"chaplin" poems
Sometimes I miss you so much that I forget things about myself,
like, what my smile looks like or the sound of my own laughter.
But still my mind is filled with all of these useless facts
like, Charlie Chaplin once entered a Charlie Chaplin look-a-like contest and came in third place
The Empire State building was the first man made structure you could jump off of and reach terminal velocity before you hit the ground
The average person falls asleep in seven minutes.
Females' hearts beat faster than males'.
Dogs can make ten noise while cats can make nearly 100.
There are approximately 9,000 taste buds on the human tongue.
You hate thunderstorms, I am a thunderstorm.
I know its impossible to die from a broken heart.
But lately when I look in the mirror I can't even recognize myself
and reaching terminal velocity sounds sweeter and sweeter each day
At night I can not fall asleep because I am haunted by the thought of you.
My heart has almost stopped beating in your absence.
If you called me on the phone I would not know what to say,
but still your lips are the only thing my taste buds recognize as happiness
You hate thunderstorms, I am a thunderstorm
I know that you left me, so why won't you leave me?
I know that you left me, so why won't you leave me?
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
i like to turn into a girl once in a fortnight
after i just washed my hair...
and take a selfie!
then i read the fashion magazine alongside marquis de sade...
and it makes perfect sense to **** beauty like that...
well according to the marquis it does.
how's my hair? styled properly brushed to the side
long against anti-clockwise curtains of lock
that was propaganda with ****** adopting the charlie chaplin
moustache and people after ****** ensured confusion
whether to split it to the right rather than the left?
i’m right-handed, i need the power base of keratin on my cranium
hanging to the left!
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
There was a chap called Charlie.
Who lived in separation.
In total world of degradation.
Father left when he were nine.
A raging alcoholic.
Charlie, his brother and his mother.
Sent off to the workhouse.
In the land of Lambeth.
No palace.
The family were ushered into areas of segregation.
Mother and children apart in our apparently grand nation.
Product of shame documented by satirists.
Dickens's favourite topic.
Poor folks made poorer,
In workhouses designed to embarrass.
Those already destitute,
Not by choice for sure.
Only crime being poor.
Dignity stripped.
Destroyed of heart.
Wrecked in health
To reduce their being even more.
God help you if you were not fit.
**** of the earth, you were purged.
We the Brits now get benefits,
Be grateful that we do.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Charlie found extreme success.
When as a film star of the silent kind.
With a plaque on the wall of his once posh house in Vauxhall.
His surname it was Chaplin!
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Shakespeare’s Dog
in the theater tonight, the notion of a poem-potion
courtesy of Shakespeare's dog came unbidden
So when home arrived, was unsurprised that this
very peculiar pug was farting before my own front door.
get lost, I announced got what I need from your boss,
but before I could kick him across the floor,
the pug spake thusly:
*this dog knows the boot too well,
it is parcel of this dog's life of no quality,
but if you give me shelter tonite, I will provide,
share some of Speare's un-Published Works
and you can claim it as your own!*
kicked that dog across the room,
(having pity earlier I let him in and enter)
told Jim, (that’s what I called him)
he can stay the night, or long as the sun rises up
and goes down unbidden, but, if I ever
caught him plagiarizing, selling sonnets on the side,
I would report him to the ASPCA and the Poet’s Union.
The American Society for the Poets of Conscience Alive -
might have his low hanging ***** cut off in retribution.
he laughed out loud, rhyming funny, pontificating:
*well mate,
thanks for the soliloquy,
me ***** long time gone,
but what I know and what I’ve seen
if tale-told you, and you were to listen,
you would keep me around as fodder
for your artistic soul.
in return chappie,
you need only provide me a rug, a fire,
A/C for the languid summer eves,
fodder for me body, and your boots,
far removed from my hindquarters.*
We spoke much thereafter,
turns out he served his poet-masters
in many ways, more than a mere footstool.
his snoring keeps me awake some twenty years later.
