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Peace Jul 2018
Touch the stream of her essence & let your hands flow through the river.

As the air guides your desires you feed off the heartbeat, of her emotions.

Frequencies sending waves of her scent,
whiffs of the undying,
undoing of her beauty taking you to heights unknown.

You drifting to the edge of this garden of vibrant possibilities,
continue to control the animalistic side of you to possess,
& claim the body of the innocent,
inviting woman,
of your clan.
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Speak loud
then keep quiet
be humbly proud
at the peaceful riot
shoot to live
then sadly play
selfishly give
then haughtingly stay
you're boringly fun
and anxiously still
not ready but done
as you bandage you ****
so strangely normal
and terribly good
just dirt poor formal
on plastic wood

so mic your meal
then call a cab
pop a pill
conceal the scab
your heels are old
your dress is new
your eyes are bold
your friends are few
you've seen it all
but know it's true
you've raised a wall
so they can't see you
for what it's worth
you're not to blame
to death from birth
it's life's false claim


©2012 Lyn
aj kamari Jul 2018
claiming i was yours wasn't the biggest lie
you told me,
giving me false security and sense of hope
i was an amulet for your anger
an amulet for your pride
left on the ground
all broken down
with scars on my side
An island lets itself go.
In rising  water finds a friend;
The past comes to naught.
Natalie Oct 2018
in the city,
dead leaves skitter across
rough concrete, hushing me,
whispering out my past

and future—brown bodies blown
without the sturdiness
of a branch or root,
cast aside by cold, arid wind,

dropped,
with no one to claim them
but the young, bright children
who like to hear their brittle bones

collapse beneath booted heels,
and the white, indifferent snow
that covers—
buries the broken pieces.
rgz May 21
"time"
is
"temps"
Probably not a shocking revelation to most of you
but isn't it interesting?

The french are often stereotyped as amorous and free, with a love of love and a penchant for the finer things in life, and we all know they hold the monopoly on kissing.

French language is often so complicated and maybe it's coincidence but I feel like they're on to something.

Time isn't something to simply be observed and measured but something temporary, something to be experienced and felt.

Something to live.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DldT8mhJHA
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
this is a very important poem to me,
about me, and how Obama slurred my people. and never apologized

<•>

there are mornings when I wake up
in my nativity,
in my born/bred,
these struggling to be happy,
United States,
strangely hebrew-speaking,
Jamaican coffee
morning-thinking,
tallying up
what I am,
who I am,
commanded to be,
on this Earth

the labels that the
outward-looking apply,
the tags,
that you have caused
yourself to be defined,
been staked
to your claim,
in infamy and in fame,
that you have
by action and indeed,

have allow
to be presented
as entries on your
global entry passport,
with visas from the
lows and highs,
places where
your have sinned and saved,
all the acts accumulated,
and those,
in pain,
you have been a witness to

word titles that
tinge and suffuse,
summation of my presentation,
sampler of words
like
father, poet,
American,
even,
a for-real
community organizer,
and of course,
bien sûr,
a
Jew

the quality of all these life's papers,
which I grade myself,
I,
the harshest marker
of all

once a young man,
safely away in college,
under the fresh-air freedom of the
university's in loco parentis,
in the early years
spent quantifying oneself

nearly fifty years ago,
now he,
revealed and recalled
when
his college typed-letter,
lately uncovered amidst his,
recently passed mother's papers

"Don't know what kind of
Jew
I will be, but be assured,
that I will be a
Jew
all my life"

so here I am doing my post-sabbath,
top of the week,
right it down,
qualifying myself,
coffee enraged engaged,
a new Sunday tally

taking all my terms,
reordering,
re-prior-itizing,
what was prior, first,
is no longer

decades decay,
events sway,
simple words change me, stain me

nearing on five decades later,
when this
son of speakers,
son of humanists and 
son of
 writers,
son of proud
Jews
rewrites his list

today I write/substitute,
a new order,
a tag gladly taken,
a marker given,
some what in pride,
some in shame too,
first and foremost,
à la manière d'Lincoln
I am
of, by and for

"a bunch of folks in a deli"

proud member of them
that so identify,
for they are among those
that shall not perish from the Earth

those
happenstance-not,
bunch of folks in a deli,
I claim as
mine own,
as they would
have claimed me

no subtly professed,
a diminishment intended,
and now
an honorific taken,
Medal of Honor provoked and embraced,
proudly inscribed,
visible on my forehead,
in the black ink of mourning,
a Presidential Cain Citation,
a tattoo of letters,
not numbers,
now moves up to
head of the list,
I am
now and forever,
a member of that corps
(appreciate that double entendre)
I am
Je suis
JE JUIF

*"a bunch of folks in a deli"
Just google that phrase

Obama’s slur
Gavin Barnard May 2015
My intrapersonal personality
Is anything but close to reality.
Labeled as an INFP,
Falsified truths are there for me.

Constipated with imagination
And full of impossible destinations,
Building up my anticipation
For untractable proclamations.

The superstar in my heart
Doesn't know where to start.
They all claim I'm super smart
But I know I'm just a spare part.

Sealed in my room with a single outlet,
Alone with my imagination but no intent.
A poet by choice but human by heart,
Standing on my own, playing my part.

I never had a beginning
But I'm already winning.
An ace in the sky,
The wild card sent to die.

I've already have my piece of the pie,
And it was all just a D.I.Y.
ryn Mar 2015
Wonder if when constellations do align
And universe would finally see.
Would it be presumptious of me
To claim that then, finally you'd be mine.

Wonder if my sense would triumph over
So that my heart would be muted.
With all its contents looted...
Would I only seem sillier?

Wonder if I walked away
In due course.
You'd then take my hand in yours
So that a minute longer I'd stay...

Wonder if you'd understand
When if these feet
Should choose to retreat...
That they had to... It wasn't planned.

Wonder if it'd make a difference
If I said that I had to...
Not for me but more for you.
Would we still be able to love in silence?

Wonder if you'd wish that you made it all clear.
Before the gravity of reality would crush us,
Before the vastness of uncertainty swallows us,
Before my presence would diminish and inevitably disappear.

Wonder if you find my pessimism exhausting.
The volatile nature of my moods...
Especially when I dive deep in solitude
And resurface with a trove of words that are no less than exasperating.

Wonder if you loved me enough
In a day...
To stop me from walking away...
Or loved me too much to plainly say

That...

Future's days would see us apart...
Future's moon would glow but not for us...
Future's stars would sing but not of us...
Future's sun would dry out the passion in our hearts.
Traveler Oct 2018
Before the ancient world
Could stake it's claim
I was the first soul
To know your true name

Before the stars
That shine from your eyes
Before the mountains
Above your thighs

Far before the gods could know
I was the first one
Who loved you so!!!!
Traveler Tim

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4jxtWBOgHo
Gnat Mar 16
Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I guess in the end
we all die, so
turns out to be true
whatever way.

Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I could really use
a lullaby.

Great Papa, he left.
Great Mama, so close.
Mama, in the deep end.
Sister, she ghost.

What's love got to do with it?
It just so happens, in my world it's all.
I am conditioned to serve in the name.
No matter how hard servants seek servants,
the wardens and the masters pick up on the scent,
come running over the distant hills to close in on the ****.

I am conditioned to serve in the name.
Here they come running to stake their claim.
So as much as this Drama does persist
Your Prisoned Warning tugs at my Cool Shirt
Asking me to take Prudence and desist
In bashing Silence to where it would hurt
Now engraved in Copper I will make Clear:
For all my Writ Plagues I Apologise,
Deep in use plug Buds to that Trumpet's Ear
If Empathy a Letter in disguise
This my Friend's Spy; Deploy to high pursuit
Waving that Placard in belated claim
Which tastes folly less on a nutty boot
And Reprimand stamped on his just Remain.
Such I learned that Friendship's Best takes no Force
I Follow my Heart; Now you Follow yours.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
I take you to the new world of interpretation
The interpretation of the two
I took you to the street of crime
Where the crime boss said, I’m helping you
It did not work
Because the body and the soul belonged to the other world
I stood listening to you

Dr Baljit Singh
Thursday, 6th June 2019
Logan Robertson Jul 2018
I sit at the bar of life
Looking forward to happy hour
Another beer
A solicited romance
Something
Even a bowl of peanuts that never came
How I yearn for conversation
Warmth
I can only dream
Seated a few chairs away
Is a rainbow haired hillbilly
Backpacking possums
Gees
Can you imagine
He said he lives under
The outskirts of ****** land
He smiles
I smile
I catch a bee from behind
As the bartendress walk by
My eyes look at her behind
And catch honey
My claim to fame
Oh how I wish I were a bee
And had somebody
Like the rainbow haired hillbilly
That tends under the outskirts of ****** land
I look over at him
He's always smiling
Maybe it has something to do
With playing a fiddle and finding music, finding new paths
Goats and milk
And backpacking possums
Or maybe its sublime
Oh, how I wish I could smile
Feel warmth
Sunshine
And look into her peering eyes

Logan Robertson

7/16/18
I'm drinking in a sea of lost inhibitions as I write and decompose and I may drown in how this poem is received,  however I don't care.
Shin Dec 2013
I don't know how to write happy poems
because I don't really believe in them.
I thought angst would die with adolescence,
but alas I can still feel its cold dint.

Perhaps like virginity this goes too;
no longer a creep standing idly by.
Plastic smiles taped to our cardboard faces
and yours alone I felt the need to prise.

That's okay, because the teenaged rosebud
that we claim to be so very unique
is beginning to wither, can't you see?
And now it's the thorns society seeks.

So look out over yonder cityscape.
Your mask shall be shed only by the moon.
Until then, a cartographer of love;
yours that is, we'll still pathetically swoon.
A presence
presenting
a continuous torment
torturing
incessantly
until, even with cessation
only a tenuous self
is present
leaving only the resin

The maniacal
manifestation
is an infestation
festering around in my head
Its existence,
a creation
created at inception,
hacking my brain
Forever a trap
creating a
maniac

Acrimonious
to all mankind
Not acting
like a man
Not one word
that's kind
Committing crimes
and getting oneself
committed
A deviation
creating a deviant
Shifted values
due to a devalued
self

An esoteric
essence
seemingly sentenced
on this journey
by judge and jury,
not by one's peers
because the many
not able
to peer
into this individuality
The duplicity
of duality
that is my reality

Challenging myself
to a dual
One in which
I both
win and lose
But in the end
not breaking even
or coming out ahead
Always ending
further back
instead

Its back breaking
and always aching
Pain from which
not capable of
faking
Effort I’m taking
Of myself making
Time for a new king
For kinsmanship
is aloof
And this man’s ship
has sailed away
Sipping a port
at a shipping port
And yet
slipping away

Deeper still
In the depth
of still water
Sinking
into the abyss
Lost and gone
But not missed
Is this the end
of our fable?
Or will our “hero”
enable himself
and in the end
be able
Deciding who to be?
Cain or Abel?
For the hurricane
is hurrying along
Its aim always the same
Constant pain
A payment he feels
for the displaced
placement
which just in case
is placed
same place
he went

Ink in the face
A disgrace
When suddenly
encased in his brain
are racing thoughts
of a plan
he’s ace’n

A label of insanity
given by those
who claim sanity
when the reality
is their thoughts are free
and optimize
a sanitized
and homogenized
batter
And in the end
it doesn’t matter

Offering suggestions
in which they
feel threatened
Pathways congested
and protested
Testing them
Even worse,
bested
A problem beset
upon them
Time to steady
the flock
Roll n’ Rock
Inoculations we’re getting
Start the injections

“It’s been an honor”
Mounting my Lipizzaner
A disarmer
A charmer
The armor
‘mi amor’
Leaving me
wanting more
But as they keep score
the task is daunting
A life that’s haunting
with such splendid decor
-
Yet, can’t take any more
Their taunting
is leaving me sore
So to the atmosphere
I open that door
and flying up above
I soar

Forever more
Feel pain no more...
Written: August 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
Apathy Mar 2013
A red raven calls as her dark blood runs true.
The roar of the night, and the sky still cries blue.

And heaven can't claim the tear stained soul
Caging the pain of a smoking white coal.

A longing lost heart that grasps for life
Strings clinging tight to the blade of a knife.
ThePoet May 2016
I feel the selfishness beginning to sprout
Growing vast in a world already at stake
I can only see two hands reaching out
The right will give as the left will take

The world thirsts for the rush of greed
If we had it all we would still want more
We claim we care for the ones in need
When all of our riches feed off the poor

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)
Alex Gomez Dec 2016
White streaking skies burst
lightening sunken eyes.
Alligator skin stretches,
muting contorted cries.
Peeling scalp,
blonde wifts trump screams for help.
Islands, white sand, green palms,
nurseries in mangroves' arms.
Reefs break waves of oversight,
where children are ****** in ***** delight.
Pearls ripped out of oyster shells.
Aprodisiacs from distilled tiger's tails.
Whale's sight bled for damp light so sullen eyes see white bread and swollen bodies languished in bed.
Crops need tending, the tax man comes backed by goat-skin drums.
A thousand swords, badges glittering,
arrogant grins mask souls obliterating,
their homes and families,
communities that were strong.
Dispossessed mutter funereal songs.
"Capitalism comes, head for the hills and lay claim, survey, make gain
or your head will pay."
Racquel Davis Jul 2014
First, I claim my land and choose my artillery for
Paper and for pen.
Before going into battle, my men are prepped with
The message and plot.
On my claimed land I lay bricks and marble of
Rhythm and theme.
Now, my land is ready to hold life in
Imagery and in style.
Finally, I build a fortress there in the reader’s own mind.

©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Updated 11/23/16
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