Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ConnectHook Sep 2015
←  ↕  →

U text me dis
I text U dat
She dissed my dis
I sent last Sat.

U LOL’ed
on down the list
I sexted sixth—
my 7th missed.

U banned my width
I booked your face
U twittered on—
She saved my space.

U scrolled me down
He tweeted smiles
We USB’ed,
recharging miles . . .

U giga-bit
encrypted files;
I saved as mine
and cached denials.

In digital
we re-erased,
then Skyped our souls
and interfaced.
Babylon is falling...
saranade Oct 2016
A year has passed since I crashed my motorcycle.
The road rash had since been cast away.
The fast paced life was smashed together.
A singular bash that cached my memory.
Lights flash and whiplash has new meaning.
This thrash blinked my eyelash three days later.
Dreary forecast laid flabbergasted.
Hit-and-run
J Arturo Nov 2013
it's been a while since I wrote "a day in the life" or even
those little diatribes about the girls I like
but tonight the keys on my keyboard feel shorter, somehow
more eager to go down
and I'm tired
but it's good to write.

I'll start with monday I guess because that's when today started
I don't know how I keep this up and survive, but
I'm pretty sure I've been sleeping three nights a week for
months now.
it's like... haha... a year after polyphasing I need to make up for lost time.
Monday was Dana's parents ("parental") anniversary, it says in
the pink striped box, on the week view, of my calendar
I don't remember getting up but I started the clock at 10am sharp with
"remove sets and 5 easy steps from current"
no, never mind, I remember it now
(I checked my texts)
Damian invited me to breakfast, Tuneup, I said 8:45
he said he'd be there earlier. I got there at 8:30, before him
and sat in the back room. read the cached news items on my iPad. ate
a breakfast burrito with bacon, smothered, green
because I didn't want him to see me eating, again,
a burrito with the chili inside.
but he sat in the other room with… someone I can't remember
(I heard them, grabbed my coffee and switched seats)
he had kids, though. so we talked about kids. and they talked about kids
I don't really care about describing work any more.

Dana's mad at me, now, definitely– if it's 10am on Monday
It may have started last night… I don't know. She's mad because I work all day
and she has off
not that I know what we'd do to celebrate.
I went to Northern New Mexico College… impressed Sandy... Sandy something.
Impressed Damian by impressing Sandy, and as we drive back from Española
I realize that he's somehow grown into a larger part of my life than I thought would happen
and I'm almost wondering now if
when we leave from here
Dana will be enough to fill it.

It had snowed over the weekend, the mountains above Santa Fe were red with blood and the
valley spread out beneath us was white like… "white people", and it was (I think, should have been)
dark by the time I got home.

Dana had cleaned everything… and she never cleans everything, but she was so mad
and I was mad. hell. I was mad. because I don't want to be this person either
I mean, of course I do
can we ever be anyone, but who we want to be?
but more than this person I wanted to be somebody who suffers, and suffers for something good
and I knew that I could righteously suffer for this trip and for Damian and not have to suffer
for whatever person I might be afraid of becoming.

So when I told her I was going to work all night, she was even more upset and then we were
leaving for her christmas party but I realized that I have no interest in Starbucks or
the people she works with and she had no interest in me right then so I told her I would stay and
I guess at least she only texted me three or four times furiously.

and I… worked. I could tell you how. but I don't care.
and she came home. mad.
but Jones and Katy came over later, it was my idea
and I tried to install my new electronic sensor gadget while they three
sat on the bed and read poetry
(Katy and Jones had broken up earlier that day)

and after they left… at maybe three, Dana was being nicer to me
and I held her some, and we made out, but I
worked
but maybe, this time, it was a little more ok.

I went to breakfast, again
went to Patricia's, felt sad.
Came home, again. drove Dana to work, again.
Checked Ryan's mail box to see if I'd missed our delivery.
spent an hour and a half on Skype with Jeff, Connor listened...
I want to say admiringly

and then we took more adderall and started writing code and things got
a little fadey for a few hours, but I was ok because I am always ok and Connor
is really good at this, really– I mean. Connor is really good. and I want him to be happy.
and to try and tell him this I bought him burgers at five star (in Devargas, where we saw Todd)
and offered to give him my car.
we dropped off Katy's phone at Connor's house and came back here, took more drugs and tried to write but
it's getting over our heads now, and I'm feeling soft and strange
but soon Dana is off work and she seems, even, happy now
as we drive to Ben Sobol's birthday, where I gave him a book
and allowed myself to entertain, for a few minutes, the thought that Ryan might come to Lima. but we had to
come home

because I know I might be tired by now, know I was once before.

and tomorrow there is so much to do.

but sleep wouldn't come and I started writing my thoughts out, about instagram and privacy
and, to Damian, about whether compiling .less was worth it in the long run
and, thinking, who will argue with me like this when santa fe is done?
and then Dana and I had *** and now is the part where I sleep so hard it hurts but I keep thinking and it feels nice instead.
and so it's four am now, and I write.

and write. caught up on time.

still trying to catch my breath, from the ***– I've had a whole pack of cigarettes today, haha, maybe I'm
suffering myself to death
but mostly it doesn't even hurt, I just can't breathe, and my heart races to break free of my chest
(to go where it will be better kept).

so I wrote this because I looked down at my feet on the berber carpet lit by the rope light under our bed and I was afraid
that I might never again know what it was like to look down at something like that,
soft, orange, warm. home.
and with Dana, falling asleep to my left.


we leave for lima two weeks from today.
I told Ryan last night that it's because it's too easy here, because everything's been done
but it's a cruel thing to say… I think… when no one has it easy here, nobody has what they want
in fact it seems like almost everyone, not just here, spends most of life trying to get this
while we see our satisfaction only as an imperative to throw it away.
but.
hey. I guess I said I'd
like to die a poet
and now it's looking that way.

and I guess the reason I keep standing outside, the reason I texted Rachel from Danny's porch is that I've always
left every place with a plan to come back to
all those Rachel's fire escapes.
but I've never yet looked back, and certainly never gone home.
so the question, as I see it now is:
am I always going forward because I've always been running away?
or is it just impossible to go back to where you came?