his love for country music makes me put him on nice days,
outdoors, his headphones securely strapped round his double chins.
ugh that pug. became my best becoming love, old friend,
one of us will pass someday and an elegy composition,
the other devotee will furnish sadness utterly becoming.
so if a farting pug before your door you’ve found,
take him in, give him water, an amply supply please
of Carrie, Trisha and Chaplin-Carpenter for his immortal soul,
but beware, he might try to sell you
some of my words, as your own.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Charlie Chaplin, set the pace
Buster Keaton, old stone face
Groucho and the brothers Marx
Margaret Dumont for some sparks
Harold Lloyd, The Brothers Ritz
Did I mention Zazu Pitts?
Stan and Ollie, Keystone Cops
Chases that just wouldn't stop
The Stooges, Larry, Curly, Moe
and then theres Shemp and Curly Joe
Bing and Bob, and Dean and Jerry
Two could sing, while two made merry
Bud and Lou and who's on first?
Harry Langdon and Charlie Chase
I think who is on first base
Mabel Normand and Mack Swain
Always tied before the train
Pie fights, slapstick in black and white
This was when we laughed all night
Mack Sennet, Roach, and Our Gang
Spanky and Alfalfa sang
Words were twisted, spun and turned
People splashed and others burned
Remember back to days of yore
To when they had you on the floor
Rembember Baby Rose Marie
She started at the age of three
Many more could make the list
For many I know that I missed
Make 'em laugh and take a pie
Get sprayed with seltzer in the eye
Go and watch their films again
So comedy will always reign
Thank you to the funny folk
Who taught us how to take a joke....
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
Rehashing the rare
Out with the new,
In with the old.
She's always had a thing
For the things that exude
A quirkiness and a bucolic charm
The smell of old books
The black and the white
Good ol' Chaplin, James Dean
And the Sound of Music
The Beatles, a tape recorder
High-waisted pants
And the gramophone
And a rustic old bar
With a gruff bartender
Who's off his rocker
But he'll double up as your therapist
And for the boy with the dark brown eyes
Who looks across the bar at her.
And smiles.
It's all black and white again
Except this time,
It isn't her favourite Casablanca scene
But a white screen
And a thousand particles
Microcosmic
A milieu of
Unfathomable numbers float
Through the atmosphere
Connecting her to him.
And she doesn't want that.
She's always had a thing for the old,
But he makes her doubt that.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
best way
to describe him
charlie chaplin
wearing stan laurel's
black and white suit.
black hat, white gloves
funny walk..
does not say much
but forever making us laugh
he is just not sure,
why that tail thing
follows him everywhere...
loves the blucat...
the blucat tolerates him
but is warming by the hour
he is tod's new cat...
the blucat....gus is
geting on and prefers
to sleep...
timothy tuxedo
(he was going to be captain wrinkly drawers....but sanity
prevailed...can you imagine
standing at the the back door
and calling that cat..)
...plays
until he drops...
this will be a good thing
once tuxedo boy stops living
in the bottom of the shower...
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC
The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky.
The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only the wry
Small shadow accompanies Hamlet-Petrouchka's march - the slight
Wry sniggering shadow in front of the morning, turning at noon, behind towards night.
The plumed cavalcade has passed to tomorrow, is lost again;
But the wisecrack-mask, the quick-flick-fanfare of the cane remain.
Diminuendo of footsteps even is done:
Only remain, Don Quixote, hat, cane, smile and sun.
Goliaths fall to our sling, but craftier fates than these
Lie ambushed - malice of open manholes, strings in the dark and falling trees.
God kicks our backsides, scatters peel on the smoothest stair;
And towering centaurs steal the tulip lips, the aureoled hair,
While we, craned from the gallery, throw our cardboard flowers
And our feet **** to tunes not played for ours.
