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Renee Danes Feb 19
(Pieces. Sorting themselves. No)
They don't ever,
They never do,
Unless one has bothered to put them in a puzzle
But may be too puzzled to finish,
And they float around
Messy and scattered,
Like the thoughts in ones head,
Or a room,
Cluttered and dangerous
Because walking through the room without a light
Will most likely cause a Lego or a puzzle piece to get stuck in ones foot,
So whatever lies in this space is like this,
And a clean room has nothing in it, no imperfections, but nothingness,
So since a cluttered desk may be a sign of a cluttered mind
Or at least a person with no organization...
Then is a clean desk the sign of an empty mind,
Or did all of the clutter fall onto the floor
And we're all stuck back in a room with clutter
Falling over the junk that falls off the desks,
And everyone has Lego's stuck in their feet,
And puzzle pieces are puzzling people
Because no one ever bothered to clean it up
Or put the puzzle together correctly...
Sometimes I wonder what my mind is thinking when I write stuff like this...
Morgan Mercury Apr 2014
We were once kids.
We were once wild.
We were once soldiers.
In the dead of winter, you greeted death.
You fell from my grip and into the darkness,
and now a hundred years have rotted away and I have never felt so alone.
I ran from the winter because war was to attached to it.
I close my eyes and I see you there on the front line.
Young and drained, you were just a body rotting away.
Full of life so you hung on with everything you had.
It was such an awful sound.
Only if I had taken your place.
If only you would have run the other way.
Just how unfair is our luck.

Someday I'll teach myself to learn and live alone.
I'll teach myself that death was not the enemy.
But the winter storm rages on and I'm still having trouble breathing.
Don't be alarmed.
I march on.
Like the soldier I once was.
Don't be alarmed.
I've seen many winter storms
and I have miraculously survived them all.

Can't you see that I don't want to move on?
Don't bring tomorrow because I can't take another.
My eyes are too fogged to see the light.
My minds too cluttered to think right.
I've tasted my own tears
and faced all my fears.
So here I am.
Laying on the floor.
So here we are.
Together once more.
Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes
Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Dan Hess Jul 16
Through longing
and loneliness
I've now found
A home in this
place where we all share
Our secret, sacred selves

In this kinship,
I have found
I am secure

I feared
I was a fool
To speak of bliss
In constant sorrow

I feared of
Weaving webs of words
Too thick
To let the light shine through

Only gandering, instead
Upon a meal of
Conceptual fortitude

But with a mind full of cobwebs
And miasmas of parasitic insects
I will do whatever it takes
To keep myself thriving
Kaiden A Ward Jun 11
Battered and alone, pushed far to the back,
sat my grandmother's worn writing desk,
forgotten in the shadow of her passing,
buried in the depths of her cluttered garage.
The surface is still scared with her stories,
never told,
and her secrets remain hidden in the stubborn locked drawers,
so like her.
sophia Sep 2017
the scorch never cluttered your prevailing mind as your flowers grow beneath the sunlight. bold and undaunted, you combat storms and racing cattle, never laying against the ground.
MeanAileen May 21
I've been broken
and put back together
too many times before.
picked up the pieces
of my shattered heart
one by one off the floor.
I stitched up the seams
with needle and thread,
and muffled the screams
that wished I was dead,
then swept away dreams
that cluttered my head...
until there were no more.
Just another poem
Kara Jean Apr 2016
Touch a rush
Floral green trim
A dress of deceit
Ferocious credibility
Strike, shock and distraught
Question her everything
A maddening cluttered up chest  
Red unprinted marking
She is a tempus tip toeing
Digesting hearts of many
Warned, they crawl
Enthralled, lurking for her gore
Her dress tore in natural beauty  
Cleaning syrup from her finger tips
Leal Knowone Jul 2017
Whispering winds, rustle weeping willows,
were the corpses, and sorrow lie.
Winding beaten roads,
broke from the artery of cluttered existence.

Landing me in what reality?

Rattling minds, in longing whoa
anamnesis, horror,love denied.

Skeletons emerge,
of the forgotten foes, and mystic secrets
the world sought not to see.
Clustered hoards galloping to their doom.

Essence ripped away, by cloven hoof.
Relevant ramble from a vagrant drunken stooge.
Whisk away by the dramatic exchange of a loon.
Echoing memories bombarding the senses.

Landing me in what reality?

