'm sorry
I'm so sorry.
you
I wrote my first play
when I had a dream
Now I unscramble all the scenes.
                                                    What started off as a hobby
                                                     Made me a legend
                                                       Yet none shall bring me heaven.
From the day we are born
we cry for attention
vulnerable, inexperienced, defenseless.
Random thoughts jotted down.
CharlesC May 2013
The time honored
brainstorming
collective planning
a filling blackboard
is now denounced..
storming is thought
thought on thought
wrinkle on wrinkle..
what goes begging
is quantum's leap
a leap waiting
for solitude and
an empty slate...
Annie Nov 2012
I am thinking, like always
No filters or analyizing
Pure, raw, thoughts
Dancing together around a bonfire
The embers popping
and the smoke stings
But I am happy
And my mind is evidence
I'm thinking with no restrictions
And I know you are to blame
I am feeling orange today
Because I woke up before
My alarm; 7:05
And my mind is lighting
Sparklers because its the 4th of July
Even though it's November
Because right now
I am free
Brielle O'Brien Dec 2013
if you look into the mirror
and you don't break down and cry
you better thank the so called god above
that you don't want to die

you are blessed
unlike the rest
who cry themselves to sleep
because they hate their ****** reflection
they just want to love themselves
sick and tired of all the objections

why is it that
I see deep inside
I am nothing but worthless
why am I even alive?
Nothing rhymes with birthday,
It's really not my fault...
I've been brainstorming since Thurthday
In my sad poetic vault,
And still NOTHING rhymes with birthday,
Though I plead and cry and moan-
I'll be sitting here 'till Earthday
With this sad pathetic poem.
Birthday, birthday, birthday--
I think it's quite absurd
That no one thought of "birthday"
When they made up rhyming words.
So when people have a birthday
All poets do is sit
And try to think of what to thay
'Cause they can't think of... it.

So it's not for lack of talent
Or money, means, or time;
This birthday poem is cra.ppy
For a lack of words that rhyme.
onlylovepoetry Jun 2019
it is done differently - more is not necessary - more of this -
is too much;
the kissing is an exploration - to a polar destination of
virtual whiteness -
to discover more than this.  the kissing is not an end in and of itself - but a fjord unexplored leading to what? yes there are many different kinds of kisses - adaptations to a changing terrain - but the face, the face, the face (not just the lips),
the head entire -
is the first battle in a world war where the
opponents strengths and weakness are
literally uncovered and shape the nature of the war of the worlds
yet to come.

more than kissing, it is a speech and an interrogation;
an ******* revelation
of fine lines and small scars, a writing of a history, a history that existed  unbeknownst to the explorer and thus interesting and dangerous - a history composed in a different time and place and almost in a vacuum - for kissing is impactful - outlines of footsteps on never before trodden lanes - but who prepared these paths in advance of my arrival, and was my arrival forecast or just imagined?

first time kissing oft portrayed as excited glee - but this is a grievous error - a wild display of wasted resources - it is not to meant to be pesky single shots of damp I was here where next? it is a drawing, nay, a sculpting of map to be reproduced in limited quantity for only the map rooms of the greatest museums.

each individual kiss is more than an act, but a marker
connecting the previous
to the future next -
exactly a map drawn by an explorer - meant to be shared with others who love history, discovery and women creatures.

be wary of unmarked crevasses and pools where
no one has measured the depth -
novice sailors without proper charts upon unfamiliar faces -
too oft drown or are somehow sail as lost forever.

but the notion of being the first, even if you are not the first,
is so intoxicating
for the brainstorming it provokes - the envisioning of
more than kissing but of unlocking
a new nature, creating a creation born in the intersection of two waters - where fresh waters joint the brine of the ocean -
and there are untold different kinds of waters and no two terrains though similar - are ever exactly the same.

here does my entry in my log - my journal - end - though the notation of than
is comparative and therefore unending.
Lynda Kerby May 2015
first musical memory
playing Mary Poppins
over and over on my portable suitcase
phonograph  
not convinced that
a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down

went over to my friends house
to play Barbies
heard B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets
on her record player
began my life long
love of rock music

grew up attending a Southern Baptist church
if my faith continues to evolve in and out of specific creeds and dogmatic beliefs
right arm will never fail to involuntarily rise
towards the Heavens
whenever i hear
How Great Thou Art being sung

parents were in their late 30's
by the time i was born
was exposed to big band music
show tunes
mom's favorite
French operatic singer Edith Piaf