2.6k
Dear Night;
The day breaks like a child's neck,
And there she is -
Like a fresh sand hills beckoned seductively
By childish poetry that
Rings off the fingertips like marshmallows
Burnt from too much *****
A cradle erupts:
Two deaths turning into one,
A turning sensation of philosophers timid to experience
We are what?
We are the writhing fiends caught on
By electricity sought upon by
The high priests of a no man's land
Billy the Kid
Tragic care giving fiends telling tales
Of naturality that grow like figs neath virgins
And we share the fragrance of foreigners
Dancing neath' their dead bodies for we
Are the store fronts of the epileptic rich
Sharing nothing, we forgive the dead angels that
Share in nothing but their own salvation
And we the nation hold their hands as they are handed
Their medals that shine and beat against innocent
Sun where we - Good Humans - will always feel inferior
I take thee for my own prisoner
Let's go and check out the sun for mine own
I said I was having sun...asleep
Mine own mind was bent, crooked, doomed
Warranted evil will of course be put to light
Teller tell me what I wish to know
You tell me the secret
You wish to hold, oh' you wish to keep
We are the children you asked for
But you are so unwilling up accept
But the press is something that is intangible
They are spread spearers that are accepted as they are:
A good german; a fair dutchman; a funny Chaplin;
Genius moving with insecure marijuana.
But she presses her own soul on the glass
Never lasting - a pure bread horse
There she stands, like an egyptian statuette incarnate
Breaking through the clouds like a pillar
Bent only for salvation and glory
A cool informant next to Hemingway that breaks
The next vinyl that's hot mixed with devil sweat
Someone breathes something on my neck and I'm soon
To wonder what the next place I need to be is
So...I wonder...Myself is the one to take care of this mess?
Here we are - stagnant - like a tombstone,
Wondering what we are meant for and wondering
Where we are not supposed to go.
We have our labels.
We have our names.
And, yes, we have our jobs that were
Given to us by companies that have no face,
Only a name and yet we obey...
Too push a confidence you have to ask me
What I wish to know for the assignment that no one cares about
After I get what people will listen too
What the truth is a very thing
I love the hash that beeps like a dead hyena on the road side
Howling like a lost lover without someone to love
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
There in the corner resting silently the old wooden bench
reclines beneath the billowing sky. Peeled and pale much
the worst for wear.
"A couple of young fellas down at Kitty Hawk flew like wounded ducks". Did you hear?
That was a humdinger. "Somebody swiped the Mona Lisa right under their noses"
Tick
witness to it all has heard the deepest of dark secrets whether tumbledown in solitude
or passed about in chatter.
"The Titanic went down last week ,What a pity." wasn't that thing impossible to sink"
well I'll see you later The Trolleys are running slow today.
There's this young upstart playing at the picture show this week. Chaplin I think his name is
Moving pictures,oh what will they think of next.
I got a letter from William fighting in The Somme. Dont know when or if he is coming home.
Nights are cold in the rain. Tick
Bathtub gin. A little nip every now and then can't be a sin.
The Lucky Lindy is the latest swing.
Tock.
Mickey mouse meet sliced bread. The birth of a nation
Bring the kids out on Saturday The can play awhile.
Heard That ****** Trotsky got shot. What do you think that will bring
Guess Adolf bit off more than he could Chew cause that big air war in
Britain made him tuck tail.
Tick
The greatest generation has come and is all but gone
The park bench sits and awaits the dawn
past Y 2 K and on and on
till today, this very hour
waiting for another story to tell
like a morning flower at sunrise
Beautiful petals and leaves
No one grieves for the passing of time.