Echoing voices carried through hallways
were  sorrow, and corpses lie.
Julia Dec 2018
Silence sneaked into a cluttered room
Muffling chaos and noises
Kris Apr 2015
Tip one: everyone has problems, exploit that.
The main ones are money, love, death, and existential crisis;
it’s better to write about the former two because the other two…
well, they are the things that people are trying to forget
when they read about the trivial parts of their lives
in the cleverly-phrased lines of your horoscope.
So cater to their needs and help them escape for a moment
through the frivolous indulgence of your vague predictions.

Which leads to tip two: keep it vague.
No one cares about the details. Horoscopes are like Mad Libs:
you give them the starters and they fill in the blanks
with their personal lives and experiences.
Horoscopes should be empty boxes that people pack
with the cluttered thoughts in their head to make room,
to lighten the load up there in their minds.

And this treads on the territory of tip three: white lies.
Clear out all the anxieties, the mind needs the extra space
because that thing called hope? Yeah, it’s kind of claustrophobic.
It needs all that room to be comfortable. If the mind is filled with anxieties
that hang around like that roommate’s friend who’s always over
hope will check out. For good. So by the last line you better have them
picturing their perfect life that will unexpectedly fall into their laps
once they are, “receptive to the idea of changes to come.”

Your horoscope should be a cathartic, spiritual (albeit cheap) experience;
people want to hear that the stars are conspiring to bring them good luck
and the perfect lover. A piece of sincerity among lies and half-humor.
This is the formula for the perfect horoscope.
Jackie G Oct 2018
Cluttered and full
With memories of pain

All of our hearts beat
But not the same.

Its beating lets us know that we're still alive.

So how dare some torture it
Forcing it to die.

It was not all over after that one guy.
Or if you're a guy i could say girl

Either way. Life goes on.
So should your heart!
Life forces us to move on. When you move on take your heart with you. Take your heart out of the situation. Or it becomes too full with tons of mess(pain) to even operate at its capacity!
everly May 13
the heavens looking down see
black ominous umbrellas
scurrying about- the animals we are
seeking refuge beneath bodega quality umbrellas
flimsy like the faith i had in you
but may you prove me wrong, loved one
in this cluttered concrete jungle

unoriginal-ality but in reality we
all have places to be and why stand out in the rain?

uninvited water droplets from sky
penetrate pantyhose and
the window plants of overpriced brownstones
the allure of rain by all natural individuals
see nourishment soon to unfold
beauty in baby’s toes stomping in mud
fishing for worms that wriggle with discomfort
gardener of words
rain or shine
she knew how to put a feeling into
gentle yet tasteful prose.
Sitting at my little desk
cluttered up with nothing real
so it looks like I have work
a little heater on my feet
epitome of luxury - warm feet
how time drags away today
so much behind to do at home
alone inside this little room
where photos line the wall
with other people’s happy day
would it be sacrilege
to ever put a sad pose
in the frame that
held such shining joy
another wall is cabinets
with everything that
I might need for anything
but where is the band-aid
for today and the
cure-all for tomorrow
as I sit and wish that I was gone
to any place but here
narcolepsy goose-steps in
battalions of its troops-
a war I must not lose
I cannot leave and
beat retreat
I must stand firm and fight
until the razor
hands of time
cut through the bars
that keep me here
unwilling but required
for I support the camping trip
that we call daily life and there
are hungry mouths to feed
with names like heat and light and
shelter from the winter
they bring their cousins
food and clothes and
go juice for the car
to stand in line
on my front porch
with hands outstretched
sometimes I muse
on what would happen
if i just turned out the lights
and locked the door
against intruders
and tap danced away
would there be a net
to catch me
if i jump too high
or dance along
the precipice
without my contact lenses
now I recall
the words my mother said
when I would dream out loud
“wish in one hand
spit in the other
and see which one
gets full first”
good ole hillbilly philosophy
so here I stay with a frozen clock
an antique desk
with a vase of crimson
bougainvillea I snipped
off the hedge
across the parking lot
I must have flowers
on my desk and
in my home
my very soul demands it
but never if I buy them
it requires the vaunted
ingenuity my mother
preached to me  
to keep the vases full
what ceramic vase
 would I fit in
I’m neither rose
nor orchid
would I be
a whole bouquet
or just a single daisy
silliness to ponder
fourteen kinds of nonsense
still the pen
stays wedded
to my finger
not yet done
with nonsense rambling
though I’ve said
most everything
I need to say
I’m over half the
way to freedom
looking for a coin
to buy away
the final hundred minutes
will it be the radio
a game of solitaire
or just more
claptrap from this pen
the usual fall back
crossword puzzle
points up my aphasia
and I’m in no mood
to face humiliation
once again
how slowly can I nibble on
the sandwich
left from lunch and still the time
my mind at last is blank
And now is the acceptance
I can’t scribble on forever
it’s time to
put away the pen
and hide this diatribe
out of the public eye
And head at last for home.
I have to put in 20 hrs. a week at my church office whether there's anything for me to do or not.  All the real work gets done from my home office phone and computer, but I have to leave that behind to satisfy the 20/20 requirement.  Stupidity unequaled.Christian
James R Apr 22
A water bottle perched
on a desk, cluttered
with papers. Old writing,
portfolios of work half-forgotten.
A hand grips the bottle,
untwists the cap,
sips. Right now,
her words
are her only friend.
Alaina Moore Jul 11
A stark realization.
I'm, for lack of a better word, obsessed with South Park.
Not like collectables, clothing, or other cluttered stuff.
But like ingrained into my personality, seriously, like a face hugger planting seeds in my core. Hatching into satirical, political, ridiculous obsession
Half my inside jokes.
The majority of my random noises.
Sewn within my vocabulary.
Constantly murmuring on the TV like old friends at dinner.
In my achievement list on Steam.
On my blu-ray shelf.
Gently nudging me with phone notifications to collect my free pack.
Definitely used in comparisons at work.

Equally tearing down the walls of anyone and everyone.
I eat it up.
Egeria Litha Jul 24
I teared down the floor boards of my heart
I opened a latch on the floor
and out came a piece
Of a door  
With a staircase winding down
Descending into psyche
You are found  
To a moldy room with dusty brooms
rotting wood and colonial perfume
I am a cluttered storage solely containing
ancient relics of you
Just came out like word *****
Philipp K J Apr 27
You can't, upon his blood
You, evil cluttered minds
You boast on cruel blast
Spilt blood of your own kinds
What harm to you they caused
To pause their voice of praise?
You failed to nail the arms
Then sneak in without grace
Met out bombs on their palms
To seal the world of god
A deed with devils word

The wood He hung on nails
They hail as Holy Cross
The blood that filled the grails
Still ooze out for His cause

He bailed you out from sins
Carved his church on rock
And turned his cross its fins
To guide and lead you folk

Brute you persecute him
Still profane too his hymn
You wound and let them bathe
Bleeding rivers of faith

The more you try to hush
The words explode afresh
Rest in peace? None retires
But join Line of martyrs
Rise in revolt and flocks
Flank around messiah
Guarding their men from shocks
Singing alleluia
Up in arms with soul's sword
Praising glory to lord
Torrent gospel verses.
Fiends, your pride reverses.

You Can't, Upon his blood!

You evil cluttered minds.
ATL Aug 15
The moon gently pulling jetsam,
the cadavers of children
wading into granules of rock.

mixtures of life in vegetation,
that verdant undergrowth on the
cluttered limestone,
breaking waves.
the rakish laughter on the shore,
sweet echoes, fixed echoes,
the murderous innocence of the sea.
Eleni Apr 20
I am a mess.
A cluttered room full of
sad dust and stowed away emotions.

In the winter,
I shiver with all my excess baggage
and the piercing, frosty winds.

This woman, that comes and goes-
Unloads her haunted antiques
Off her achy and raw shoulders.

And she will return in the summer.
The heat shall suffocate and sting me
Even in the most joyous season.

I wonder- if she would ever part with these
Medieval, Gothic symbols
that fester her spirit with Shura.

Sometimes in the mirages,
Her head splits into three
And each face telling a separate story.

I pray that those hungry ghosts
Will be banished from her spirit.
And the Wheel shall finally turn
to begin my pilgrimage to the Moon.
Graff1980 Oct 2018
Less then
three hundred miles
and three years away,

but I can still feel
the sunlight
streaming in
from the fifth floor

I can still see
the long
multi-laned streets
cluttered with cars,
trucks, and billboards.

I can still taste
the hot wings
dipped in ranch
that I ate for dinner,
and the small omelets
in cheese streaked
plastic wrap
along with
the gravy soaked

I can still feel
the cool blankets
that saw me safely
to sleep
after I would eat
the free breakfast.

I can still hear
the sound of
speaking in
muffled tones,
blocked by
thin walls.
I can even recall
the sound of rainfall,

and though I am
almost content
with this moment
in my life,
part of me
would like to see
that memory
in real time.
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