Riverview Elementary
in music class
taught how to do The Hustle and The Bus Stop
to disco records
got to bring in
on Fridays

love of guys with
long hair
blame
on the big hair
bands
the 80's

the 90's
such a kinship to the dark depressing sounds of grunge
believed  Scott Weiland
Kurt Cobain and
Jerry Cantrell
plagiarized my thoughts

mad or need to clean
my house
the 2 often go
hand in hand
heavy/nu metal blaring
at maximum volume

Currently
am at a crossroads
need of direction
helps me to undergo the deep soul searching
inecessary
major life changes are required

give myself vehicular therapy,
driving around Wilson Lake
symphonic classical sounds from the radio
surprisingly
maybe not
blaring

maximum
volume
brainstorming
my options
to the
music

overheard
ppl say  
they wished that
their life
came with
a soundtrack

Mine does.
RyanMJenkins Apr 2013
Sentimental ******
Academically flunking
Connecting dots and debunking
Seeing past what you see luck in
Black hole my foot's sole is stuck in
Seemingly strategically ducking
Prodding problems and plucking moments,
But losing grip on how to hold it

Encouraging misfit
Brainstorming ******
Monotonous yet intricate
Everyone's just so full of it
Love,
Give it and soak in the showers of despair
The equilibrium storms a new batch of flowers through prayer
The one you always wanted wasn't there
Yet there's always someone with a moment of care to spare

Petty instance through another's glasses could be colossal
A piece of scratch paper to one could be a fossil.
Dare to go against what some deem as impossible
Every individual is a fractal within the kaleidoscope
But even fragments can learn to see the beauty of the whole.

When the music stops sometimes it hurts even more
Melancholy water tides rise and begin to roar
Mental dialogue so active it should be a sport
Fill the report, try not to contort
Sometimes the finish line is reached faster with cohorts
It helps to know when you've gone too far, abort.

A soul alone in a sea full of black
Hard to see past what I lack with this past, there's no going back
Blind to the track, so where am I going?
Hard to invest trust when there's so much not knowing.
Still rowing, but there's a hole in my boat
I question the universe as to why I still stay afloat.

A world of perfection that's full of skewed mirrors
Objects in mind may seem more deviating than they appear
Risks risk regret when not taken due to fear
Let go of misconceptions and substitute a perception that we're meant to be here.

It's nice to believe in something
Whether Allah or the theory of string
Yet holding on too tight can eventually sting
I've been open to the infinite, but what will it bring?

As a patient, if the medicine was patience I may've died already.
The ride's going at lightspeed and is anything but steady.*  
But now I'm unbuckling the seatbelt, to feel every planetary pothole
I will succeed only when I realize my place in the ship,
I am in control.

Parting the waves
See past the grave
There's still love for the depraved
Hell is within us all,
And we all can be saved.

The way will be shown
Remember, There once was a time that you didn't know.
Semi-controversial with the introspective flow,
But this is the method I choose to potentially map out my growth.
Ivy Mukherjee Sep 2014
Silence is needed .

Silence is a massive part of your brainstorming session .
Let it be your studies , your workspace , your next project session or about your love .
And by love I didn't mean it to be a human being only .
Love is a strong possession , which can be about your newly bought Fountain pen or can be about your new social innovation .
But silence is needed , for making you stronger and your presence to be valuable .
Silence should be there as pure bliss , to give you a thought of match making .
Do you remember , how much you inhaled with silence and those breezy nights ?
Just cherish once about them and think where you were before some days and where are you now ; standing all alone and strong challenging all the facets of truth and society .
Yes , silence is needed .

Chaos can't always bring you to the path where you desired to end up with .

Silence doesn't make you socially introvert . It gives you the space for differentiating between you and what you will be .
Ask one poet or a writer or any person who loves to think at the end of the day , 'what is silence for them ? How much does it matter to them?'
Then come back to me and say again .... " I hate silence."
Silence is subjective . It is needed , but not always . And that also doesn't signify chaos should occupy the space .

Silence is needed to make space in those beautified chaotic nature .
Alireza Zibaie Nov 2012
We became nobodies

though we started as heros

of our own stories

to be written by our small hands

brainstorming the possibilites

If only we knew

how to start the thesis


someone somewhere made us believe

this world is all into shatters

let the mirror inside your soul

give you the key to find your role

we fell so hard for this lying

we all broke, shattered trying

as we became older and older

our dreams got much smaller

and the earth caged the falcon

while the lion met the mirror

a cat was staring right back at her



the dove's happy ending arose

with the vulture's ample smile

and the vulture dies not surprised

dreaming not of high flights
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2013
Waking in darkness to brainstorming moments
Warm under covers on this freezing morn,
Recalling the instants of yesterday’s sequences,
How they developed and how they were born……

“Moving with grace in a form fitting garment,
Curves in the shadow light tauntingly near,
Beautiful lines in a moment of weakness
Titillate senses erotically clear.”

“Watching the mouth of the bigoted warbler,
Watching him spout his idolatry spiels,
Rhetoric of mind bending, **** licking garbage
Image of self is the place that he kneels.”

“Urgency now with insurances deadline
Making provision for payments now due,
Juggle the baksheesh for paying the piper
Or the cruelty of bankers will cauterise you!”

“Laughter arouses the happiest moments
Merriment opens the faces so well,
Emotively gracious the giving of laughter
Contagiously, wonderfully ringing the bell.”

"Uncomfortably caught in the midst of an untruth
Unconscionably really, can’t call it a lie,
Got caught in momentum of tale in the telling
Upsetting me now to the point where I cry.”

"Can’t recall why, but I know there’s a matter,
Ripping my britches to try to recall….
Something importantly, now to be dealt with
Frustratingly lost in the fog of it all.”

"Harmonies rise like a mist in the temple
Delicate cadences rise and they fall,
I wonder why God allows this unbeliever
To sing with the Angels in his Holy hall?”

“Running my fingertips over her curvature
Feeling the ***** line plummet to fall
Knowing the thrill of elicit collusion
Anticipate promise of wanting it all.”


Sudden alarm in the midst of a waking
Urgency calls at the dawn of the day,
Heaving my soul into frost waiting fingers
Leaving my dreams in the warmth where they lay.

Marshalg
“Pukehana Paradise”
Auckland NZ.
22 June 2013
Sethnicity Jan 2017
I treasure your thoughts for they mirror mine
and I often feel like the sky
So blue
but I am
just another reflection of you
the true source of life and all I can do
is jot ******* drops of truth
frigid fractalized isolated idioms
Verbose vapor flakes seeking fictional synonyms    
headlong ing to be with you
more than me and I am not really blue

This much is truth
pooling thoughts in my planetarium booth
brainstorming ways to lightning youth

But I am not You

I am see through
a satellite out of view
conduit of the more true, Luna
who is more of an effec-tionate of you
morpheous of midnight master of black, whole, new
presenting red eyed roses nightly reflected by you

(but see me I am through)
Liquid glass
Preview
The deep the blue
and I am not blue  

scratching the surface and rippling clues
like Voyager's travels
I am echoing shadows of the beauty
you innerview
snapshots of interstellar War Stars out of sight
I am through, see
you hold mysteries I only understand by sky light
when I move you move and you move with might
the final frontier is my domain but you hold many more
leagues unknown and forget me knots
Consider me the wife of Lott
in the massive wake
a primordial parking lot
present yet nought

Blue

In my ever reaching expanse
am just fuel for flame
fleas and moth flee in the aether of my veins
Which provide little shelter
From larger wings of change
While great and small exist in all
your leagues of  superfluous membrane
Cool azule from whence life can be sustained
Be Tickled by the fingers of my admiration make waves of mutual celebration
But do not be humbly demurred
Be for me what I can not be

Blue
A response to a poet I met here through great fanfare he wishes me the best but i know i will never be him.

Happy New Year HP and be like water my friend!
Shelby Young Jan 2012
All I know of you
is the love I had for you
when I fell into this dream.
You were beautiful,
the way the sky turns orange and pink
at the end of an exhausting day -
slowly revealing a sky of starlight
that has taken years on end to reach my sight.
There was a sudden pull -
whether I toward you or you toward me
I'm still not sure -
but I know it was there.

You were swaddled so tight
in a blanket that bowed to your beauty.
Warm, needy eyes peeked
from behind peachy little eyelids,
laying full trust in my hands.
Before I knew it,
you were gone.

They took my baby.
Her name
is a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
Their words are
branded on my face -
"Ma'am, please sit down.
You're not being rational."

"There is no baby."
There is no baby,
but I feel her.
I feel her like a twister
pulling me in,
but I've been put in restraints.  
Regardless of the ache in my bones
begging to be with her,
they've locked me up.

I am detached from reality.  
Everything is wrong.
No one can tell me where she is.
They act as if
my eyes are turning to goo
and sliding out of their sockets -
avoiding eye contact
in fear of sympathy rising in their souls.  
They stay on my trail,
dabbing away anxiety
as it seeps from my pores -
hoping I won't see or feel it.
I smell their fear
as I pace back and forth,
brainstorming my escape.

My dear Astrid,
where could she be?
I feel her tugging at my heart,
begging for a heroine.
Adrenaline is burning through me -
screaming at my body,
demanding I run for my baby
find my baby.

And my dream ended.
I've spent every day since then
looking for my baby.
I feel her in my heart.
Maybe she's real
and maybe I'm crazy -
either way,
I will never forget
my beautiful, stolen, and forgotten
daydream baby.
Dougie Simps Jul 2013
It's 2 am still not home
I know she hates sleepin alone
callin my phone
I don't reply
Brainstorming up, another lie
So much to hide
Never found
My minds blank, heart pounds
I hear the sounds
Of war
Love battlefield with who I love as I adore
Knees hit the floor
Drugs just hit
Do I get up?
Or do I quit?
These four walls moving in quick
Stomachs sick
Why can't I Handle this!?
An addicts mind
Creates u to be blind
Pills workin fast
Running out of time
(footsteps down the stairs)
Here she comes
To only see
The man she loved
Or....what use to be
Swore I thought she was a sleep
Dying slow
My heart deceits
Faking the truth
To console me
She touches me
Hugs me
Whispers that
She loves me
I tell her wait
Hesitate
Feel the rush of novacane
Bodies numb, Pulse cold
Lost our bond
Where did It go?!
Heart beatin faster
Close to my disaster
This fairy tale
has no Happily ever after
Eyes slowly shut
Before I leave
Her cryin face, Is what I see.
My final words to her were
Don't touch me.
In heaven I cry
Wish I could change time
Can't believe that I actually
*died by a lie.
Follow the story of when love turns deadly. comment share
KD Dec 2013
I remember when I didn't like your boyfriend and you said that I couldn't tell him I hated him anymore because he was important to you.

You were never apparent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.

The days always dragged on and we would commiserate on the lack of family.
We were never a family.
But it was always my fault, wasn't it?
Solitary nights, I found myself accompanied by the ticking of an alarm clock made of metal that wasn't quite as cold as your heart.
I spent those nights alone brainstorming efficacious ways to **** the pain but I never got too long of a list. Mainly it consisted of picking up a blade.
You never noticed the pencil sharpeners suddenly missing. You never noticed that I only wore long sleeves, even during the summer. Now that I think of it, you never really noticed anything. But I can't really blame you when you were never home to see it.
I remember wondering why you loved him so much. The scent of alcohol constant on his breathe, quick with his words like sharpened scissors. Your sword turned into a shield made of paper. Fire and fire, but I was the one who got burned. I never understood why he loved you either.
I remember when I came home from school and the boxes were stacked to the ceiling with his name printed neatly on the sides. I thought maybe you two had another fight, but it wasn't that at all. It was me.
"I can't deal with that for another four years!" he shouted.
It was ME...
But even when he left nothing changed. In fact, I think it got worse.
I remember screaming at you that you made me want to **** myself. I remember it because I was shaking, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was the first time I had ever verbalized something like that. And with such anger and pain, but mostly fear.
You didn't hit me though. You didn't pull my hair like I thought you might. Instead you grabbed your car keys and you didn't come home for awhile.
I remember sinking to the floor, back against the wall. I cried for a bit and held myself. Mostly because I knew you wouldn't. You never did. I never wanted much, but maybe I asked for more than you could give.
Every day in that house, I felt unwanted. Alone.
Unimportant. Unappreciated. Unloved.

You were never a parent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.

-k.d.
Stephanie Mar 2014
While jaye threw to stephanie's house, shane was brainstorming a tropicana plan. jaye the Brendon Urie's toilet decided to go for a shipping. shane and his friend cat, a cumquat, met jaye at Texas. cat snatched jaye's a ball, his most prized possession. jaye BANGARANG, but shane just laughed and said, ""your mother"". shane and cat married away, leaving jaye stranded. jaye dropped to the ground and EEK CHUK BEEK BANG. He was very confuzzled.
Clifford Smith Jul 2015
The time we spend on
Blank pages and paper
Is like throwing money
Into empty spaces.
Minds racing and clocks ticking
Pen on paper
Fingers on home row keys.
Scrolling and spacebars
Ink and led.
FOCUSED....
The next thought
Is the next word
Pronouns, adjectives, verbs
Periods, commas, question marks.
Proofreading and backspacing
Fiction or fact
Intensity and excitement
Intelligence kicking in.
All day long phrase catching
All night long remembering
I can do this,  I can do this
I will finish what I started.
Brainstorming vs distractions
Silence vs noises
FOCUSED.....
Speaking without talking
The passion of your work
A thousand pages
A million words
Pen down
Typing ends.
Time to rest
The body and mind,
It's done....but
More on the way.
Results, two thumbs up
We think
We work
We spend time
We fill up pages
We....WE ARE WRITERS
This is something that every writer should be able to relate or anyone in a profession that requires this. This is what we do.
Danielle C Nov 2011
In my bed,
I am falling into fantasy,
face down, plummeting
into my pillow.

I am dreaming to escape reality,
and escaping reality to dream
and contemplating,
brainstorming,
things I’ll forget by morning.
Adele May 2019
Who has been always there for you?

What is stopping you?

When are you going to do it?

Where will you start?

Which path are you taking?

and How are you going to survive?
Oni Olusegun Dec 2017
Being poor takes time
Years before you were born
Decades after

Being poor is hereditary
Dad ignores your call all day
He knows you are calling for your school fees

Then, being poor becomes analytical
You keep brainstorming in church
Is it a good idea if I pay this offering

Being poor can be romantic
You share a plate of rice with your ******* a date
You dare not order for two

Being poor is a war
An endless battle between your stomach and your pride
Stomach always win

Being poor is observant
You stare at the green Nike footwear in the store everyday
With all lust and faintest of hope

Being poor is emotional
You get mad at complete strangers for not giving you a free ride under the scorching sun

Being poor demand self control
You fight the urge to buy new shoes
Who want to walk miles to work
Till next paycheck?

Being poor is knowing how much everything cost
Being poor is no child's play
I will probably delete this
John Barinem Oct 2016
Holding the telescope
Of the past...
As I journey down the
Memory lane of my life
From the day of birth
Every action seemed serene
Until a certain moment
Behaviors changed to me

...Love was not aureole...
It was cloaked and serpentine
The chords that bond
Were now blanch and vile
The rain bursted upon us
"Pain and Strife"
Withholding the harmony
Of strings and lines

Enthusiasm was totally lost
And energy restrained
Brainstorming in vain
Seeking ideas for a change
Knowing I could be the
Catalyst who will pave the way
Though the visions seemed blur
Hope drew a "Bigger Picture" with faith

Imaginations I fantasized
Of my home soon arised
Thoughts spinning through galaxies
When we finally unite
To my family, a bond
That will never divide
Even through our broken hearts
..We Will Surely Be Alright!!!...
You are wafting above my carelessness like an aged, crafty hope.

Bearing in mind that, starting from this verse, I'm utilizing as much tenderness as I can, tolerating the brainstorming of some beautiful expressions I had saved, on the American manual lexicon that I craved, your mushy wings are too soft to ponder manipulating the ruin's hell, keep your baby heart classy and friendly so you can dwell.

There are days that you are glinting like a concealed jewel, joining the stars through their ceremonies, acting cool.

I'm too rigid and miserable to smash. Your whole integrity dares not mess with the unsolved poetic puzzle in its cache.
japheth Jul 2019
brainstorming

i sit down on a bus ride home and there’s this idea swirling in my head. i thought to myself,
“this actually sounds right. i should write this idea down.”
i took out my phone and wrote the first few words this idea in my head gave me.
i know I’ve written something. i know i’ll get back to it when i get home. i know there’s more to this idea in my head that will turn this few words into a sentence. to a paragraph. never ending word structures until i see fit.
i know i’ll finish this soon.

i put my phone down and stare outside the window. the view is nice. thousands of cars passing by as the traffic goes smoothly. another idea comes to mind. this time, it’s longer than a few words. it’s a jumble of thoughts. thoughts about cars moving, sound of traffic, the love of movement, and time passing. as these thoughts swirl like storm in my head, i pulled blinds of the window until only a slit of light passes through, a line of moving light flickering, i reach for my phone and open my twitter. i scroll through my timeline until the storm turns to rain, to drizzle, to quiet raindrops and at last, to a calm sunny day. thoughts i wish i’ve written, now long gone thrown in a heavily locked safe inside my head with the password written in a paper inside of it.

i scroll through my timeline again and i came across a poetry slam. as an emotional person, i cry at his words as if it actually was meant for me. as i continue to listen, the sunny empty day inside my head starts to create dark clouds again. it growls and rumbles, spewing lightning bolts down and i quiver. i am afraid. i know it wants to be heard but i try my best to ignore it. thunderclaps. it spoke. it rang my head till it couldn’t be ignored. i gave in.

i wrote. this time with all the words this dark cloud in my head gave me. there was no order. no structure. no idea. just words and pure emotion and i wasn’t stopping.

my fingers became a whirlwind. the storm in my head in sync with my whole body. i tremble. i am the storm. i stormed down the emptiness of a blank note page with thunder of words. rainstorms of emotions. lightning bolts of phrases, of sentences.

as the storm inside my head slowly turns to white, wringing its clouds to drizzle light rain. i add the finishing touches. the storm knows our work is done. it bids goodbye and gives me the calmness of white clouds and sun. i became calm and the bus stops.
Gods1son Sep 2018
I once had a flash of inspiration
To birth a new invention
Did a lot of investigation
Gathered a lot of information
Saw positive indications
Boosted my motivation
There was a team formation
People of same dedication
We had brainstorming sessions
Listed all the specifications
Began the implementation
Encountered a few obstructions
Made necessary modifications
Noticed a couple defections
Applied the proper corrections
And we had a successful completion!
This write-up is the actual invention loool
Star Gazer Feb 2016
I was at the doctors and had an injection,
In between needles I pondered about life,
Of how a needle lived its life in perfection,
It lived it in absolute lack of strife.

I was never more jealous of an inanimate object,
It was perfect for its purpose unlike me,
I was reminded of all the time I was a reject,
And that was when I began to see.

That every rejection just made me closer,
To being the perfect fit for my purpose,
So I discarded the life of a lame poser,
And started brainstorming at first.

What was my real purpose in life?
Then I realised, it was to live without strife.
Johnny Huynh Sep 2014
Sometimes I wonder
Brainstorming, thoughts start pouring
Her voice is thunder
Malcolm McGill May 2013
my father Spoke to me
quite plainly Today

about how my mother was Concerned
with my reclusive manner

he said that she was afraid
I was Suicidal.

Not entirely true
I'm just Brainstorming.
Luna Casablanca Dec 2021
On her walk,
she treaded the path,
brainstorming the incident
and facing the aftermath.
Along came a man,
walking on his own,
little did she have in mind,
this is someone she had known.

“Why the long face?
why the tears,
why the chin so low?
May you open your ears?”

She replied,
“I wish I cold tell you,
but I really don’t know.
Who I am or where I belong.
I thought I loved myself
but perhaps I am wrong.”

The man looked at her
astonished by her
honesty,
he could see that she needed to be
told she was fine and deserved to be
happy.

“Oh the places you’ll go,
That is a book I wrote I’m sure
You must know?”

“Yes,
I read it as a child,
When it was okay to be
Fun, crazy, and wild.
Wait a second,
Dr. Seuss,
is it you?!
I read your books growing up,
and the meanings were oh so
true!”


“I love your feedback,
very genuine, you raise the bar.
Now what’s wrong with who, or how you are?
Do they say you take it too far?”

“I lose friends every year.
I come off as too strong,
I lose control when I go out
and they say I no longer belong.
I then get excluded and I spend weekend nights alone,
I don’t want it to be this way,
I want to show everyone I have grown.
I’m the reason drama happens but I only want to
Have fun.
I told them I love myself,
And they told me to
go away,
Run.”

“Who is they?
Might I ask,
You’re like the
“Cat in the hat.”
But the mess gets cleaned up
in the end,
You just have to say,
“Yes I did that.””
Knowing when to draw the line
Is just as important
As knowing how to have
A real good
Time.”


“That’s the thing,
I don’t know when.
I think I’m being too loud
But when I’m quiet
I feel drowned.
I feel like I have only myself,
I’m like the Grinch,
I’m alone on a mountain so angry
I have no help.
No friends,
nobody loves me,
wants me,
invites me,
they tell me they’ve had enough,
my frustration is as high as the sky.
I hate having no one
I don’t know how much more
I can try..”

“My goodness,
you’re so upset,
I’m sorry this is how you feel.
Now this may sound ironic what I am to tell you,
but you are the one who makes it
real.
You are loved
You just have to accept,
You have some work to do
But you must let go of
Regret.”

“Mr. Seuss,
I live alone and I never sweep my floor.
I give my friends space,
But they always ask for more.”

“But you’re in control,
You just need to note,
Your confidence is there,
Now anchor your boat.
Take the anchor out of the ground
When you’re ready to go somewhere new.
Be a captain,
I see a leader in you.
Do you remember Horton?
The elephant that heard a ‘Who.’
If you spend time solo,
Someone like a ‘who,’
Will call for you.
They’ll need you.
They’ll want you,
They’ll be there for you
Too.
As Horton Said himself,
“A person’s a person no matter how small.”
The little ‘who’s’ told Horton he did nothing
but save them all!
Sometimes we people hear what we don’t want,
But think of it as honesty and then you let it go and you show them what you got,
Like,
“You must not hop on pop.”
Or,
Your heart may grow and you’ll be surrounded for a Christmas Dinner.
You are not a loser,
You are a winner.”

“Thank you, Dr. Seuss,
I’m no longer on the loose.
I may have had illogical moments,
But I have so many things to choose.
I may have had a loss,
but I am for now on proud to be alive,
there will sometimes be a cost,
but this is my life,
I am the boss!
I’m continuing my walk now,
I really needed this encounter with you,
Thank you for your words of wisdom,
And I will wait to hear from my “who.””

“Now I wish you the best of luck,
My sweet dear.
I love that you live a life of lessons,
And have nothing to fear.
Your rules are your own,
You know what you are after,
“Those who mind,
Don’t matter,
Those who don’t mind,
Matter.”
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to great places,
you’re off and away.”

“And I am the person
who will decide where I
go.
Goodbye Dr. Seuss,
you’re a true friend,
I just have to move on and go forward
this story will never end!
You are a good man
and a blessing of a
‘Who.’
Right now,
this moment,
I will start happening
too.
Thank You.”
Works Cited
Seuss, Dr. Horton Hears a Who! New York, Random House, 1954.
---. How the Grinch Stole Christmas. New York, Random House, 1991.
---. Oh, the Places You'll Go! New York, Random House, 1990.
Rj Oct 2014
It's 11:23 I'm barely awake
I'm going to write what comes to my mind
Brainstorming is easy
I need a hand to hold
Please someone come watch
Adventure time with me
I know my mom doesn't like me
I wonder if my parents truly think I'm ugly?
Tears are coming out if my eyes
Is crying a normality now?
My head hurts from math
Spooning is also fun
How am I datable?
Oh wait I'm not
Why am I not?
Because I made myself not able to be
Can I make myself datable again?
I think I should learn to love myself
Before I let others love me
I want to get drunk
And do fun ****
**** I used to do last year
Im sleepy
I was half sleeping when I wrote this

— The End —