The park bench sighs and
Then reclines.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
She was a friend of Amber Clark
You know, you've met her before
She's the girl who listens secretly
To Bach behind the door
The Closet Classic ******
Who wears shirts of the Ramones
But listens to Rachmaninov
whenever she's alone
Jennifer McSweeney
known by all upon the street
She had kind words for everyone
She liked everyone she'd meet
She ate meals at Giannis
Knew the Pawnbroker, Old Cy
She listened to the bluesman
Whenever she came by
Like all the folks upon the street
Jennifer was dark
Not gothic, but you could say grey
She was set to make her mark
She was going to be famous
Her face upon the Silver Screen
She was going to be a movie star
Like The Truck Stop Beauty Queen
Jennifer loved movies
Not the ones that can be found
At the local dvd store
She liked the movies without sound
Her little quirk was that she
Liked the movies from the start
They told tales in black and white
These were strong in Jenni's heart
Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd
Fatty Arbuckle, and more
Zasu Pitts, Charlie Chase
They struck her to her core
L and H, The Keystone Kops
She loved to see them grapplin'
But none of these compared to her
deep love for Charlie Chaplin
The Cineplex would show a film
They would host a special week
When silent movies were the shows
When nobody did speak
Jennifer would take the time
To watch each film they showed
She was so happy when the week came round
She positively glowed
The kids she knew, all thought her odd
Because of what she liked
But, when the silent week was here
Jennifer was psyched
One year she went to the next town
To get a small tattoo
It was all done up in black and grey
It was what she had to do
Like other girls who have been inked
It was in the same place
But, it was little, very non descript
Of her favorite actors face
She told few friends about it
And though she never did get violent
If you laughed at her tattoo
Like Chaplin, she'd be silent
She kept it to herself most times
Her little bit of ink
As she aged she'd show it more
For the cost of just one drink
She would take them to her bedroom
And by the light of her small lamp
She would show her tattoo proudly
Chaplin....her little ***** stamp
It's the thing that she is known for
She's the girls with Charlie's face
Where others all have Chinese Words
She has Chaplin in this place
She is known for loving movies
In black and white, and though it's camp
She gives a whole new meaning to
Having a ***** stamp.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
Central Park transformed,
a natural stadium
of tourists, strollers,
drunk on:
spring beer Buds,
or
buds of forsythia
maps upside down,
smiles right-side up
Amazing,
they don't even notice,
'walk on by,'
*the white shirted, black suited
unicorn playing the accordion*
or the
*violinist
imitating Charlie Chaplin,
playing both her instrument and
her hula hoop,
simultaneously*
ah Central Park,
your air is like
a first cup of spring,
a first morning coffee,
a fresh breath of
a special new,
if you know
how to
just be,
in NYC
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Tamla Motown,
my soccer team Tottenham
for so many sweet memories,
my old girlfriend Stella ... I know
I should have Stella,
I know,
tigers,
brown bears & the lowly centipede,
Charlie Chaplin, that old ****** son of a gun,
Laurel & Hardy, just because ...
Tarkovsky movies ... Toshiro Mifune,
anything with custard,
apple pie,
fresh bread,
Indian folks for the way they
shake their heads for yes,
Indian folks for their god
that charming Ganesh,
books,
Sci-fi movies ... lots of them anyway,
children laughing,
children playing,
& thus playgrounds,
serious folks who pay attention,
Anarchists ... of course,
my old grannie for her
attentions,
English food when it actually
works,
trees,
birds, bees,
old Chinese folks up at dawn
to collect cans,
& my Facebook friends,
take care you all now.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
"I am sorry. I don't want to be an emperor, that's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible. Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's happiness; not each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there's room for everyone and a good Earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut our selfs in; machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think to much and feel to little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The airplane and radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions sires out the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me I say "Do not despair". The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress: the hate of men will pass and dictators die and the power they took from the people, will return to the people and so long as men die liberty will never perish. Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you - who regiment your lives, tell you what to do what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts. You are not machines, you are not cattle. You are men. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate only the unloved hate. The unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers - don't fight for slavery, fight for liberty. In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written: "the kingdom of God is within man". Not one man, nor a group of men - but in all men - in you. You the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy let us use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work,that will give you the future and old age and security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie. They don't fulfill that promise, they never will. Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to fulfill that promise. Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world were science and progress will lead to all men's happiness. Soldiers - in the name of democracy, let us all unite!"
