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"carrousel" poems
El corazón y su redoble iracundo el obscuro caballo de la sangre caballo ciego caballo desbocado el carrousel nocturno la noria del terror el grito contra el muro y la centella rota Camino andado                             Camino desandado El cuerpo a cuerpo con un pensamiento afilado la pena que interrogo cada día y no responde la pena que no se aparta y cada noche me despierta la pena sin tamaño y sin nombre el alfiler y el párpado traspasado el párpado del día mal vivido la hora manchada la ternura escupida la risa loca y la puta mentira la soledad y el mundo Camino andado                             camino desandado El coso de la sangre y la pica y la rechifla el sol sobre la herida sobre las aguas muertas el astro hirsuto la rabia y su acidez recomida el pensamiento que se oxida y la escritura gangrenada el alba desvivida y el día amordazado la noche cavilada y su hueso roído el horror siempre nuevo y siempre repetido Camino andado                             camino desandado El vaso de agua la pastilla la lengua de estaño el hormiguero en pleno sueño cascada negra de la sangre cascada pétrea de la noche el peso bruto de la nada zumbido de motores en la ciudad inmensa lejos cerca lejos en el suburbio de mi oreja aparición del metro cojo el puente roto y el ahogado Camino andado                             camino desandado El pensamiento circular y el círculo de familia ¿qué hice qué hiciste qué hemos hecho? el laberinto de la culpa sin culpa el espejo que acusa y el silencio que se gangrena el día estéril la noche estéril el dolor estéril la soledad promiscua el mundo despoblado la sala de espera en donde ya no hay nadie Camino andado y desandado la vida se ha ido sin volver el rostro.
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El corazón y su redoble iracundo el obscuro caballo de la sangre caballo ciego caballo desbocado el carrousel nocturno la noria del terror el grito contra el muro y la centella rota Camino andado                             Camino desandado El cuerpo a cuerpo con un pensamiento afilado la pena que interrogo cada día y no responde la pena que no se aparta y cada noche me despierta la pena sin tamaño y sin nombre el alfiler y el párpado traspasado el párpado del día mal vivido la hora manchada la ternura escupida la risa loca y la puta mentira la soledad y el mundo Camino andado                             camino desandado El coso de la sangre y la pica y la rechifla el sol sobre la herida sobre las aguas muertas el astro hirsuto la rabia y su acidez recomida el pensamiento que se oxida y la escritura gangrenada el alba desvivida y el día amordazado la noche cavilada y su hueso roído el horror siempre nuevo y siempre repetido Camino andado                             camino desandado El vaso de agua la pastilla la lengua de estaño el hormiguero en pleno sueño cascada negra de la sangre cascada pétrea de la noche el peso bruto de la nada zumbido de motores en la ciudad inmensa lejos cerca lejos en el suburbio de mi oreja aparición del metro cojo el puente roto y el ahogado Camino andado                             camino desandado El pensamiento circular y el círculo de familia ¿qué hice qué hiciste qué hemos hecho? el laberinto de la culpa sin culpa el espejo que acusa y el silencio que se gangrena el día estéril la noche estéril el dolor estéril la soledad promiscua el mundo despoblado la sala de espera en donde ya no hay nadie Camino andado y desandado la vida se ha ido sin volver el rostro.
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50
it hurts to breathe, to think, to be stop this carousel, i can't play it's hard to fly with tearful eyes and i don't feel anything today diamonds dahlias daggers and dust i wonder i do, is anything real this crazy calliope carrousel ride sometimes makes it hard to feel
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Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
carrousel //
If only we could leave this place, I'd take your hand and our feet would lift from Earth Our lungs are joined and our hearts are one, We'd share our cares, our worries gone Come on baby; fly away with me I can see it now, We're passing mountains, our feet on clouds Baby, our home is on its way 'round, An eye in the sky, a carrousel on the ground Come on baby; fly away with me No, don't ask them to understand, Jealousy stings, it's just us here now The ocean's far below, The clouds block it out Come on baby; fly away with me Hush, hush, the man on the moon sleeps, His head aloft, his slumber deep. Baby, that could be you and me, Our house is in the clouds now Come on baby; fly away with me I heard tears don't exist up there, Up there, way up in the atmosphere The feeling of wind against our skin, It's making tangles in our hair Come on baby, fly away with me Catching lightning, Thunder laughing, Baby are you with me? You'll see this page, Recall the words I say, "Come on baby; fly away with me"
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Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC
The House in the Clouds
Check it out I learn knowledge of self To up my health now they movin' in stealth gainin' mental wealth Cuz im long lasting tongue is blastin' A million rhymes infectin' the mic right? Ya loosin' sight ya thoughts going braille Welcome to the 9th Gate of hell where I sail On brainwaves my heart craves for the saves Of hip hop not from Atlanta but a brave These idiots crave in a rage cuz I'm turning the page Back to the first scene of hip hop see how my tape pops ears cropped mouths begin to drop from the rhymes that I cop Into ya corticals breakin' in to ya local articles full of arsenal minds a carrousel Since I was an embyro I knew I  was built for ******** a punisher Ya fallin' way under Evil content words laid immense never consent To plans of a Masonic establishment broke the lease I'm hear to visually increase My linguistic is mathematics so have at it Stab it and I'll break the habit No ropes around my brain absorb the pain Once I reclaim my domain a Pharoah to a King ? Huh? my word sharper than a Marlin philosophize like Carlin No short bargains bump political jargons While y'all arguing I'm upping my mind for wisdom To grow while others thoughts still covered up in snow....
