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V L Bennett Nov 2018
Comma kitty
you syntactical *****
drop your kittens down the well
dreaming a dilaudid nightmare
you word-*****
let go your
cat-gut screeching
I need a song
King Panda Jan 2017
once there was an astrologer
who said
I predict universal pangs but
no big bangs

but you can be
my keeper
this afternoon
written in the stars
a kick here
a punch there
a hug on the bridge
are you being ****
or are you having
a stroke?

guts like a hawk
pure chutzpah and
peanut butter
a karma pig or
depending which way
you look
half dog
half god
pinching our lungs together
a ******* frisee
a passion flower
a wave of space
the sun
a big middle
a glisten and the
midday present
as you
and I try to catch a little
last rainy night Jul 2018
you were a beautifully constructed sentence
you were complete in thought and made sense

i wanted to be with you
i wanted to be a part of you

i thought i could be a period
and show you you how things end for us

then again, how about a comma
so we could pause and think of what's next

i also thought about being a question mark
so we'd both ask what we do not know

or an exclamation mark
to let your immense feelings show

an apostrophe maybe
to show the world that i belong to you

quotation marks, you see
i would enclose your brightest ideas

what about a colon
so we could begin a list of your dreams

maybe a semi colon
to join our common parts and themes

but i'll choose to be an ellipsis
so only i, can know and hide
some of your words and secrets
david mungoshi Mar 2016
i see you
in the magnificence of your aura
and in your splendour
a supple aesthetic comma
with cupped hands
i see you
scoop up the water and let it trickle through your fingers
even as the weaver birds chatter ceaselessly outside
i see you
in that magical moment, a rainbow on your *****
as the fine rose sprays your body with resplendent water
in a wondrous fusion of sun, water and glowing inner warmth
i see you
break into a lyrical smile brimming with beauty and belief
and i think to myself
you're the story still to be conceived
the epic poem in heroic couplets in the making
you're the holy grail men have sought in their pilgrimages
i shall create a chant and a mantra in your honour
even as your person and your image vanquish me
and that's what love is
you're consumed by your mate in the fashion of the black widow
a ravenous spider that eats love
I have reworked this poem and now offer it anew for perusal and your appraisal
onlylovepoetry Aug 2018
[tongue taking taken prayer]

come worship in my temple.
your tongue gowned by silence,
thy teasing vibrations disperse my slack, exchanging
it for a rigidity that is even softer, looser,
an improvement possibility impossible incomprehensible

the noises of freedom from anonymity is thy silenced tongue
unleashed, teasing, speaking tongues unrelenting and unremitting  and unforgotten for they never were
learned or incapable of being self-taught

my pleasure sprouts mushrooms in my loamy foam,
thy rainfall nourishment, seed plant growing life morning borne,
thy tricked up sonnets played within my hearts harp,
tunes never known but come from the land of plenty,
my new promised land

teach me where the apostrophe goes, the comma and
why the question mark is curved and dotted like my body,
why we need punctuation to separate the first from the next

trees weep as if every dry rain petal is instantly imbibed,
wanting more for my swollen by thy ministrations,
I cry out
my ice storm, my thunder, embalm me within the
electric spreading in my veins shocking steady constant

thy name thy name I beg to give thee a name
to understand what has befallen me

you can call me by my favorite of
all my seventy two,^
your first baby squeals and
even now in human manufactured agreed upon symbols, (words),
every utterance a prayer heard and answered

my name is a heated and unbroken
I am thy god, and you, darling you,
my beloved
Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
******. No white guy can say that, right.
People who can truly call themselves ******* can. *****-***** ****, W.O.P.,
maybe they can say ******, okeh. But they say it mean,
What'sbout Jewboy?
Can the Kaffen kid say ******?
Sand-******, but not ***** ******. Hecan say ****, too. And *** and *****.

Oy vey, okeh. We can take it. We can take it all. Rules is rules.

That's right. Wanna fight? Wanna be my enemy?