~Charlie Chaplin
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
I am the first page of a well-loved novel,
But often the first one ignored,
Dog-eared and transparent at the corners
From the touch of one too many hands
And witness to the enterprising twist of a smile
As my readers are privileged to only pieces of me.
You, like the binding that surrounds me,
Enclose and encircle all that I am. Write a novel
Under my skin. I’ve falsified too many smiles,
Sacrificed even the best of myself for ignorant
Delusions of caressing hands
That take and abuse my corners.
The used bookstore on the corner
Of Middlebury Marbleworks, Otter Creek and window-origami —
My salvation and river-penance. Seek my story with hands
That feel to comprehend, with novel
Softness and a tenderness that ignores
My pleading glances and indecisive smiles
As you speak in hush-whispers. Smile
With your eyes as you touch my spine — corner
Me at the exit. I want you to ignore
Faults, make peace with flaws that inhabit me
Like poetry misplaced within a novel,
Or willow branches falling too low, tired hands.
I memorized the shape of your hands
The first time we danced to Chaplin’s “Smile,”
And wrote on the broadness of your shoulders a novel
Of my sins, apologies stretching to your corners
In villanelles — repeating refrains. It took all of me
To tell you what I could no longer ignore.
Because once you start to ignore
Conflictions that exist in the nerve-endings of your hands,
What you feel becomes a burden. For me,
Sand ran out of the hourglass when our smiles
Stopped touching — and at the corner
Of Maple Street and Printer’s Alley, I said goodbye, our novelty
Gone. Still, I find it hard to ignore what used to be when you smile
As you look at her, your hands on her back in the corner
Of the room. You remain my unfinished novel.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Silent yet expressive
Her almond shaped eyes
The prettiest shade of brown
Except when she cries
When she feels sorrow
Her eyes turn blue
Gaze into them
And you’ll feel pain too
Silent yet expressive
A smile so heavenly
It could make a song-less bird
Produce the most beautiful melody
But when she feels sorrow
Lip corners turned down
Once singing birds
No longer make a sound
Silent yet expressive
Her body freely flows
But when she feels sorrow
Her arms tightly close
Much like Charlie Chaplin
Her feelings; never spoken
But by the look of her
One can see she’s broken
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
gets up from chair, and breathes in deeply
people are made up of so many things, it's amazing
1. Oxygen
2. Carbon
3. Hydrogen
4. Nitrogen
5. Calcium
6. Phosphorus
7. Potassium
8. Sulfur
9. Sodium
10. Magnesium
i guess paying attention in biology did pay off
i remember when i was 11 years old my brother showed me a movie clip where Charlie Chaplin spoke in-front of tons of people
he said "we think too much and feel too little".... i finally understand
and if you feel sad, i hope you can find a therapist, or i hope you can afford a 12 pack of beer at the liquor store to ease what you feel right then
walks out the house
looks around and smiles
i found hope on the corner of arapaho and shiloh, it was 7:32 pm, i remember because i texted myself saying "dude you're finally happy"
no more desires of being dead ever came to mind
i found out what a man i can be if i pushed myself and loved without regretting, without being scared of falling for things for the wrong reasons
i found out to learn everything and grasp whatever came my way even if it brought me to my knees
i'm going to die fulfilled
i feel like rhyming, sorry, i'm not a good rhymer, but here i go....
garden of green leaves
glistening tress
scented hives, buzzing bees
we lie under shaded trees
we pray to who we're afraid to deceive
if we do, we rot even if we pleaded on our knees
summer breeze, ******* and THC
don't leave
addictions are hard to let go when i love you like grinded holy mary ****
i'm not a good rhymer, i think the song that goes like "versace versace versace versace versace"
was better than what i just w. r. o. t. e.
haha.
it's getting dark, i need to go to sleep
turns off light
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
science has entrenched itself in stating that original humanism is an idiocy, science believes that only scientific humanism can suffice, and original humanism i.e. humanism not schooled in science is a waste of time, man's development watching paint dry, i.e.: i feel dumber writing a poem and not an equation to align to einstein's relativity.