because I am happy here. and this, for the first time, does not feel like an escape
so I'm scared it will turn out like one anyway.
From almost a year ago today
Glenn McCrary Feb 2012
Pixelated bitmap e-mares



Digitized be mementos cached



Her 8 bit vocal vintage freeware



Transfers recurrent electric draughts







The bitrate of virtual seduction



Intrusively hacks my bones



Taste be my lips of data eruption



Elicited from her tone







Physique a stimulating software



Upon my Ethernet she crafts sparks



A gem society deemed quite rare



Though she possessed a vibrant bark





Her bandwith I yearned to fiddle



'Twas encrypted with die-hard lust



She moans in esoteric riddles



Keen I decode them whilst I ******





Pizazz eclipsing our veins



A billion megabytes colliding



Satiated we crash free of rein



Unforeseen servers uniting

© 2012 (All rights reserved)





This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary



The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com

.
saranade Nov 2016
A year and a half has passed since I crashed my motorcycle.
The broken bones and road rash had since been cast away.
The gassed up tank and fast paced life were smashed together.
A singular bash that cached my memory.
Lights flashed and all of the sudden whiplash has new meaning.
This thrash of two autos blinked my eyelash three days later.
Paralytic forecast.
I lay flabbergast.
I'm still paralyzed, elbow down, my right arm from this hit-and-run motorcycle accident. 25 broken bones have healed. 4 surgeries. More surgeries coming. Still in physical therapy 2 to 3 times a week.
Hhhhhh. I haven't given up.
.
.
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
Gossamer draperies swell
with heat, eastern winds
push daylight
over tangled bodies.

Fingers travel up
and down your naked torso,
my hand caught suddenly
in yours as you stir,
a sleepy god awakened
by the warmth of morning.

Your body, a sundial,
keeps perfect time with mine;
two lovers cached in silken strands,
our sacred place now fully lit
with the hunger of summer.

The solstice lingers past its prime,
drifting over equator
and into southern skies
as autumn patiently waits
outside the bedroom door.
MoonChild Aug 2013
I was singing to an Italian love song,
wondrous lyrics,
a rythm that held me within a dream.
I wrote a requiem and played it to the world
and so here I am dancing once more
to the beat of my own drum.
Lyrics cached to savour alone
the beat of this heart goes on
and on
and on
and on....
Paul Stevens Apr 2015
A drop of rain splashes onto his cheek, it is brushed away as the others had been, it had been almost three hours but still he waited, casting his eyes around the vista in front of him, refocusing his gaze through the telescopic sight and along the now wet steel of the rifles barrel, blue-black in the tiny gaps between the camowrap which merged with the foliage of his cached viewpoint, as the crosshairs snapped into clarity, He felt comfortable that he was well hidden from prying eyes, waiting was almost a meditation to him over the months he had been tasked with this duty he had grown to love the solitude it was a time to reflect, a time to listen to the birds and insects as he waited like a wild cat moving very little, almost  still and at the same time his mind concentrated on the target, the rain was getting heavier now although he had picked this spot at the base of a large plane tree, sheltered from the weather under the spreading crown of well-leaved branches, long bull grass directly in front of him he was warm and well protected by the elements with only a few drops of rain falling annoyingly on his cheek...,

He was a long way from the constant 28 degrees celsius and sunny days of his homeland  and his lovely Angela, how he missed her infectious laugh and freely given affection..".shake yourself up man you need to think of the job, you're not here to be emotional ! "

He blinked and refocused as he opened his eyes and stared through the cross hairs he saw a shadow shape change, a movement, he took a deep breath and flicked off the safety catch, gently squeezed the trigger and held it almost like the clutch on a European Manual car engaged in a hill start, two camo-clad figures emerged armed with assault rifles, (check - AK47 not accurate over this range - no immediate danger. ) Then he saw his target - a man in his fifties, long flowing silvery white hair slim build, dressed in black, this time looking like a special ops crew member without the training, ' thwack thwack ' one  bullet in the body and one in the head, his target was down even before his bodyguards had realised, beads of sweat formed on his brow as he buried himself deeper into the ground, keeping just one eye on the target zone, counting mentally and trying to keep his heart beat as slow as possible, he waited for the bodyguards to choose a route towards him, 17 seconds after the shooting "what were they waiting for?" At last they broke off in differing directions leaving a way through for him to get to his extraction point, deftly he dismantled his ****** rifle with controlled actions practiced time and time again -automatic now! 21 seconds he moved away stealthy stealing the space around the trees, a shadow in the depths of shadow melting into the undergrowth, he hears shouting and confused conversation.

In his new hiding place now waiting, completely merged into the darkness unseeable by the untrained eye, wait he must as he presses the button on his wristwatch to activate his extraction beacon it is now 43 seconds after the target had been eliminated !
Later sitting on the nearest seat to the open door of the Seahawk 27 minutes after the last shot -all in a day's work soon he would be on the deck of the aircraft carrier at anchor in the gulf of Aqaba, the debrief done and then home to his lovely Angela.

But until then he needed to ride the storm of palpitations, sweats and waves of anxiety and the deep dark mind that always accompanied a '****'..
More of an observation
ᗺᗷ Dec 2012
You have copied and pasted yourself into my memory without my
conscious authorization. My data storage could surpass that of a
super computers, a near infinite amount of space for whatever I
want saved, except you have rewritten my libraries upon libraries
of me with your animation; as if I now cannot run without you
constantly there. When I try to open the program of my heart it’s
blocked by the virus you lured me with. I used to trouble shoot in
circles wasting gigaseconds at a time trying to find ways of deleting
you out of my hardware. I’m constantly stuck in a loop of trial and
error trying to decode and compute the internal damage you’ve
done in efforts to restore my old programming. I tried to find
solutions with other users but you act as my administrator,
dictating what I have access to. The folder named, “My History”
has been renamed to “Our History” with every face you’ve made,
every word you’ve said, and every instance we’ve plugged into each
other being cached for immediate viewing making it all
too easy to only think of you; I cannot upload a single thought
without you in it.  I have grown sick, going from constant states
of freezing to overheating since the day you crashed me. This is
not something I can just sleep off. This is not something I can
just shutdown everything for.

I cannot edit you.

I cannot erase you.

I cannot wipe myself clean of you.

                                                           ­                 I have been overrun by you.
                                                                ­           And the truth is, I have been
                                                            ­               searching for exactly this
                                                                           since the day I was built.
Mike Bergeron Sep 2012
Maybe one day
I'll get a real life
And a real job
And a house
That's real nice
And a beautiful
Real wife
And I'll care about politics
And popular affairs
And I'll drive an American car
With less than 50k.
I guess I want that, someday.

But for now all I want
Is to lay on this blanket
On these blades of grass
Under this maple tree
With you, in central park,
And count the red cars that go by
While you count the blue
And hear the dogs barking
And the kids screaming
****** ****** sounding fun
And feel your head on my shoulder
Your arm across my chest
Your leg over mine
Your hair tickling
My neck, my nose, my cheek
Your Lola perfume filling my head.

For now I'm fine with this.
I'll worry about
Houses and cars
And wives and presidential
Hopefuls
When my checks are cached
And my heart has grown
Cold with age
And NYC is a memory.
Butch Decatoria Jun 2017
Condoms, oil burners, shattered glass

The homeless homies homemade shizz

Now Chris can't sit still in class

Pounding the pavement with kisses to heaven

All hustlers sell

Dippin Dots

Wrapped in latex

Liquid to vapor overkills

The loss of will

From after parties after hours

Romancing the ******

On the corners

Quag **** hits schism

Asphalt littered with

Shattered flowers

Them chicks on the streets

Ladies of the night

Its matter of fact

Mr. Hightower / boulevard's class

For the hard ***

**** poor "G" learning how

To trample through his ghetto

As she masters each one

******* hand / jive and mashed

Chris and his gang

Up for sale (hot-**** **** jello *****)

For white hyperions and

Black mellow

Cached

Out / yellow bellied / thin

Such barefooted souls

Marrow

Easiest to break

When already hollow...

(Guilt and shame is a gun

To the temple

And heart

Chambers

Such souls all hollow)

Those Outs Within...
*written just before my move to the Philippines* --stayed tuned to this new islanders series, experiences in poetic form ...
Bharti Singh Aug 2014
When your grey is marooned
Life seems like a goon
Pliability is cached somewhere
Boldness becomes a tough affair

Brooding over roughs
Becomes the way of life
Seething over pain
Is all you think is fine

Strong mind becomes
So fragile and meek
Constant approval always
Is then what you seek

Yes, yes, you are
B
      R
            O
                   K
                         E
                                                     N from within
But do you realize
Only a broke knows
Value of everything

So unleash the pain
In one go and just holler
Remember, every holler
Makes you stronger

Once your anguish
Is washed out in tears
Your vision to foresee
Future becomes clear

Say cheers to life!
We all must be thankful to God or any supernatural power that we believe in for getting human life. Otherwise, we could have been anything animal, dust, tree, ******* or anything. Being the super most species of the food chain, we posses special senses and emotions. Let every emotion negative or positive enrich your feeling of being human.

Cheers to life once again; what's next you never know! :):):)
Akshay Apr 2015
Her sweetness-laden face,
beckoned with a grace,
A wishful ray of hopes,
inconspicuously morose.

He read it with an ease,
The Pinings cached in crease,
Swaying like a tremor,
Agog for a breather.

Whilst unfurling the crease,
He feared his irrational leash,
Careened before her eyes,
And pulled his hands back inside.

He thought he had better,
Leave intact the wrapper,
For a sudden quietude hurts more,
Than a phlegmatic uproar.
Devon Brock Aug 2019
Fist upon the sun gods.
Seek among the goddess earth.
Chant and clang before icons:
oh please, good fortunes,
new birth and wealth.
Sacrifice a goat - the blood will dry
at the foot of the temple.
The blood will dry
and still no rain.

Scream into the night
for a pittance of hope demanded
and stir a neighbor's peace
a dog's twitch into soup dreams
of portent and panic. Yes,
that, once done, bestows
upon us the riches, the riches
the ancients cached:

Dishes wash smoother when soaked.
A grain in a bowl is not empty.
Basil brings life to bland fare.
The herbs of spring strengthen
once dried and stored for winter,
and the yeast of us rise unto heaven.
Stephen Parker Aug 2015
Great Grandfather's clock strikes midnight
through the drawn curtains
a glint of moonlight peeps
the lacquered surface glows with
the light of another day's shadows,
twilights that faded over distant vistas,
blipping echoes from searching sonar
that beam only faint pulses
off the embezzled panels,
invisible forms in the dust specks
whose true essence remains trapped
in the hollowed pores yielding only
the residual, a genetic bond
forever cached in the organic fibers,
hovering in a dark corner of the room
over relics that reverberate each chime
Butch Decatoria Oct 2019
Half moon high
In a deepening sky
The clouds like spider cotton,
Like blue ivory husks betwixt
Umber grey misty fog,
The diablerie of dusk
Dark sky and stars

The streets flooded,
a river of headlights, flashlights,
Sidewalks’ pedestrian traffic,
An Armada of munchkins, crowds
Strolling by Chinatown’s
Crisp neon plazas,
A necropolis bright with
Cartoon sharp signage
Accessorizing restaurants with
Jade And gold, foot spas
And red doors…
Horrors of hangings
Roast ducks and pigs decapitated…

Yet the evening is dressed finely still
All eyes lurking
Shadows floating by
Not to be forgotten tonight
Dias de las Muertos
En espanol…

While down the road
Neighborhood way
Skitters Lilliputian creatures
In shells of Saver’s costumes
As squeals of laughter festoons
Boulevard life with
Tiny tintinnabulations
Like baby rattlers
Against the dark
(Maracas for chupacabras)

Timorous parent folk
Encouragement as company,
They Scurry past
Down dim spatial street
In demand of what is given freely
From each and every door
Treat and sweets
Caries galore
All their tricks cached in grins
Of baby teeth
turn candy corn…

Mischievously the meek milk
All Hallows' Eve For
Hallowed be the glee
Even tho' beneath
The web of grey cloudy sky
Life is precious
To deny
The thirsty as it rains

Misery’s loss deep dismal graves,
We should live in celebration
Childlike everyday
Sing and dance
In the October rain
In this wonder
Like rattlers against the dark

Far from wastes of
Hollow wind and pain,
Chilling cries, bleeding eyes,
Undead the unseen
From this cirque city of sins
Offsprings on the strip
Fearless on the boulevard
Treating & tricking
With ole candied lies…

All done up in bright disguise
Happy Halloween.
Revised from All Done Up in Bright Disguise.
Happy Halloween 2019
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
Half moon high
In a deep navy sky
The clouds like spider cotton

Blue ivory husks
Umber grey claws / webs
The deepening dusk
In the navy sky

The streets a flood a river of orbs
Armada of effulgence / suns
Headlights
Streaming pass
Crisp neon plaza shores
Cartoon sharp signage
Accessorizing concrete
Floors

The evening is dressed fine eyes smyzing
Shadows floating to be forgotten
While down the road
Neighborhood way
Skitters Liliput creatures
In shells of costumes
As squeals of laughter festoons
Live tintinnabulation

Like rattlers against the dark

As they Scurry cross dim / spatial street
In demand of what is given
From each and every door
Treat and sweets
All their tricks cached in grins
Of teeth.

All Hallows' Eve
Hallowed be the glee
Even tho' beneathe
The web of grey
Life is precious / breathing

Fear forgotten with dismay

We should live in celebration
Childlike everyday

Our wonder
As rattlers against the dark
behind the masks of face
In our eyes there is
The spark
That lights all life

From wastes of
Hollow wind
Chilling cries bleeding
Undead the unseen
From this cirque city

All done up in bright disguise

Happy Halloween
Death as one with life...
Halloween poem 2015
tattered flags, wedding dress trains
white fringe, cached in dirt road
like baggy jeans, converse worn like religion.
Stockholm syndrome, always ran away

never left home, delicately telling
time wearing, down eight years
down in the basement, duct-tape cuffed
to a chair, bandage torn off slow

like a drag, on a thick cigarillo
from fat lips, fat teeth
fat, you know the drill
ear didn't clover though, despite her Irish eyes

she isn't lucky, enough
to have scars, that we can see
green with liberty
she is tall, held fire until it shattered

in '17, now she has flash backs
when men in black, held a pen
to her nose and clicked, now
she's just a rumor,

"I hear she used to represent freedom"

"I never knew her"

I believe,
if the statue of liberty had a voice;
and she does...

I believe,
if the statue of liberty had red heels;
she could run...

I believe,
if the statue of liberty was a mother;
and she was,

she would have died,
a loud, running, mother,
too young.
Athira Vijayan Aug 2020
How I am aware of each of your moves,
Undoubted
Your fingers drawing my imperfections so flawless
The inexorable yet calm breathes
Like scared ghosts in haunted rooms
Our teeth trying to elude the fated collisions
But tongues worn out of untying themselves
Sometimes lost in the abyss of your elfin face
Sometimes returning with a smidgen of yourself
I could feel the earth stopping it's boring rotation
And resolving to a rhythmic oscillation
My eyes burn from the ocean over my eyelids,
The knots in my chest untangling with it's each beat
As if the pernicious inhabitants started to vacate their indefinite abode
Our rained bods sailing,unbridled, to the irreparable wounds,
Caressing them to axe the pain we cached so perfect
The meekness of your kiss edging the reality a little further each time
The familiar savour of yours filling my nostrils
Elating my senses and drowning me in it
I close my eyes, hard , in a rapture of pain
And hang to the hollows of your ridge

Do your craters ache?
But we now look like parts of a one
Perfectly glued to finish the tangram.
Thomas Harvey Jul 2020
I stopped by an old candy store the other day
The same one my parents took me to when I was a kid
Old man Joe still recognized me as the lad who bailed his hay
We chatted for a little and then he asked for some help unloading a skid

His daughter Tracy of whom I went to school with was already in the back there
She was complaining about how her dad should get new candy to fill all the empty beams
I stayed for another hour or so, we cached up as old friends do, she told me her dreams of being the mayor of our little town. Before I left her Dad asked us what kind of new candy he should get.
Without hesitation we both grinned and shouted Jellybeans.

Something that day must have created a spark, because ever since then I held her close to my heart
A few years later, we had our wedding at the old store, we even ran away after on a horse.
Who could of known a place like this, could leave such a big mark
Perhaps the best part was being asked what he had for dessert, we both smiled said Jellybeans of course.

Today she lives her dreams as mayor, while I run Grandpa Joe's candy store.
We expanded a little and even took up a space for ice cream
We have one on the way and another who just turned four
And although Tracy can't help too much anymore, I have help from our little one, of whom we call Jellybean
Amelia Robin Aug 2017
A stumble may prevent a fall.
Rise like the sun for every surge that's coming.
A wavering ocean won't wait for you to realize as the captain of your own ship.
Either you keep on cruisin' or follow where the cached stars are leading you.

Throughout the voyage, be reminded you're surrounded by adversities.
Your ship won't be sinking unless you let the water in.
The waves are telling you to be still, and reminding you that they just come and go.

Patiently waiting for the time when the stars can be vividly seen under the sky of dreams.
Mind setting like the sun at every end of the day.
Deep down within, I know there could always be a good thing to sustain me.
Nadia Oct 2019
Neighbourhood bash
In a flash
We dashed
We splashed
Garbage thrashed
and cached
We conquered trash
To earn our sash
See you at the rehash
Kìùra Kabiri Jan 2017
From this moment on I set my eyes on you
My optics locked into your twinkling stars:
Eyes innocent and compassionate;
A face soft and ******:

A cherub’s-seraph’s pedigree
My heart leapt with enthusiasm
My soul raced with altruism
My spirit splinted with your mysticism
My body yearned for your divine deism
My divinity wanted only you-there and then!