--- Grandpa had a play date. ***- Where's the Fun?
These kids got no guns.
And no enemies. Except imaginary ones.

Greedy little master mind sprouting odd fruits from Pokémon.
Can we make this work? Perfect it, in effect?

Marbles, maybe we can teach that old game and go from there to the funnest parts of FTA... Findtheanswer, like God and Adam played. The rules are some same, bounds, fudges and such. Keepsies, ante-ups and such, too.
Risk is right if-I-can-tation.
Losses can be baked, clayballs,
while momma bakes our daily bread.
Poor kids can make marbles in the sun, since forever, I am sure. Rolly-polly patti and johnny cakes roll marbles into spoons,
Momma knew that stuff. She could shake butter into cream, singin' along Que sera, sera, whatever will be
will be,

but it won't be the death of me,
watch and see,
babu boy oh boy
We can play war until we die, but don't tell the children.
They are the price we are to pay. They must believe.

We swore allegiance for security. We thought it best
for the kids to lie.

You know?
I believe, you know. It's unbelieving I need help with.

Can't you see? We swore allegiance and taught it has become the  honor-us-course-us-po-deserve-us ritual. A rite we pass for the protection of the eagles gathered around the body.

We are proud of our children who die taking
the courses called for, we never ask why,
except when we cry. Silently, inside.

It's our role to remember the glory
of our children dying for the IDEA that lives
in the statue of Freedom
under which our laws allow
might is right, if God was ever on our side.

You know what I mean.
Say so. You know the lies are being told.

Stop believing that is okeh, eh?

Mussleman dominance meme manifests once more to battle the flood of knowing being re-leased or bought, outright, to aid the seekers seeking the meta game.

F.T.A, remember? Find The Answer. Same rules as Hide and Watch,
"All ye, all ye, outsiders hidden in our midst, in free."

"Send me your- poor, huddled masses",
remember being proud of that idea.
Poor thing, lady libertine, so tarnished now that not even Iaccoca's glory loan could gild the actions she sanctioned in the name of the republic for which she (a proxy mate, feminine aspect of God) stands. Sig-n-if-i-cious-ly.

Seig Fried, we say, with the statue of freedom watching over the legislative body, she stands
Quite similar to the Diana of the Ephesians,
in her role as mob solid-if-er, if I know my mythic truths been told.
Trink, trink, trinkits gits the good good luck, light m'fire witcha spark and see a light in the night when the noised of terrors flee.

Rite, we passed those places ages ago, now we hear echoes, only we know them, for we have been taught,
what echoes ever are.
Our own terrors screaming back at us.

Alot of lies are taught wrong and a sleeping giant in a child may dream of other ways to see. New windows on new word worlds expressed in HD Quad-processed realities, child eyes see right through those.

Exactly that happened. Slowly at first.
Good is more difficult to believe you are expert enough to try doing than is evil. Read it again. This couplet or line, as time will tell.

Don't ignore known knowns, stand up under the weight of knowing good and knowing evil. Be good.

We know from conception, we think,
whatever it takes means
take what ever we think right,
pursue happenstances in the favor of my father's world, provided for me, the kid.
The son, a first-man son, some several thousand generations removed. Lucky some body stored the good stuff in the mitochon'orhea, right.
We'd be powerless. O'rhea, double stufft, blessusall.

Otherwise lies are left for kids to learn,
but not to
be left true,
as when they first was told.

Our sibyl e-gran mals tol' em true, as they knew what they passed through, to the moment, then...

Around the fire, dancing shadows, make them play.
All ye, all ye outs, in free! See dancing shadows, en-joy my joy, be strong, long strong, sing along, long, long song

and laugh until you die.
Some con-served ideas will land a man in a prison with no keys.

Imagine that. Take your time, it is no passing fancy. Be here,
with me, a while. Pleased to meet you I am, no comma needed.
Now, we may wait, whiling away a time or two is common, in mortal pauses. Are you dead or alive?

Is it dark or light? Do you see in color here, or in gray?

Who built your prison? I built mine. You'll love it, I imagine,

whenever forever flows past those old lies striving for redemption,
recycling-clingy static hairballs and ghost turds
touch, once more,
*** potentia amber atoms in cosmic chili for the soul
of the loaf-giver, warden of the feeding forces life lives
to give dead things. There's the rub.

Spark to fire? Watts to fuel the favor, Issac, can you lead us in a song? A con-serving song for when the cons a fided or feited,
defeat my sorrows and my shame,
let me see Christ take the blame.

Confidencein ignowanceus. Worsen dignitatus evawas.

Blow on it. Soft. The spark landed in that ghost **** you thought you swept away or ****** into a vortex of hoovering witnesses,
if you whew too strong, you blow yer own little light out, and have to wait for lighten-loadin' bearers
to take care from you.

That can take time, too.

It always takes a while to get deep enough to see the bottom.

Cicero, old friend...

ne vestigium quidem ullum est reliquum nobis dignitatis 

[not even a trace is left to us of our dignity]

From <>

See, from a single spark,
touching a volatile bit o' whatever,
you may see the root of the Roman canker sore
yomamma kistyawit.
And be on yo way,
satisfied minded there do seem to be a way, each day, just beyond the evil sufficiency we find soon after the morning's mercy's been renewed.

And may, if it may be,
ye see a rich man wit' a satisfied mind
and may that man be me in your mirror, as it were.

Carry on, as you were.
Or walk this way, a while,
mind the limp. I'll set the pace.
It ain't a race, y'lil'squirt.

Wait'll y'see.

Waiting is time's only chore this close to shore.

What manner of men are we, who could be our enemy?
What name makes me your enemy?

What peace can you imagine when no words carry hate?
Can you imagine evil peace? Cromwell n'em said they could make peace wit' war.
They lied. Their lies remain lies, evil knowns
are good to know, on the whole.

Knowing makes believing count for more than idle oaths of loyalty to memes mad from the first of forever to now.

now. stop. This is the bottom. I know the way from here.
Do you?
You can say so, but you never know,
if you never make the climb.

And that can take forever, I've been told.
Fun, for fun. Bees in bonnets and such archaic antics, no pun un intended.
The N word test. I chickened out, but under protest. If I say/said a word to hurt a childlike mind, or an innocent ear, I am not being kind. And the black magi said He could care less, he's moving back to Kingston.
Dr Peter Lim Apr 5
When to use the comma (lest you sob)
or apply the colon and semi-colon
but wisdom at its upper top
is to know when to insert the full-stop--

life is the moment that springs forward
as every flower, plant or crop
action it calls for such that joy and happiness is brought forth
in time's ripeness, ere away the day's last sun-rays drop.
* the aforesaid nouns treated as one subject
Egg Mar 2018
What is the point in

you tell me.
Another one in paragraph three.

What do words matter?

I have spelled love with Lilacs instead of an “L”
I have drawn the curve of my “O” with the chill of a
Sweeping breeze.
A “V” can only appear as the violet of a
sparkling sky, or I will be unable to read it,
and every “E” will amount to nothing more than
emptiness if the voice it has been given
does not epitomize song.

Replace it with a semicolon.

I am trying live freely.
I want to breathe in color,
to inhale an orange Savannah sky
And exhale green which
shows through the translucent dew
of grass.

Unnecessary use of description.
Limit it, Lidiah. Limit it.

My fingers itch with the ferocity of
A vengeful army.
They are waiting to trample pages with
The lead of my pencil, the bayonet
of a Revolutionary-War-era rifle.

The word limit sounds like tragedy.
A single word that can somehow act as
a precursor,
To the death of passion.

Your words have put you in a box.

People always say
“Actions speak louder than words.”
In a way that is true.
But I also know it to be
a tremendous piece of fiction.

Please watch your run-ons.