the english don't recognise long-term humour,
a bit like the polish not able
to recognise old school migrants of
their mutual organic constituents
speaking their tongue, they play it dumb,
with statements like huh? what? om?
the english are smart, let's not disagree,
but their intelligence is short-lived,
like their appreciation of humour,
quick wit buckle stiletto (meaning an easy
girl), they're intelligent in terms of
how quickly you colt-drawn a six-shooter into
conversation for a pick-me-up,
the english have short-term intelligence
exercised for humoristic attention,
their long-term humour is used in defending
democracy... the english have no long-term
humour parameters, i'm guessing because
of the celts... it's all short-term, i.e.:
how quickly can i retort to a joke and choke
on a whimsical mushroom that's an umbrella?
hence the many innovations...
steam engine... the umbilical cord attached
to arabia... joke is quick... joking is quicker...
tense social parameters of having a drink...
laugh it up... drink alone.
*they make slapstick damnable and satire exceptional,
but their satire requires canned laughter,
it's called satire but i call it lazy humour...
look what slapstick gave us... charlie chaplin
gave birth to adolf ******* ******
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
"I am sorry. I don't want to be an emperor, that's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible. Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's happiness; not each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there's room for everyone and a good Earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut our selfs in; machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think to much and feel to little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The airplane and radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions sires out the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me I say "Do not despair". The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress: the hate of men will pass and dictators die and the power they took from the people, will return to the people and so long as men die liberty will never perish. Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you - who regiment your lives, tell you what to do what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts. You are not machines, you are not cattle. You are men. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate only the unloved hate. The unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers - don't fight for slavery, fight for liberty. In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written: "the kingdom of God is within man". Not one man, nor a group of men - but in all men - in you. You the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy let us use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work,that will give you the future and old age and security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie. They don't fulfill that promise, they never will. Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to fulfill that promise. Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world were science and progress will lead to all men's happiness. Soldiers - in the name of democracy, let us all unite!" ~Charlie Chaplin
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Decipher the bowels
that slushes out through my imagination
Crystals and xylophone chimes
Pouring out the ink wells of sensation
Don't pivot pickets to my position
I can't stalemate this war for expansion
For my tongue is a swollen pickle
Dipped in bitterness
and ****** by the lips of semantics
I groove in the basses of basics
and grow a garden for further foundation
For my tongue is a swollen pickle
And boy is it's perfume amazing
I mean
Can you smell the awkward amps?
Pumping veins with Crayola visions
or a Chaplin transcript with deadpan humor
Are you experienced enough for social division?
My tongue is a swollen pickle
Say whatever the hell I wanna say
Crunch me when you digest this sour thought
For the reign of excitement's here to stay
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
I rode a Trojan horse off to sea with the winds of tide.
Off with a quil and a sword and a helmet to protect my
head the size of a melon soda;
I wondered,
did Dorian ever grow his hair long?
I envy you, Dorian,
with your silky locks and impenetrable gaze,
slanting, almost cursing mouth filled
with gasp.
Portraits do not exceed the size of its canvas,
but you seem to breathe Life, Dorian.
You seem alive.
Perhaps the color black suits you or your tie;
perhaps the ground on which you walk upon
turn grey and wither with every step.
They say you die a little each day, Dorian.
Are you looking for a lover?
One’s whims turn to coals with every feathered touch.
Lay down beside me, Dorian, and
don’t forget to cover us.
Wrap me in the shade of your *****
and maybe tonight will be the kindest of clouds.
Lay down beside me, Dorian, and kiss me on my lips.
I have long since felt a stranger so humid and dry.
Wrap your tongue around my finger, Dorian.
Taste me;
take me breath by hurried breath.
Grounds will shake and split to quarters into the far
corners of the Earth.
There was a play, staged at the living room, where the couch
used to be.