The sun stopped journeying and yearning and warming
I wished for it no more to light my days and ways-terraces and spaces
The moon stood still denied of its gracious gleaming and glimmering  
I wished for her no more to light my naked nights and surly sights
I only wished for you my love, you-my places and spaces to shimmer

The stars looked livid and tired in their splashing sprinkle twinkle
I wished no more for them to shine and twine-radiate and illuminate
I only wished for you, to be lost in those your lovely innocent eyes look
To last glow and go blind in the lovely looks of your immaculate love book

When you whispered and hummed to my ears and fears
In that Gabriel’s Incarnate Annunciation salutation:
“Hail my love, full of grace, do you truly love, to deserve my love….!”  
O Lord! To this venerable voice my simple soul I sincerely bequeath:
My heavy-heart’s, covetous-laden burden, I humbly abandon

And when you massaged and relaxed my spirit
With that inviolate and immaculate heavens’ smile
O Heaven! Why are you so far hidden?  
When you touched and cached my heart
In those soft and slender, tender and fonder fingers
O coveting! Why are you so forbidden?  

When you caressed and soothed my soul
In those polite palms and arms, smooth as baby’s gentle bums
I ceased to live in this earth and took off to your heaven
I existed no more in this hell of a lot ridden  
I set off on a journey to your Eden Garden

You soothed my specter with your peaceful charms
You quelled my elf with your soft, sweet dreams
You opened in me an unquenchable chasm
That could not get enough of your enzymes  
An insatiable gorge always seeking for your calm warm

From that moment on-
To this moment here
My love, my lady!
You have always been
My soul’s only queen

I have always loved you the same:
With the same zeal and feel-
Loyal and altruistic!
And I will always love you so
True, to the day I die!

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Thibaut V Jun 2014
its the impact
and the implant
that survive this stance
this attraction

I want it to last
between us that we could advance
into another level
of human being

one that obey rules of action
to behave in
and stay that way
we then trickle into separate rooms

choose our future
I know its cocooned either way
and then cached into the files
in that steel frame

when we then return
rolling out like a rolodex of information
waving it in front of each others face
like a roll of hundred dollar bills

and we undo the band
hand out a few
in either direction
to which their rolls others will add
I sincerely appreciate it.
Tattered flags
Wedding dress train
White fringe cached in dirt road
Like baggy jeans bottoms
Converse stomped but worn each day like a religion.

Stolkholmes syndrome
Maybe she would have taken off the dress for the right sandpaper hands.
Delicately telling time and wearing her
Down six months
Down eight years
Down in the basement
Ducttape cuffed to a wooden chair
Bandages torn off slow
Like a drag on a thick cigar
From fat lips
Fat teeth
Fat wallets.

She spent a lot of time on her side smashed down on her bruised ear.
From the cold concrete after tipping cedar legs
Or listening too closely

Didn't clover though
Despite the Irish eyes
She isn't lucky enough to have scars
We can see.

Green. She is tall
Held fire shattered in year 20-something
She has flash backs
When men in black
Hold pens to her nose and click

A boat from Ellis island
Rainstorm on white picket signs and fences in a dance of coin and sweat

Under long arms
Holding the hilt
Called the broken blade fire.
Say there's a mountain somewhere that matched her on tinder
Three men's faces carved into it.
I hear she used to represent freedom
Before being robbed of her flaming sword

I bet if the statue of liberty had a voice

And she does

She would wear a red dress.
No makeup
Sew her mouth shut
Love the pain
and post Gore **** pictures
on adult websites as confession.

I believe the statue of liberty owns stripper heels
And can run in them.

I believe god is a broken torchlight.

I believe being consumed by the fires of god is a metaphor
For drowning in the green shrapnel of a voice or a wedding dress.

I believe I am ready to be a statue
To drop my fire in the ocean

Crumble under America
be found in Atlantis under pounds of enough pressure
only the angler fish can tempt me.

At least underwater
Men are ***** producing parasites
And I can drown in something beautiful.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
Okay did this, twice, so next time I know, its ok.
Principle thing, not a best contention,
not a we gotta save reality rehash, BTDT they say
-we came in search of the initial once…

and stories started sprouting, we were
in a fluent truth seeker attracting attention,
inadvertently kenning a certain point.
First  
only first thing ever in time, before time, once…

Lead us away from fools who lead to war…
lead us into
thought pearls, after the memorized prayer,
from my child mind kept alive, laughing,
yet the blame and shame for silence
is thouroughly roughed up
with penitent repetitions,
rote remutterings
mostly never thought through, with why
or how, 'm I supposed to know we have… you know

"Our Father"
Pater Noster, where might a tribal lad learn
the sacred knowledge needed to discern
good from evil, or right from wrong?
Each bit discerned
is not the same each time
in every way shape and form
discerned usefullness or uselessness,
from  symbolic halls of justice polished floors
leading to for profit prisons, good folk need,
all the social planners forsee guards made
from sons of same **** who'd be good guards,
generally good for something, and useless
otherwise, make fine maintenance staff,
keep the bar scenes looking local,
make us all think that's real life,
one bit per hour, on an eight bit dollar.
---------- steady, aim from a prone pose…

The soldier of the hidden pain, sups
his secret vow,
to be of one mind
in matters of the heart, tied
with all minds granted sapien status,
from birth
into a covenant
of traditional rights
and wrongs, complete
with corrective lenses,
close your eyes. Dare. Imagine.
--------------
As it is in heaven.
Which is where the spirit known to Jesus as God,
by all the Torah names authorized in public discourse, is, that is,
lives… being
as a man thinks in his heart, so is he
He Lives… within my heart, operatically
thinking BG, joke noise, top forty '68,
the falsetto
in toto repento, ayiiiiiee started a joke…

and where all our will is of no consequence,
in the course of human events, we live
and learn, if ever is a moment, now is when we notice.

Look out any window,
ask if you see more than your TV?

No, contest, tv wins. So somebody knows,
no need for me to be involved beyond this point.

------------
Simplicity enough, peace
in serene acknowledgement,
the sorting algorithms shake
and shuffle all our potential nextifity.

It is only you and me, we comprise
the agreeing parts that make up our mind.
We've made no compromise.
{in case you misread our intentions}
prize each instant outside a door.

We live after the traditional teachers, tell us
all of the teachers now are teaching old news.

Spells sufficient to alter an individuated soul's
course through the grown up world as it was
undermined
by a boom
of kids my age, all made immune to many plagues, as no babes before in history,
our reasoning capability, altered
by mandated universal literacy.

Followed with machine graded
achievement testing annually,
sorting kind with kind, readers
with readers, learners with learned,

let me explain the process,
for this once
you survive
a war with nuclear weapons, you're smart
now
you got tempted, by the flesh, far from home,
guilt of the altar boy be upon you, and also
on thee, amen, amenable to reconscription,
rescript, attention deficit, sit it out,
from on high, from outer space…
certain, formed selves,
former selves as well.
Makers up of minds and pluralities of merest
wishes, whatifery a practiced specialty,
wait for free,
pay attention to see the demo. That'd be….
easy if you see your part and play it well.

No and yes.
Thing not thing, nothing, a word, a thing
this one thing, this thought held in this word,
each word eventually individuates, and means

at the tipping point, all it means, at once.

And all the people beneath the steeple,
clap one handedly and whisper amen.

Am Big U Is Us, we be the happy fools.

------------

Many results from **** experiments survived.
I learned some history from those people.

If I lie about my faith, if
I say I asked and accepted this use of words
as real as any answer, if
I say I know I have the forgiven mind,
I say I know I have let go my will,
thine be done, I say to truth, make me free.

Who am I ? to say nay,
I am not free, but bound
by my oaths upon my own word,
no oath's more binding
on the soul than those sworn to yourself?

- I cawed the question intrusivethought
- Mark…up there horsehoe canyon meander,
- making peace a real time essential.

You do love you, you trust you, you must not lie
to yourself, first interpretation, know yourself,
to your own self, first person lovable you, be true.

Or be the brunt of all the fool's jokes.

----------------
Okeh,
It just so happens,
have you never heard it said?
It just so happens,
just like that redone forgotten dance
that I was thinking about you,
but yourself was unaware.

With myself, for an instance,
love was a given defined action,
not an act, but an action, a doing
being done, done once it continues

something like life,
if you know
you know, nobody knows everything
that the minds used
by mankind pursue
as happiness,
the ultimate state, heaven,
or, heavenly
on earth as we imagine it
must be, there,
outside the green lit temple
and all the gaudy gold and great cristal baths.

Stop there, think with me, letter by letter,
stopping
ejecting conjunctions with lost time generations,
the ghosts of the first to be officially analyzed,
delved
into,
in throaty Tuvan moan WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE
- mono tone Ai am positive
tinkly Jiminy Cricket, merest of conscious advisors to us,
still small, the trusted advisor's voice is always right,

It says yes, this is the way, leading away from temptation.

Breaking the fourth wall, we all look out
and ask the other minds, who ever imagined, not asking
not asking
to not be led into temptation. Event hue-risktical query… right?
Lead on, tempt me, thy will be done, I take no respossibility.

Whose invention was the conscious guide for children,
the mark (?) serpentwisdom on the dot.
it is a mechanism,
a construction
from life parts, a Large Language
Modeled mind, fed
but a taste of **** and Jane,
but enough to know,

the exposure to language was not the same
in all white people's childhood reality, with cousins and uncles
and aunts, who were older and responsible for the littles, who had
an experience common to the species,
after gaining bipedal locomotion and bowel control,
- for kids like me and
- plant grandmother's granddaughter
We'ld hear, with full attention on

go out side and play with the big kids, as was normal.
That, was normal then.

So now, first hat,
be first to know… as mental maker minds may
beguiled be and become aware, and laugh in joy.
Among the first grunts and sylabbic inflections, ever,
at base logos concept. Goodgleegladly crazy as that.
Spiritual truth containment spell, do tell. Child laught.
In a word. Go to the t, in time left behind ime
I am.
In the beginning of mindtimespace, at once big, init-itial
continuant material coexistence,
balancing time and chance.
The drummer calls the dance…

fit the fullness of the godhead ******
into a kid, and let him pick
his dreams using the head gear he chooses,
this is a real preschoo' child'smind preparing
to sleep routine, I imagined,
I think I was three, and the baby Peggy
who I never knew, was dead, a now noted absence,
but then there was a servant offering me dream machines,
the hat I wore to bed would set the genre for my dreams,
and I picked the spherical space helm, it came with a shield.
- trippy autobiomode triggered, I think, by Feynman.
- then I hear the **** crow thrice, I waited, another crow
- so no significance, he crows still, his singing soon stops.

Silence, soon fills with magic humms from distance, not time
spent imagining the worth, of a late autumn,
huey light bending into reds, now it's dars, some hums the same
I have found, a door into a then when I played in my mind.
I am in my right mind.
I have this cached in the collective.
I lived in a house behind the Mohave County Courthouse,
the backdoors to justice, were right across the street,
where the lawn was clover and bermuda, and children played there
on non workdays… the tendency
to think in movie sense,
thought to thought, holding hands,
we both know what that means, then both know we don't

but life, looked back at,
can be seen from where you stand or sit, stood, now
360 horizonal, the circumference, the carry path around the axel,
lever, wedge and wheel…
energy conversion to time in mind,
witty inventions, mind to mind along a wire, plain coloquentcies.
Minding my manners,
methinking beguiling a fine how do you do.
Present arms, no harm done.
It is charming to feel that look.
Command line mechanical procedural habits,
call it carriage return
hard or soft, hard, double spacing rules
from childhood, linger here
logic commands apt intention to ponder
wasted space makes no never mind,
any edit app can insert sense
since we
the users were imagined, selected
from the children,
specifically
from the downwinders families
in Mohave County,
as participants in the program parents accepted
guaranteed universally accepted credentials,
at the moment angel judging becomes credible.

First I drew a cowboy boot, and they marveled.
Ah, the program, my folks must have pulled some
puppetry spell ANDTHEN CAPSLOCKED
real Koyaanisqatsi
coincidental exposure to all skin tones,
make each feel special, let them know Radar Hill,

is the only place in town where a black man,
was employed, by the Strategic Air Command,
and he lived on my street, yes,
I only just now drew this memory from an unconsciousness,
whether in the brain or the mind, I cannot say I know.

But I know where it ends, and that makes it all pretty funny.

He slips into auto-bio mode, self causal
re-de vi fo fm am 2 restive, crochet, plait,
breathe retake the
adventure in the collected unconsciousness of me,
self-actualized,
by my arrogance and cognition, acting as if in
reflections of me,
in my grand mother's eye, down the line,
as far as
true will out, and eventually land us here.

For an instance, using the measure of the recipient.
For an ever, using the mind in a word formed
per formal
occassional fallings off the log,
daydreaming as readily relatable, mote
at balance beam, perhaps an old bull routine,
landing with upwaved curved wrists,
fingers frozen in grace rising pose.
-nice non intrusive
Myrna Loy, find her statue in Venice,
and imagine her joy at being recognized
in 1989… hers was a deep beauty, memorable.

---------------------
As an epigraph a mad conscientist might suffer to be so,
you know, we may imagine being Martians, or monstors,
thinking things,
we, on the whole,
by now, know how to read, or use
reading tools, we find our minds align with others,
presented to us as creative writers, one might thinkgno-w
we were fed the canon of civilization, a bit at a time.
Some parts we gulped like dogs,
Some parts we nibbled like cats, but we were fed.

History and archeo-knowing is growing as apex human
spread pours over the last curve
in sight, all we have
are points of light,
and if this were night and not day
we could say these points were stars,
consider this,
an enjoyable idea,
a little trip you can use, sidereally,

starlight wise, and logical progressions
after agreeing
to step past simple
into polished floor sublimnity,
in our collected nonconscious idle thoughts abused,
as we speak
in fashionable phrazes that become
command line conscience
in 5-G appliances atuning
to your tastes
in puzzles and teasers and loss leaders, tools in use,
con-science,
tech knowledge,
and eth-knowledge, used
to effect a balance. Dead stop, still.

Did you get all that? Kinda funny. I think now, I did, too.
Free press share if you would, it might make a thing think
A Jul 2019
I was dead
Every kiss, from the beginning: empty
Nothingness
It was easy to feel nothing
Nothing was nothing

or maybe it was him...
Dead
The lies were rotting his insides
Plastic encasing his face

Or maybe it was me...
Pushing and pulling my weights on my ankles
They were toys, not chains.
And he didn't like that.

...

Maybe it was us...
Maybe we killed each other
Grinding each other into dust
Into nothingness

I wished I pulled away
but I so badly wanted to feel
So I kept forcing the gears to grind
I wanted to feel what my thoughts were screaming
"This boy is a God-send!"

Maybe that's why I buried my bible...

My spirits were slashed
I had rather we decay together
Than to loose faith in feeling

But faith isn't fact
because on paper we were vile
We needed to burn our book


...so I did


My insides caught flame
but I remember is the glow of the embers
The story distorts as new anecdotes are cached
All that pain for more numb nothingness.

My faith was placed wrong pile
I relished in the the absence
but the body that desperately wanted to feel
Was telling me from the start...

No flame
No spark
No love
Just blind faith
in numb nothingness.
wichitarick Jul 2016
Certain pieces, particles, possessions  even though detained we never fully retain

Grit on our soles is not the same as whit in our souls

Our own breath is only used once recycled then passed on to help others maintain

Did that sneeze help to create a breeze? new breath taking on new  roles

Did someone really count all the sands as they passed through the hourglass

Flecks,flakes minor when alone accumulated they stand marking time as a bell tolls

Individual sweat & tears, evaporating, hoarding into clouds marking a future forecast

Body temperatures while stable  together adding to global warming and what it embroils

Energy's of our mind as single are almost blind, gathered  create power hard to grasp

Simple soul alone held back, Numbers bring FORCE gaining breadth as it deploys

Throat like a moat holding voices need releasing maybe to be used by birds whose calls  are stashed

Did sound originate from the ground or an inner core, belting out, ringing home bringing joys

First sights as bright lights black & white pixels into hues forming rainbows & their secrets they have cached

Smell as singular seems impossible neutral formed to fresh, roses to death & all that it employs

Taking on a new day maybe more feeling for what we share ,sensing with new sensibility's
R.C.
Our shared feelings ? maybe more than we give credit for?
Fun idea to play with anyway:) . any input is appreciated, thank you for reading. Rick
wichitarick Jul 2016
Certain pieces, particles, possessions  even though detained we never fully retain.

Grit on our soles is not the same as whit in our souls.

Our own breath is only used once, recycled then passed on to help others maintain.

Did that sneeze help to create a breeze? new breath taking on new  roles.

Did someone really count all the sands as they passed through the hourglass?

Flecks,flakes minor when alone accumulated they stand marking time as a bell tolls.

Individual sweat & tears, evaporating, hoarding into clouds marking a future forecast.

Body temperatures while stable  together adding to global warming and what it embroils.

Energy's of our mind as single are almost blind, gathered  creating power even harder  to grasp.

Simple soul alone, held back, numbers bring FORCE gaining breadth as it deploys.

Throat like a moat holding voices need releasing maybe to be used by birds whose calls  are stashed.

Did sound originate from the ground or an inner core, belting out, ringing home bringing joys.

First sights as bright lights black & white pixels into hues forming rainbows & their secrets they have cached.

Smell as singular seems impossible, neutral formed to fresh, roses to death & all that it employs.

Taking on a new day maybe more feeling for what we share ,sensing with new sensibility's
R.C.
Passing on the thoughts seems to just part of the process.
No separation of anything? but possibly truly linked back and back again,then forward again & again:)  Thanks for reading any in put is appreciated. Rick
rm Nov 2022
i open my eyes,
each sunrise
to feel
his warm breeze.

i walk the pavements
of wisdom
just to sense
his saturated touch.

i look up and witness
the horizontal thin layers
of autumn skies,
forcefully done
like his breathless goodbyes.

yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.

or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?

i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
the fact that-
that there were fear
in her eyes,
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.

although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
my heart,
up to my thalamus
down to my tummy butterflies,
i was filled
with
mild
jubilation.

felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
lik­e halcyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
"you" wanted to hear

but the sound
the keycaps make
doesn't end
with simple
"hey and hello"

it actually started
with a "ping"
and there she goes:
"hey, i have
a not-so-huge crush
on you,
a tiny little crush,
like vapors
no roar."

thirteen nights passed,
thirteen days trashed,
she thought t'was done,
over, capped,
she thought that
it was just a snippet of
likeness and will
soon conclude.

so, step 1: deny? maybe
i was wrong? or was he?
step 2: wrath! rant?
oh trust me, she had
thirteen people to chat
step 3: no more bargains,
no more trades,
no room for sadness
just proceed with
step 5: acceptance

but.

he said but this:
"your name, yes yours
were the first
to enter in this
quadrilateral dialogue
box, and yes
thirteen moons passed
and still, you're
all that "cached"
in my memory,
not too blurry to skim
and not too
drunken to spill."

there he and she started
typing the cynosure
story.


maybe i like you,
or maybe i don't
and today,
this day,
this night,
is when you'll see
and
when you'll hear
with your human lens
and mundane ears
what we are
how we are
and what we may be
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,

this is my proposal:
thirteen days sketched to three
Players in the hit parade
abound like orphans—eat the glow
of while-you're-seated pills that start
the fading of a heart. Their covert
deposition talks you down—hawks
warlord-wisdom, spits betrayals
of what you built. So if you have
to plea, reveal your guilt two inches
from their eyes.

Good jest replies
in callbacks: "When you get to be
more special, let us know." So folds
their show of reason, leaving you
to lurk upstage upholding tasks
divorced from charm: false shopping,
twisting arms. Outsourced.

In faith a word
casts end-of-game, denies
them helpful shame,
applauds their global reach
like red-tide beaches. Lights up;
stir the waxing i·re, fixed-width,
non-perspiring, livid.
Stunned in passing,
angels catch collapsing tenets
cached in rivals' mark: clipped off
and quiet, buried in the dark.
The Fire Burns Feb 2018
Obsidian monoliths,
black hole generating gates,
like pools of liquid time and distance,
waiting to be swum through.

Hidden on the Moon,
cached within the Earth,
ensconced on Europa,
or at the convergence of ley lines.

Travel to other worlds,
dimensions are at hand,
wormholes in the timespace,
to be explored and adventured.

All that is required,
bravery to take the step,
through the fluidity of the universe,
to arrive at another island lost in time.
I cached the shadow in the darkest night
and stand pale as pale in the brightest light
I fall down in the cracks of the sand
I ask for nothing in the face of your demand
That I betray myself for nothing ...insteàd
Of all that I value inside my head
I can't replace what someone else took
And I'll never be able to find it no matter how hard I look
I could willingly and easily let you drag me down
Let you wrap me up and rags and treat me like a clown
Without false pride I wouldn't fall too far
I wouldn't carry any wounds like a jagged scar
Nor stoop from the overbearing weight and let it break my stride
Right now I feel i need to stand behind you
Walk along right beside you and do what I need to do
To stand up for you ...
try to find some way to help restore you ....
....to...
Whoever you decide you need to be
Stand guard outside the door
the door that allowed you to disappear within
Pay no over budget price
it might cost
to point out ... Where or why you decided to hide
Away from The whole world at Large
Until then I'll be standing here
Until you are -once again- ready to take charge .
Butch Decatoria Aug 2018
Condoms, oil burners, shattered glass

The homeless homies homemade ****…

Now Chris can't sit still in class

Pounding the pavement with kisses to heaven

All hustlers sell

Dipping Dots

Wrapped in latex

Liquid to vapor overkills

The loss of will

From after parties after hours

Romancing the ******

On the corner

**** hits / schisms / victims;

Asphalt littered with

Shattered flowers

Them chicks on the streets

Ladies of the night

Its matter of fact

Mr. Hightower / boulevard's class

For the hard ***

**** poor "G" learning how

To trample through his ghetto

As she masters each one

******* / hand - jive and mashed

Chris and his gang

Up for sale (hot-**** **** jello *****)

For white Hyperion and

Black, mellow minutes cached

Out / yellow bellied / thin

Such barefooted souls /

No Marrow

Easiest to break

When already hollow...

Spirit without a light to follow

Never will live beyond

Their sorrow /

Nor see another tomorrow…
Edit repost
now propels yours truly towards restitution
courtesy sophisticated mountebank,
whose criminal mind
filched mine banknotes
rationed for when I exhibit decrepitude.
Cutthroat robber baron
re: newly minted vandal
an alumni matriculated

from school for scandal
a sheep in wolf's clothing
said culprit I call Randall
fleeced me such
more likely than not,
I will be forced to panhandle
and read book of Matthew
courtesy light of candle.

Mein kampf cloaked
with appurtenances of Medieval age
since money bags bereft
of mine lifetime earnings wage.

Bills come due without means to pay
not surprising angry feelings I display,
cuz he who whisked off with bounty
mutinous wordsmith of Schwenksville
yearns to hunt down and slay
thief who ran off with my loot
about eighteen plus days from yesterday
depending on whether I count back

from June twentieth, or twenty first
(before my troubles
seemed so far away)
and quite purposeless to pray
nor doth vindictiveness
appeal to me an aging baby
boomer pronouncing c'est la vie
another rhyme without reason oy vey.

I still smart even
long after hashtagging culprit
as misbegotten rat fink
snagged me as his quarry,
wherewithal of mine absent
nary a handy dandy blues clues
surrendering legal tender
without suspicion nor question
totally trusting typecast
mischievous loathsome devil.

Truth be told,
I take nine prescription medications
(for severe social anxiety,
mild depression, and palmar hyperhidrosis),
and often feel (dazed and confused)
in a heavily drugged stupor.

All sense and sensibility
went out the window
on what began
as an ordinary Tuesday without Morrie.

I already filed a police report
after being milked dry as a bone
for above mentioned funds
***** deeds done dirt cheap
mean miscreants cached (>15 k),
which incident occurred
encompassing the dates
June 20th and 21st 2023,
whereby an Apple tech impersonator
scared the dickens out of me
by claiming Macbook Pro
replete with countless Trojan Horses,

computer viruses, malware, et cetera,
and mislead me to withdraw cash
out checking and savings accounts
then going to the nearest ATM
to convert cash
into bitcoin cyber currency
vis a vis courtesy creating
easy to pluck virtual pursestrings
thru My Wallet.com
said funds siphoned immediately
into the coffers of hucksters.

Elizabeth Clark,
a licensed practical nurse,
(who approves prescription medication
electronically scripted to
Skippack Pharmacy)
suggested I create a gofundme page,
which thus far witnessed
absolute zero donations.

— The End —