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Daniel Ruiz Aug 2018
I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.
Piyush Gahlot Oct 2018
Can I call you ?
I miss your voice.
I miss our long calls.
I want to hear you say my name.

Can i text you ?,
unblock me!
I feel so alone.
I feel so foolish.

Can you come and see me ?
May be for the one last time,
Or Could you please hurt me some more,
And give me something to move On.
:(
Missing her. Not easy to move on.
Mark Parker Nov 2014
From the top now boys and girls!
Take it from the top,
the show is on tomorrow and it must go on!
It goes on if you brake a nail,
it goes on if you brake a finger,
it goes on if you brake a leg.
And if you don't brake a leg,
I'll brake it for you! **Chop Chop!
Not sure what it means. I'm open to ideas
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2018
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes  eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word  uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.

Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.

America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.

M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
“death everywhere, not age or ancient, just an infiltrated lack of life”

a puzzling, troubling line in a personal message,
instantly isolated for further review,
needy indeedy for a second medical opinion,
for it’s a description of two,
an actual place and a state of being

a place where death seems more commonplace,
not from agedness or honor,
but from a madness drunk from a special cocktail of
heat, guns and pseudo-rock stars, with beer chasers

imbibed by those who imagine themselves INRL  
in a movie genre of specialized urban cowboys,
subset horror flick,
self-appointed angels

part of a world view
so pervasive that it infiltrates the mental water supply
and modifies the pure children early on

demeaning existence, with a sense, a sendup,
life is unreal, cheap, so taking it-is ok,
justice delivered, for we angels,
are subset,
angels of death

in a country where
seven out of ten believe in angels,
and one in four confident that
the sun revolves around the Earth

look to blame
polluted water
the ever-overheated atmosphere,
bringing typhoon and storm,

I do not know

how be sun and water,
the essences, the originations of all life
today come to the planet days still
clear and warm,
yet can not infiltrate our personal mystery,
respire, re-spark the notion of the spirit,


the simple sanctity of life peculiarly human
call me by my other name
mystified momma
Alpha.
Dopamine Hit For The Data-Addict

Beta.
Conscious Experience

Gamma.
Being Is A Category

Delta.
The Existential Is Ours To Warp As We See Fit

Epsilon.
This Iris Brimming With Choice Or Judgement

Zeta.
Dialectics Of Thought

Eta.
Rapturous Olympus

[Heta].
Exile Vilify

Theta.
Sublime/Oblivious

Iota.
Romantic ******'s American Dream

[Kappa].
Devise Your Own Philosophy

Lambda.
Wake Up "Mr. Freeman"

Mu.
Recurring (Socratic) Anachronism

Nu.
History Is Written, Rewrite Politics

Omicron.
Zero-Summing

Pi.
Listen To The Moon

[Qoppa].
How Many Dimensions

Rho.
Be The Compassionate Arbiter

Sigma.
Humanity Is A Joint Effort,
Mastery Is A Sole Exploit

Tau.
Some Sick Fiend

Upsilon.
Welcome To Wonderland

Phi.
Philosophy At A Rave

Digamma.
Thus "The Symbionts Were Born"

Chi.
Found In A Maze Of Spring Empathy

Psi.
Pharmahuasca Maelstrom Drank The Earth

Omega.
Ion Chaser Ate A Hurricane
{[Greek-Alphabet](Definite)}
Vicki Kralapp Oct 2018
The bush, Down Under, beckons me, and calls me from across the sea,
its sirens sing their distant songs, with winged flutes and sorrowed calls.
I walk the haunting memories, while warm winds whistle through the trees,
and watch the ghosts of gumtrees play, while passing wattles on the way.
This foreign land bewitches me, and to my heart it holds the key;
a land where once my spirit played, from where I have too long delayed.

From secret depths you sang to me, to where I’d always longed to be.
You called me forth, your land ignites, the strength within me to unite,
the unbound lass I’d sought to be, with new-found strength to set me free.
I found, much to my heart’s delight, when first I landed at this site,
the beauty of its majesty, I made its land a part of me.
This mystic place on earth excites, has caught my heart and held it tight.    

At once I knew that foreign shore, as if I been there long before;
with memories reminding me, of golden grasses by the sea,
a voice inside of me implored and told me you’ve been here before!”,
This view within my mind foreseen?  Just déjà vu? I can’t concede.
The scene’ry in my mind before, has opened a mysterious door,
into a land over the sea and made this curious memory.

When darkness flees, the day’s still new, when laughter bids the night adieu,
then bellbirds ring the morning in, their chimes float on the early wind.
The loris and the gold finch too, are both arrayed in rainbow hues.
With gum nuts, leaves, and bark akin, all carpeting the floor therein,
along with ****** bushland too, when all of nature sang anew,
the master painter, here has been, as seen in beauty from within.

As sunbeams from the sky break through, all glistens in the morning dew,
and add their magic touch to all; to paperbarks and banksias,
the bottle brush and wattles too, all readied for the day’s review.
Loud kookaburras’ raucous calls, with cockatoos and pink galahs,
pied currawong and magpie flutes, enchanting all who hear their tunes.
All joined in bushland’s magic call, and with this tune, I was enthralled.

I’ve been across this curious land, and seen more than I may have planned,
from Alice Springs and Uluru, and Darwin north of Kakadu,
the Barrier Reef, just off of Cairns, and Sydney with its city grand.
But the place I keep in view, with cockatoos and kangaroos,
in this immense, and distant land; the bush with all its beauty grand.
‘Tis in my mem’ry, pure and true, and with each breath calls back to you.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Cindra Carr Dec 2012
I lusted today.
It was that deep, down urge.
I stretched and moaned
Without even thinking.
It felt good to think it.
I wanted it hard enough
And got reprimanded for it.
That harsh ‘don’t do that’
Was spoken quickly in my ear.
I couldn’t help it.
I knew it’d feel good.
Inadvertent as the groan was,
It still felt good.
I knew he wanted it too.
He just couldn’t right then
And it made me want it even more.

©cc122612
Jesse stillwater Sep 2018
feel the wind whistle
down the tenebrous sky
come to carry away
my silenced heart

hold dear the love
you see through
    my dried  tears —
before  the  glint
doth  fade

lay me down alone,
my dearest friend,
eyes  to  the  sky
   neath the lone oak tree —
atop the meadow hill

where a lonely child
climbed gnarled rungs
in hope to sail away
on fleeting cotton clouds;
dreaming of a place
in the distant sky
to  call  home


Jesse Stillwater ... September 21, 2018
Thanks for reading — Jesse
Lizzy Sep 2014
How did I turn into this?
How did I wake up one morning,
Suddenly afraid I was going to live?
They say I am,

"Irish?"

Then they call me Dan.

Who called upon your shores and...
said 'such-a-thing' as boorish?


CALL ME DAN

infinity
infinity
infinity


rear your

       * **** head... *
'Dan,' means 'Hero' in ancient tongue.
It's been seven years, she still tries to call him controlling all her fears.
The phone was still dead,
And so was his life;
Somewhere between the game of life,
deep inside her heart hope and love was still alive.
A short poem on all the strong mothers, wives and daughters of the martyrs who sacrificed their lives for us.
Hope you guys like it.
Thank you!
imai Jun 2018
she tells me
she’s in love,
all the time.

all with different guys,
all with different lies,
all the while,
the same shine in her eyes.

she says she’s in love,
and her love is kind—
though it is anything but.
i’ve seen the havoc it leaves behind.

she calls it love,
because she would
lose herself
if he left—
she could care less
for her kids
that would weep,
no,

their tears,
they could keep.

they were mistakes
she shouldn’t have made.
those children aren’t love
but the price she has paid.

my mother tells me she’s in love
one too many times.

i’d love to see her eyes
shine the same way
when she tells me,
she loves me.
the kind of love
a mother
provides.
a challenge by YanF
Nassif Younes May 2016
I wear my knitwear
Because wearing my knitwear is peaceful.

Because when they see me over there
Wearing my knitwear
They don't feel scared
They only think I'm peaceful.

They notice my awkward stare
And think
"There's no need for me to be scared
Because he's wearing knitwear
And wearing knitwear is peaceful."

So they say hello
And start a conversation
Free of care
As I think about stripping their skin
And knitting it there -
With all the others -
Into my knitwear.
L B Feb 2017
Snow plows beeping
Reverse whine and scrape
Swirling blizzard of waking—Strange
in this place where
boredom banks both snow and cold
Are my eyes running?
After all
there's a stiff wind, and it’s 18 below....

Pictures and phone calls make up my family
Stray cats eat suet I leave for the birds
who make names for themselves in sunlit bushes
Love these more than...

my hearse of a job

where that ice cream vat—slipped
smashed
my sodden dish-doin’

fingers    against     sink

Pain mounts its insurrection!
Ambushed!
from every direction
Fainting in steam
Squeezing my eyes    
till the blood shuts my brain-failing
Down my wrist
all over
the front of this rubber apron....

Someone hates me somewhere

Someone found me more tenacious
than a road-**** skunk!

I eat    I drink    I work    I sleep
between these vicious icicles  


-18F = -28 C
"I'm lovin' it!"
Only one of the sorrows of Portland, Maine, winter 1997-- to whom it may concern.
Piyush Gahlot Mar 12
My phone rang,
Saw her name flashing after eternity,
but, WHY ?
Why would you call now?

Ain't we done yet.
last time I checked,
you were long gone,
gone too far to be back.
You hustled into another relationship,
couldn't wait to give me another chance,
wasn't I worthy ?

I have tried enough,
I have cried enough,
Can't bear this no more.
Just come back,
Or leave me alone, forever, please!
No calls !
No texts!
My Ex called up after a long time.
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