I heard a hiss on the recorder the step you
started grinding your hips pressed unto me.
I took a hold of you, dear Dorian, and you vanished in thin
air.
Goddamit, Dorian, we never talked about Chaplin.
I never said anything about grieving or weeping the insides
of my being.
Dance with me, oh Dorian!
Before the clock strikes one.
Before you fade and your face becomes a smudge on my arm.
Look at me, Dorian, *********
Look at me.
Look.
This is the sound of your embrace,
and of a million and one hues pressed clear in wells of oil.
I loved you, Dorian,
as much as one portrait hangs somewhere, gathering dust and memories,
waiting for a breath,
a sigh,
a touch,
a face.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
the film reel eases into
the crease of her
elbow
weaving effortlessly into
motion
she could no longer keep
a weather eye
on the silver screen
she kept her back to the
projector
& kept her hands
clean
call her careless
call her blue
but she didn't dare place
two cents
toward what she already
knew
at times she felt her
life might be playing in
reverse
the colorful ending as
the opening
& the conflict as the
curse
as the orchestra begins
to swell
she'll breathe in
& escape
they'll wonder why
she never chose
to keep her heart on
tape
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
The Creep that loved you
Dani Chase
Jinxxed For Life
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ
Ena Alysopriono
Unknown guy
Rex Forté
Jimmydon
Janine
LeeAnn Rose
Musfiq us shaleheen
Elle Tat
maha salman
Concrete Angel
Carolin
wolf spirit aka quinfinn
Death is living
Ally
the helper
patty m
Yung Wifey
Gabrielle Cox
Heart Broken
Kayla-Lyn Searle
Dark Rose
Jason Cirkovic
Midnight Writer
LittleFreeBird
Richard Barnes
Trisha Anne Chi-Young
Thinking Out Loud
AD Mullin
Devon Webb
Hannah Jade
Deborah Brooks Langford
Winter Frost
Jeremy Boyd
Starry Night
caitlyn walters
elsa angelica
Sarah M Gillihan
Sweetheart
Andre nalin
DC raw love
Charbear909
Thomas A Robinson
chainedwhore
PerfectTruths
Worldeater
John-Chris Ward
Ember Evanescent
Kitty Lam
LJ Chaplin
Just Melz
Jae
Just Jean
The Girl Who Loved You
Vanessa Gatley
StayStrongILveU
tamyon lawrence
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
Marley Brando
So many options,
can’t say too many options,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”,
You stare at me with those infinite eyes,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,
then you shift your gaze,
and stare off for eternity,
as that fire inside keeps burning me,
something simmering inside is burning me,
anxious and pacing,
all out of patience,
feeling like a Patient in a Psycho-Ward society,
yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me,
I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety,
I’ll leave that for the words,
and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters,
waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds,
word word word,
words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times,
words to explain when I’m gone,
words to explain when we’re gone,
when the memories have all faded,
because unless a Tyrant burns the books,
we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages,
lopsided but liberated,
feeling like a rat in a cage,
or a canary in a coalmine,
consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”,
just get away,
I’m already gone anyways,
don’t be fooled by this shell of a body,
I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party,
Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate,
ready to party,
with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley,
and Brando but no Commando,
yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry,
Charlie,
Chaplin for certain,
Sheen well we’ll see,
Janis, Jackson, Kurt and,
Pac and it don’t stop,
does it,
what’s in,
your wallet,
Rest In Peace,
Christopher Wallace,
smoking a chalice,
on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando,
cool as an Ice Cream Sundae,
relaxing watching the world go bananas,
B-A-N-A-N-A-S,
shout out to Gwen,
Steph,
I spin around and ask,
“What is this,
I meanI know it sounds cliche,
but does any of this really exist?”,
“Oh and where’d my mind go?”,
So many options,
won’t say too many though,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough?,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of 3 #1 Best Sellers,
& The Poetry Trilogy
∆
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC