be direct
  direct me


have I not,
    but cannot more
                      be been strong for you,
            so I teach you to teach the power
of strength by daring to ask


ask me
   i will create anything it is
in my power
   to create for you
i will break anything for you
that needs to be broken

old poet old brok-en asking that you keep on
asking, I need nothing broke, busted but still needing you,
needing you whole for me to be whole,
from that hole of dark, we share different sides,
I need you creating
you anew

al green said
  no one told us about the sorrow
no one told me about today
no one told me about tomorrow    

if asking were my strength
  this deadly blind balance
would not be my act

but it is that you arrived here to survive here,
the balance is blind, but you are not,
you knew sorrow was a possible.
you want easy, I'll give you easy,
ask yourself above all,
what's next that
I want

answering
   l o v e...
i can answer
i can answer

*the old poet asks,
why is it this poem world always comes around to that
old tirade, that four letter word...the one you ask,
when is it
my turn, and I answer you twice,
for you asked and answered twice,
I do love you,
I do love you,
exactly as you are,
invisible but oh so visible to us all,
and that is why you must ask for
more, evermore,
never ceasing, believing this more
is due, due to you

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A
bone
slowly
woke
just
in
time
to
become
br­ok(en).
Once spoken,
there's no point
of lending an ear.
There'll be a violent
jerking of the wheel,
deceptive *** appeal,
and an unrequited (love).
Now, unwillingly,  it's open.
The rhyme is deliberately late,
but it's not tardy enough to satiate
Swelling lungs-we're just getting started.
Both for respiratory and broken-hearted.
Here, we speak of energy-specifically kinetic
Because you can't live in love and good faith
with right hemisphere real, and left prosthetic.
AND THAT'S WHERE THIS BEAUTIFULLY KICKS IN.
Picking up faster and quicker and clearer
and headlights have never come nearer.
But I'll be somewhat content lying at rest.
While lively and enthusiastic is best,
unemployed potential is all I can be.
It's something to unwillingly see.
You'll watch the clean breaks
as the marrow escapes.
As I steadily gush
onto pavement
you'll see
how
idle
I
can
really
be.
As
I

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

You rely on your hero—in  
He must fly, high
In the grey skies, save you—in
Chances at making it
Past rock bottom.

Your Hero—in  
A survivor
A man brok—in
From time
Your Hero—in

The man you must survive,
His emotions, your demise
Your Hero-in
Weak in his will
Bent like hands of time.

Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
Thy firm unshak’n vertue ever brings
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, & the fals North displaies
Her brok’n league, to impe their serpent wings,
O yet a nobler task awaites thy hand;
Yet what can Warr, but endless warr still breed,                    
Till Truth, & Right from Violence be freed,
And Public Faith cleard from the shamefull brand
Of Public Fraud.  In vain doth Valour bleed
While Avarice, & Rapine share the land.

Thou Shepherd that dost Israel keep
Give ear in time of need,
Who leadest like a flock of sheep
Thy loved Josephs seed,
That sitt’st between the Cherubs bright
Between their wings out-spread
Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light,
And on our foes thy dread.
In Ephraims view and Benjamins,
And in Manasse’s sight
Awake* thy strength, come, and be seen                    Gnorera.
To save us by thy might.
Turn us again, thy grace divine
To us O God vouchsafe;
Cause thou thy face on us to shine
And then we shall be safe.
Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou,
How long wilt thou declare
Thy *smoaking wrath, and angry brow                     *Gnashanta.
Against thy peoples praire.
Thou feed’st them with the bread of tears,
Their bread with tears they eat,
And mak’st them largely drink the tears                  Shalish.
Wherewith their cheeks are wet.
A strife thou mak’st us and a prey
To every neighbour foe,
Among themselves they *laugh, they *play,                Jilgnagu.
And *flouts at us they throw.
Return us, and thy grace divine,
O God of Hosts vouchsafe
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
And then we shall be safe.
A Vine from Aegypt thou hast brought,
Thy free love made it thine,
And drov’st out Nations proud and haut
To plant this lovely Vine.
Thou did’st prepare for it a place
And root it deep and fast
That it began to grow apace,
And fill’d the land at last.
With her green shade that cover’d all,
The Hills were over-spread
Her Bows as high as Cedars tall
Advanc’d their lofty head.
Her branches on the western side
Down to the Sea she sent,
And upward to that river wide
Her other branches went.
Why hast thou laid her Hedges low
And brok’n down her Fence,
That all may pluck her, as they go,
With rudest violence?
The tusked Boar out of the wood
Up turns it by the roots,
Wild Beasts there brouze, and make their food
Her Grapes and tender Shoots.
Return now, God of Hosts, look down
From Heav’n, thy Seat divine,
Behold us, but without a frown,
And visit this thy Vine.
Visit this Vine, which thy right hand
Hath set, and planted long,
And the young branch, that for thy self
Thou hast made firm and strong.
But now it is consum’d with fire,
And cut with Axes down,
They perish at thy dreadfull ire,
At thy rebuke and frown.
Upon the man of thy right hand
Let thy good hand be laid,
Upon the Son of Man, whom thou
Strong for thyself hast made.
So shall we not go back from thee
To wayes of sin and shame,
Quick’n us thou, then gladly wee
Shall call upon thy Name.
Return us, and thy grace divine
Lord God of Hosts voutsafe,
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
And then we shall be safe.

Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
    It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for phantasy:
Therefore thou waked’st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok’st not, but continued’st it.
Thou art so truth that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories.
Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best
Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.
As lightning or a taper’s light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;
    Yet I thought thee—
(For thou lov’st truth) an angel at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw’st my heart,
And knew’st my thoughts, beyond an angels art,
When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam’st then,
I must confess it could not choose but be
Prophane to think thee anything but thee.

Comming and staying showed thee thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
    Thou art not thou.
That Love is weak, where fear’s as strong as he;
’Tis not all spirit pure and brave
If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour, have.
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me,
Thou cam’st to kindle, go’st to come; Then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

Violent pangs
Reflective of the depth
And meaning of this living
It's not that I can control
It's that I can't
And here, I won't ever
It's a place where anything goes
But anything is judged before it goes
And then it never goes
Just rests in a grave with the rest of anything
A place where high spirits lay sordid
And broken
Pieces
Scattered
Amongst
Other
Brok-
En
Souls
I never was meant for this life
This obedience to the physical
Faith and captivity
Love and let go
You don't know me
The stories I've told
The stories I've been in
Look through these wide eyes
Break
The
Mold
And wonder
And wonder
And become
Anew

Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy,
Therefore thou wak'd'st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning, or a taper's light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd me;
Yet I thought thee
(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angel's art,
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.

Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear's as strong as he;
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me;
Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

Rasta seh **** gone. Rat tek im place.Or when power leaves, the scavenger succeeds.

Roots man seh blood follow vein. Or blood is thicker than ****,

Greedy choke puppy. Or greed ultimately ends in tragedy

Man walk. Dead watch Or death comes at unexpected times.

As close as *** and commode.Or a close friendship.

*** done.Fun done Or goes a fair weather friend.

Old firewood easy fi ketch. Or old wood lights easily (Pertains to old ex lovers who still have feelings toward each other).

Day brok one, one. Or, One day then the next (Time changes all things).

I always start
the first draft
on my cell phone,

Poetry flows out
of my thumbs,

Blood pumps
through veins,
as letters
become words,
words become
brok-
en lines
and these lines become,
a piece of me, a piece of
you in ways

Soul whispers
flow
from my heart to
brain,

Memories become lines

both broken
and complete,

stream down my spine

circulate down to my
toes,
back up to my heart
and into
yours.

Lekker alles voor zoete koek blijven slikken tot het zich een aan elkaar gekleefd mengsel vormt, een vastzittende brok in de keel waarin men langzaam, in stokkende adem, stikt..

half-form words....

sentences brok
en in two

thoughts never brought to

    wishes stuck
the  inside   confines
     of my head

dreams of golden castles and...
...ever after:
half-dreamt

lose the shackles
of this life
find the whole
among the many
broken parts

no thread completes
the picture

all
by itself

lines brokenly straight, if all alone -

there is purpose
beauty
promise
in the broken and the
shattered dream

each fragment fused
defines the fullness
of the frame

and beauty from the watered ash
will rise

for

together broken
           is
together whole

There was a little bird I knew, clamoring on and on about the little things
Such as why we line leather with wool and why the sun moves round in circles
And how the boat floats on water.
Bright as her white feather, with eyes wide, taking in the world with
blatant skies filling her.

There was a little bird I knew, learning and pestering mentors and teacher
For the secrets of the earth. What lies underneath the dirt and rock? What holds us together?
Whispering winds to float away on, always too far horizon stars.
Long, fluttering, and dragging feather worn and torn away to her content,
and a disappointing mother saying, “why’d you pluck such beautiful feathers.”

There was a little bird, clawing for knowledge and wisdom from the elders
who said, “no, stay and fly around the same trees and make a nest, be content with this.”
and she did, saying, “I will be content with this.”
and she stayed under the dark canopies and hid away in her nest.

There is a little bird I know, silent and sullen in the reeking shadows
waiting under the leaves, through rain lashing and sunny vibrance
that never touched her feathers.
and her mother said, “why’d you turn your eyes dull. You had such beautiful eyes.”
Disapproving stares, distraught apathy, and cavernous hallways

with no ceilings and no beginnings. It started like
this.
       Brok
               en
sentences.

Broken can be repaired.
Can her eyes be bright again? Can the world shut up and
                                                                ­                            stop breaking?
Lies have clawed at her              L
                                              ­ B              U              
                                  ­           E                   F                   Eyes
                                               A              I
                                                ­    U    T             But did not turn them ugly.

But the lies made them             G      Y
                                             U       L
In the way that muck on white leather is distasteful and
how crimes on another are leeches between toes.
                                                                ­                                            And so the bird I knew,
                                  died.

I, ripe
fruit,
a-wait dreams,
legends, storms~
In song, become
girl, with voice, hair,
lips, let me ex
press to you the welling,
welting of
the cardiovascular.
Precipice of a
smile, sultry swirl of
cloud before the
wet. Orange
skies cut to
red. Brok
en clocks because maybe without time they'll get here before I
wilt.

You fixed me
when I brok
                      e
took all the pain away
saved me from drowning

you also broke me
and all the pain came flooding back
but I didn't know how to swim
and this time you didn't come to save me

j.f

On a lone winter evening,
The sun dipped over the horizon,
Awaiting its blithe.
The sky thoughtful and desiderate.
The twinkling of the sky,
Will soon fly.
Heaven is propounded,
Human mind is disrupted.
The unsteady murmur of insects,
The shrill voices of people.
Exonerates the cold, fog sunken air.
The evening walls down along the harbour.
The moon mightier than ever,
Lusting it's magical glow.
On Fantasies and realities of the time.
Hereby the night flows,
From the courtyards of the rich,
To the rags of the of the woebgoene,
And the brok
Shall rise.
And rise, And rise,
And rise again,

On that lone winter evening.
-Arunav Hazarika

Upon her head
                                   It broke
                                              To coat their
                                   Trainers with
                                               A membrane's yolk
                                    She's brok
                                                              En now
                                     Token
                                            Inability to see
                        Anonymities

      
                                          Clarity.

I fel(l)
in (.....)
t(o)o hard
I felt
hea(v)y
and my
heart
brok(e)

im always
boiling over

always at
            the b r     i       n            k
of somethin
                      g
on the verge

always breaking
tripping            wires
falling            over
shatte­r            ing
            some
                        thing

­everything
is
always             mo            vi            ng
time
            changes
         ­               things
stretches some            things
compresses
            other
things
no matter what
            things
you fill the minutes with
            like little microwave hot-pockets
even if you leave them
            em            p            ty

if they are
            cooking for
too long they
will boil
over

im always
boiling
over

always being
pushed up
            the mountain skyline
                        past heaven
where the linear flow of time
            morphs into
                        infinitesimal infinities
and the sky blackens
with thick
            st            ick            y
suspen
         ­     se

but im never
boil            ed
over
just always
boil            in
                        g

never brok            en
just perpetually
break            in
                           g

never fallen just falling
never shattered
only
ever
            shatter
                        i­
                                    n
                          ­                      g

i dont even wish for
whole-ness
anymore

static-ness
empti-ness

or to start over


i wish
for entropy

to finally
take over

for time to finally
change

me

for boiling

over

for my cracked spirit to finally
break all over

and to finally
turn

to dust

czy mie zaisz?! to żrną!
na pal! chłopa! pal! niet nad
crucifix! obie: wydoje smoka
smuczka. jebodied... łez łez:
i to... musi boleć

cie je na brok wyrzytem
sumienia na brok
bez...              diakrytyki...    O... panie...
nie mojego Ojca... czy Jezu.

⟨ą, ę⟩ i to... banalnie pomiedzy.

stokrotka:      kurwa...            gra?!

Miserable miserable
i was
I am
N
I would

The holding of tears
Eventually dropping like icebergs

Rocks rocks rocks
They sound like rocks
They feel like rocks
They hurt like rocks

How coldness n strength
Changed into warmth n weakness

I followed your light
Worshiped your bright
Through deep n pain
How can i stop the rain

I kept it inside
You threw it aside

We played hide and seek
But only i seek

They said for the sake of love
They said for the sake of redemption

I used to cross my battles
I used to sharpen my dagger  
Now I redeemed my soul
N covered my sword

Those were new
I barley knew

I thought i’m tough
But it was rough

Now we have no tears left
Will cry it blood
We won’t make it stop

This heart is rotten
Filled with brok’n
Kitting it string by string
Oh where did the melody of them go
Oh where did the red in them go

Flames flicker. Your eyes are silent
Every time.
First, I read passion
And warmth
Burning brightly,
So I trust you.
Then you crawl closer
Closer, closer—
Until your breath become a spell
Impossible to dilute;
A smoke intending to pollute,
While we consume the space—
The space that rests between
Our bodies.

Then I whisper, a hushed request
Ever so softly, ever so sparingly.
I long for that space—that comfort.
Please slide a bit further
Away;
I feel locked inside. You've come too close, testing my boundaries.
Your ears do not hear me.
Your touch stings my flesh,
Triggering

Loss.

I'm relinquishing slowly.
Hope’s desperation speaks its voice
Clearly this time, for whispers are
Brok—
En air.

My voice provokes you
Further, further.
You probe into me
Deeper, deeper,
Now even closer.
We've knit together
Tightly, firmly—
The weight suffocates.
Now I'm screaming:
No more, no more!
Please say you are through!
Each eye bleeding tears.
As I guard myself weakly,
A broken shield of defenses
Hangs hopeless, useless,
Swings freely by my side.
Are scars not transparent?
Is pain not external?
I probe your mind;
Each scar coats your tongue
In dehydrating saliva
Craving
A further, more engraving scar—
Deeper, deeper
Once
More, more, no—more,
Until it's…
No longer a mere touch,
Or a mere loss, but
A mere gnashing of air supply
Snatched by another lung
With no need for wind or breath.

But demand of supply
Forever absent, already consumed.
And as you slither back up,
Wipe off the layers
Of grime and guilt,
You gain glittered glory, poignant pride.
While scoffing at my fragile state.

A corpse stagnates here
Life once an explosion—
Now a mere ruin,
Collapsed from stolen life.
Used, drained, discarded.
And as it goes, my lips remain bound,
Permanent as
Bones under stone and dried blood.
For you've never escaped—
Each moment replays, beyond the silence,
Beyond the
Grave.
The load condemning,
Reminding me of
The weight.