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Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC
Saints Of Olympius
She liked to play games, Not in the malicious way, And not in a way that didn’t make me want to stay, She played like the way people feel the need to light up the night’s sky in the cities that she loved, To make what is there different, To shine a comforting, milky, glow over the natural state of sky that is known well by those Whose veins pump a wealth of that dense black nothing into their chests until their hearts are heavy, And their fun loving games are just an actor’s play, Complete with a weekly Sunday matinee, Featuring scenes from the girl who they think about too much during their day to day; So just let it be what it is. Let the sky at night make you feel small, Like a strand of hair lost in a shifting pit of snakes, Let your fear be too overwhelmed by awe, To speak about things like you were on a hazy carrousel, A fun up and down ride with no real need to dwell, Because we are young and still have many coins left in our pockets to feed the machine, Things do look funny when you pass by them quickly, But if you would stop the ride, And take the time, To focus fully on the things outside, You may still find yourself spinning. The truth is, is that the truth is, as direct and striking as a visit with the night’s sky without the comfort of our own lights, With a black that’s not broadcast, Like the sleek coats of dark and powerful horses buried by the overwhelming snow of a crashing roof, Trapped and still for an untold amount of time, Because the memory of the image is too emotional to be measured by things as precise as seconds, minutes, hours. They were poetry from a beautiful girl, Who liked to play games, She made my week by stepping off her carrousel, And ridding on mine, Until the golden sun fell, And I ran out of time, Too bad she died.
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Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
Games
She liked to play games, Not in the malicious way, And not in a way that didn’t make me want to stay, She played like the way people feel the need to light up the night’s sky in the cities that she loved, To make what is there different, To shine a comforting, milky, glow over the natural state of sky that is known well by those Whose veins pump a wealth of that dense black nothing into their chests until their hearts are heavy, And their fun loving games are just an actor’s play, Complete with a weekly Sunday matinee, Featuring scenes from the girl who they think about too much during their day to day; So just let it be what it is. Let the sky at night make you feel small, Like a strand of hair lost in a shifting pit of snakes, Let your fear be too overwhelmed by awe, To speak about things like you were on a hazy carrousel, A fun up and down ride with no real need to dwell, Because we are young and still have many coins left in our pockets to feed the machine, Things do look funny when you pass by them quickly, But if you would stop the ride, And take the time, To focus fully on the things outside, You may still find yourself spinning. The truth is, is that the truth is, as direct and striking as a visit with the night’s sky without the comfort of our own lights, With a black that’s not broadcast, Like the sleek coats of dark and powerful horses buried by the overwhelming snow of a crashing roof, Trapped and still for an untold amount of time, Because the memory of the image is too emotional to be measured by things as precise as seconds, minutes, hours. They were poetry from a beautiful girl, Who liked to play games, She made my week by stepping off her carrousel, And ridding on mine, Until the golden sun fell, And I ran out of time, Too bad she died.
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She froze; Not because of the cold weather, But the stares burnt a hole In her nervous system So she froze, Not because of the lack of blood circulation In her tightening limbs, But because the world felt like It has to stop. Some believe that, If you breathe slow enough You can hinder time; She stopped time For she was tired of twisting, Carrying humans with her hands Lifting their weights on her shoulder blades; It was too exhausting For her to be a carrousel So she decided to become a rocket ship instead; She - Opened her arms wide Creating sharp edges To break through the wind, With feet straight together Like the rulers she used To underline her name over every assignment With little drawn hearts on top of the i’s And circles over the e’s - For her tendency to be perfect Was a result of her fear of failure. She was ready to be a rocket ship, But she had no fuel in her gas tank So she froze.
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Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
A Poem For Merry-go-round:
You can ride on my carrousel Always and always circulating With shinning horses painted with oiled paint You can ride on my carrousel Always spinning in a sky blue painted ceiling Enter in my carrousel The children are playing But they dont disturb They only bring back good memories -d.a
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Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
carrousel
He Told Me About Paris he told me about Paris after making love… how he once sat in the Café de Flore as a boy… awaiting his mother who danced for a living… he told me about Paris over morning coffee, and no mention of the night before he talked with love for a city I’ll never know…. strolling along the river Seine in sunsets of orange and tangerine… he told me about the The Musée du Louvre as he made Coriander omelettes … squeezing fresh lemon in glasses of ice water… la Ville Lumière… he murmured as he gazed deep into my eyes City of Light and Love… I’ll take you there… if you dare to come he promised as he lay a soft tender kiss on each toe… he told me about Paris… and the Notre-Dame Cathedral and Café de la Paix, where the streets were Prolific with revellers and the after-opera crowd… I’ll take you to The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel he whispered as he placed a Bracelet on my wrist and we can hold hands as we stroll around the monument… I’ll take you to Paris, in the Autumn, he promised our feet will crunch the golden leaves of the Jardin des Tuileries…. … so young I was… such a dreamer… floating on visions that he wove with love- - he told me about Paris, his voice husky with longing and I too young to realise… he was dreaming too…. Sharonlee©9-
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Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
He Told Me About Paris
Empower me With the keen edge Of cathartic sagacity And I will dance In exalted  tribute To daybreaks invincibility Double time While quoting  rhyme To the downbeat slash Of the scarecrows scepter While compatable Emulation Exposed to rarefied Imagination As the keep of the keys Pounds out The scathing expose That dredges up Those Benumbed and bewildered Riders Who have been Constantly Overexposed to the negatives Developed In those darkrooms WHERE Expedited promises Secretly enacted Enabling Blankcheck ******* Of any and all Faithful believers Of our beloved Carrousel That we have Always  insisted Is the keepsake Bequeathed To all the concerned Caretakers--once empowered With the keen edge Of cathartic sagacity Now just Trying to keep dancing To the fading  calliope music As too many Once - synchronised Elements Of our revolving Carrousel   Are going wrong Breaking down
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Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
Breaking Down
Heaven, O, Heaven, is the path to you through intentions or artifacts? They are hallowing the moves, the writings but not the heart's acts. Heaven you are not close in a place like this, They "follow" the man to achieve, but all they do is miss. They miss God and make out of people a bliss. Compensating for the void with the material, marching to the abyss, A "renaissance" they claim, while we here the truth reminisce. Mon coeur est confus, J'ai le cœur en aller-retour, Quand je vais trouver enfin l'essentiel? Ici, je suis secoué, c'est possible? Suis-je le seul esprit qui ne soit pas doué? ou la verite est-elle, quelque part, écroué? Repondez-moi, est la vérité dans l'oubli ou dans un carrousel? la vérité, je vais, avec mon cœur, avec vous, me renouer. It is the silence of the truth, that makes the sound of lies loud, It is the paralysis of rationality that leaves peace unfound. It is the loud not that rational that guides the crowd. It never was what they vowed. You are a "master" that is creating a disaster-piece It goes from one hand to another, the cross, Throwing it from one hand to another, with no loss. Selling angels and demons, sending to heavens and hell fires, But O, the lives are not a coin you toss. Je ne vais pas donner ma langue au chat Le salut est entre les mains des gens, cette fois. Ce n'est plus pas entre vos mains, Monsieur. Aujourd'hui, le chat ne mangera pas ma voix. la liberté est un choix. I despise myself for not being the obedient you could cherish. Shall I follow or shall I purge out the poison and perish? If I am gone, my writing will be there in the dark, garish. Actually, you are a "master" that created two disaster-pieces; A corrupt generation, and me; the one whom you, despises. I am glad I am enslaved to no one, but my "rotten" thoughts. I lost my home; my peace. Today, I cannot connect the dots. Tomorrow, you will be the first to take a sip from my tea, When I sew a better reality with my weary knots. My home; peacefulness, is given away to the kids, To the cats, to the birds and clean pots. Call me by my name, when he applauds.
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Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 9:46 AM UTC
Religion They Toss
Heaven, O, Heaven, is the path to you through intentions or artifacts? They are hallowing the moves, the writings but not the heart's acts. Heaven you are not close in a place like this, They "follow" the man to achieve, but all they do is miss. They miss God and make out of people a bliss. Compensating for the void with the material, marching to the abyss, A "renaissance" they claim, while we here the truth reminisce. Mon coeur est confus, J'ai le cœur en aller-retour, Quand je vais trouver enfin l'essentiel? Ici, je suis secoué, c'est possible? Suis-je le seul esprit qui ne soit pas doué? ou la verite est-elle, quelque part, écroué? Repondez-moi, est la vérité dans l'oubli ou dans un carrousel? la vérité, je vais, avec mon cœur, avec vous, me renouer. It is the silence of the truth, that makes the sound of lies loud, It is the paralysis of rationality that leaves peace unfound. It is the loud not that rational that guides the crowd. It never was what they vowed. You are a "master" that is creating a disaster-piece It goes from one hand to another, the cross, Throwing it from one hand to another, with no loss. Selling angels and demons, sending to heavens and hell fires, But O, the lives are not a coin you toss. Je ne vais pas donner ma langue au chat Le salut est entre les mains des gens, cette fois. Ce n'est plus pas entre vos mains, Monsieur. Aujourd'hui, le chat ne mangera pas ma voix. la liberté est un choix. I despise myself for not being the obedient you could cherish. Shall I follow or shall I purge out the poison and perish? If I am gone, my writing will be there in the dark, garish. Actually, you are a "master" that created two disaster-pieces; A corrupt generation, and me; the one whom you, despises. I am glad I am enslaved to no one, but my "rotten" thoughts. I lost my home; my peace. Today, I cannot connect the dots. Tomorrow, you will be the first to take a sip from my tea, When I sew a better reality with my weary knots. My home; peacefulness, is given away to the kids, To the cats, to the birds and clean pots. Call me by my name, when he applauds.
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39
You wrinkle your nose, No I laughed. ‘Why?’ ‘It’s silly.’ ‘Sillier than driving In the middle of the night To my house and Pulling me away To eat pizza and Drink milkshakes and Write poetry in our arms And sing and scream And driving into a Miraculously open Carnival?’ You rolled your eyes ‘I’d rather do a Holden Caulfield on you,’ Would that mean that To you I’m just...Phoebe? I shot you a sceptical look And told you that One ride at a carousel Won’t taint your Masculinity. I sure as hell hoped That I convinced you because I don’t want you to be Holden If I’m just Phoebe, I’d rather be Jane Gallagher even If there wasn’t a scene in the book Written for us. I know that if I could be Jane, We could write Our own **** story And our story would Be better. So please, please, please Say yes To going to the carrousel With me And we could start writing Our story as Jane And Holden.
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Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
VIII.
My life is endless journey, in search of blissful vibes, I walk at soulless city; I am left with painful bites, You!!!!.... Empty my heart, destroy this beautiful yard, I will leave you behind, get out!!!!..., release my mind!!!!!!!!!!! Love is so ungrateful, my feelings mean nothing, Life is cruel carrousel; I hate this up and down thing, Each bite is so fatal; my heart craves for something, That gives me no feelings and makes it a strong thing.
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Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 6:24 AM UTC
Ungrateful love
My dreams, in carrousel, spinning in my head bring memories of you. The colors seem to me a spectrum of all of you I knew. As I spin, the wind blows in the soft whispers of your name; Music to my ears, I too once did the same. A crescent tear falls and it floods my mind And I realize love is hard on the heart and sometimes unkind. And yet it stops not my love for you, But, rekindles your beauty like none other can do. Unfaltering, unyielding, the carousel never ends And likewise in it, my love for you begins.
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Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
Carrousel
I met her on a carrousel we'd both been riding all our lives. I felt my firetruck sliding round and round and up and down as I saw her in the distance on a camel right next to a clown. I waved she glanced, our ways of transportation danced and slaved and carried us but never closer. Exiting the vehicle in the middle of a round is against the rules.
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May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
Thus still, I sit
I try to keep a positive mind but hard when I know it's only a matter of time before it all ***** up again. I'd like to get off this I don't know how to stop this Don't look at me when I wreck into the ground Don't make a sound when you watch me disappear.
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Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Carrousel