Why can our words and our actions
not be the same thing?
Isn’t the act of speaking,
the act of raising your voice,
the act of being heard,
isn’t that an action?

how many times do I have to remind you?
Clarification throughout.

Why have we decided that our words
Mean nothing more than
stepping stones on the road to action?

When did we decide that our voices
which rise like clarion calls,
forever instilling our promises,
are to be left on silent?

Precious jewels set into rings.

Poison in a water tank.

what you say is irrelevant
if your MLA bibliography isn’t in
alphabetical order.

Our words are our actions.
They mean the same.
Words are the distinctions of our beliefs
Illustrations of our personas
They are not mosquitos to be slapped away
and forgotten.

paragraph five is too long.
Stop rambling.
Be concise.

Please tell me,
what is the point of being concise?

stop rambling.

Why do we let justification
equate to useless rambling?

you have to detach yourself from the narrative.

Feelings mean more
than a couple of sentences.

More than a good or a bad.

A mad or a sad.


What about ferocity?

Never end with a preposition.

What about passion?

Replace this with a conjunctive adverb.

What about the discernable strife
that follows even indifference?

What about that?

what is the point of

What are we without it?
What does the human soul matter
if we have forsaken the parts of ourselves that
remind us of what a soul is for?

you will never be heard
if you do not learn to follow the rules
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
What if
I told you
not to discourage
The world and you

You're the part of nature
The very part to be loved
and captured

The world can be cruel not
meeting your expectation
  I want to encourage you

What we are not
We all need to be cared for
No-one needs to control you
You put you or not?
But your heart and soul
inside you
Was worth every
Worldbeat of a shot

Like an energy force

What we hear
let nature
take its course

How it got to you
But of course
Unexpected surprise or not
Another divorce
Spiritual eye
compelled you

To be or not to be
(The Shakespearian) dialogue
But what is concealed so secretive
Our loved ones
The world revolves around
(Many Rules) a dust of the wind
The dead ones The wild or bad ones
 What would it be without
colors and no control
The kindest hearts of souls

It's not very logical or practical
To use it never to abuse it how
another person transforms it
Solving the problems
Such a delicate moment touching a rose

And snap a pose Lady Madonna

Like it-or, not the Vogue space alien green
Your money is not always what it seems
The whole world in your hand
Feeling alienated mind polluted
The things that we are? Being Lifted

Why does a business make you feel
Nothingness the number
Well let's consider
yourself part of the family
We are not on this planet
to be right or wrong

How every molecule
 something clicks
The good earth Apple
computer console
All the keys comma, star,
how far will it go
So many deceased or not ever pleased
@  # whats the odds percentage %
The exclamation point! !! & etc
The addiction movies the drama

Fresh blueberries the sour cream
Not watching your diet what a dilemma
Those landmark cemeteries so
vivid not a dream and life to
your fears and dreams

Every Data color is the
warmest earth worth every beauty of color

Those homemade brownies
The revolving Globe
Her Grecian robe contemplating
You're the physical sensible person
Trying a (Sun filled) vacation
How it groves to shape right in
Healthy or not we were
born  to be loved

Our eyes see but they're
not clear not the friendly
Environment somehow mean

Or bluer than the sky clean
But "Hi' nice welcoming
Robin bird fly__*
Maybe it's not your true birth

Like a cry overflow

What do you know he knows
or she knows
Enjoy yourself your mind will be higher
Overly confident to feel pompous
The Showstopper word it nutritious
Don't underestimate
Who we really are the believer

Don't pull yourself back
with negativity

Accept the craziness
You're not the wallflower
The world captures you
every day cry or make it
your time to pray
Your head was spinning
with fascination like it was your
time of blessing
That European trip the
airplane pop of ears what is glory
Let the people hear your side of the story

The restlessness above all  the love
With such a will of ambition list
Feeling the dizziness

I know the world would be
a better place with smiling face
Show your hair with the
fresh cut daisy
The brightness soothes you
The Daisy my favorite
because of Mom
She taught me well

I will always be her daisy
What makes us happy
That personal growth we don't
need a wish just push forward
We were meant to do
this together
intertwined as both
Toward our happiness
What revolves around our world to see the world free or wild what do we really feel like in this heavenly good earth. We should kiss the ground we walk on or not is it really using up your time you are the one so worth living or not to find peace even when it's not what we need to resolve to move forward and love who we are
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
--- as a boy, I explored a hermit's lair
--- the hermit was not there, he'd left nothing but a tin box
--- of charcoal pills, a panacea for curiosity, I was told.

This old bearded fellow who lived at the foot o'thumb butte,
by the burro's water hole,
other side o'the hill from Doug McVicar's Jasper find

Tidal shorelines from my child hood
swirling through the softed rocks

Boulders on the bottom, roll on, crustal waves rise and fall

it all goes back to that 13,000 year mark
when Gobekli Tepi,
was in the building,
long long before
the Hopis were on the Pollen Way, leaving land marks on

Rocks risen above the desert floor

Some thing came from space, something very cold,
a snowball so big it tugged the ocean of magma
through the crust of the earth

nuclear glass, same time. nano diamonds

The younger dryas-

melt water pulse, fire from the sky, men could see that, with their own eyes.
and then they saw the clouds of witnesses

Rituals learned, the story heart seeps from mother to child,

at first touch some say.

Specialized touches were included in the 2.0s.
Holistic wuwu Randall Carlson laughs, why lie? Evidence, see.

What did you see when you passed through hell the first time?
Nothing, you kept your eyes shut.

Are you really
Experienced? That was the question. Ask the experts,
but some of them lie.
Never trust their clocks, that's wise. Time is too temporary to make
much difference
in the long run. Time, least of all powers in eternity. Chronos,
Chaos shattered him, and some story teller on a journey
saw the event
while his tongue was being tamed, a task no man can do.

Fire and Ice from heaven to earth,
whole peoples saw it,
with the eyes in their head

Hope is the key to the heart's lock on reality

The younger Dryad's oak burned,
Drought killed all the others, bugs killed the elms.

Ah spirit to spirit, compare. The heart of the world is weeping
for the ignorant eaters of poisoned poems and stagnant stories

speed kills when it comes to cosmic notes on rocks

patience, under stand the canopy of heaven can, filter
poison from those
stagnant stories's idle words, redemption draweth nigh,

count on it. Keep counting, patience finishes what she starts.

Sacred Geometry, scale invariance, I saw the Mississippi
Carve meandering ant canyons in the dirt
while watching the rain
Nothing's secret anymore, that's a reality that may be beyond

your thought. Textbook in stone. I know geometry Mr. P,

can I come in? She who builds, who destroys, who rebuilds, suggested
my bombs have a Nobel role,
in energizing

the ark
the earth is the ark, but you knew that already, right.

Acacia bush visions from a medium
of messaging the master builder,
who, you know, made this
happen, used to heal with ashes.

Healing war, study it no more, it is
possible man, alone, can imagine.

The Godhead? What's the big idea? You a heretic, Mr. P?

Come and see, leave the clock/phone.

This is big momma story, little clay doll with pointy feet
sticks in the dirt, stares at the fire,

the story mamma, shhh

Stands, and lifts her hands up high, pointing
all her fingers to the skies where ashes, glowing
like we can imagine the stars once scattered by God
and his sons's servants prepping

origins of human conflict taught
Tubalcain by fire light, while Jubal
Sang the very umph umph song from
Taj Mahal' 1970 with Jerry, Fillmore West,

A message to Garcia, from on high:
the imbecility of the average man—
the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it,
That, resist. It is evil.

Angels, imaginable, you know, mere messages, nothin more,

so great a cloud of witnesses
there was a times when  all
imaginations men were imagining heartily
were evil, altogether.

Enki left and went to the moon, or that's the story grandma's
sisters told me
when I was a little boy lost and found from time to time

The serpent on the staff, where's that story from?
Who says their mammy saw that happen.

Time, Hosts of Heaven, time is one of those.

Fan tasty taste, see, the truth is good.

Freedom, responsible freedom, take as granted,
intend good and go.
Seed of the Dream,
I planted that. It contained this fact,

we reap what we sow.

Ambi-Dios, ambit-ion with no hope for something just beyond
the best that I have ever done,
that'll make a child mean as hell, on the average,
according to the data Google smuggled into China
through those super phones,
unavailable in the USA, protected by the wielders
of destruction who eat the world up,
and drink its very blood.

the bread of shame, is fed to slaves to keep them in the queue,

BTW que-eee was the word I used for ****, when I was a child.
I took that word to school.
Nobody knew what it meant. I considered that cool
and kept my secret until just now.

I feel so free.

A builder sees a building and the builder in a single glance.
None may enter here lacking geometry, that's no secret now.
The cultivated Pythagorean mind, simple as pi.

'Cain't get to Romans eight, which is here, now, I think,
with out going beyond Hebrew six.

The measure of a man that is the angel. No comma,
just a jot, then this means that,
to the mind
listening for mystery in beauty found lying around.,
glistening in the sun.
The charcoal pills I found fifty three years ago, these wandering thoughts I found dancing the trail earlier this morning.
Jay Apr 2017
Love was not shaped like a heart but a question mark
Too many wonders, Too many questions
I knew love was open-minded, love was optimistic
I knew love inside and out
But love remained a question mark, unsure of the love, love found with me.

Love changed
Love silently became an exclamation point
Love had clouded thoughts, twisted feelings
Love felt happiness, sadness, madness
But beneath all of those, love gave out silent cries - I have never heard.

Love, then again, changed
Love took on a shape of a comma
Love became afraid of ending the sentence, ending us
Love made us complex, made us complicated
Love had a lot of pauses in between the non-stop wishing and non-stop desires
Love hated itself

Love wanted to change
And he did
Love finally became a period
Because commas were suffocating and periods end suffocation
But love, love did not just end the sentence, nor the paragraph, nor the story
Love ended us

But here I am, standing in front of Love again
Staring at the Love who's oh so different again
Love was not just one dot but three
Love became an ellipsis
Love wished for more of our story
Love hopes to continue us
Love started wondering about the possibility of having us again
Love wanted us again
Love is slowly turning back into a question mark again.
A school requirement that brings satisfaction only to me who wants to have a good grade in her philosophy class.
Fay Kim Nov 2018
Sometimes I crave to write just to feel my keyboard brush against my fingertips
I agree with their word of choice with the press of a comma
A small betrayal when they rewrite our secrets

But I crave that deep ache that turns my bones brittle
That heartbreak plea for more when the space bar sings

"No more," My tongue pleas

But the stories are tangling around my body like a noose
the stitches in my skin are reopening with the press of a button
and at last, I feel free.


"What have you done."

Pressing save with a confidence the tongue will always lack.

"Something you should've."
L B May 24
A winged seed just took to wind
and landed on my lap
like hope and babies--  
I imagine
I have never had

like memories
of walking home from school in May

Stunned by perfect curl of comma
by design
Veined paper
with spine
of strength attached
to guide its flight
of swirling fertile
to the ground
of mind

To love--
the tan and winged snow
to the heights of trees

on both sides of this moment

a child
in a future forest
KCibot May 31
Purpose in every
Word, comma, smile
Your expressions
Carry the weight
Of golden thrones

And I devour them
Each, every, all
I dream about
The heavy weight
Lessness you shine
Fare well hello there,
Put the comma where you like,

I am pleased to had been meeting you,

In this world of mime,
Our hellos, the same as goodbyes,
As soon I say hi, you already said bye,
And vice versatile how we speak our words to mean different things.

Hello Poetry,
I am please two half met you,
Under these circumstances,
If only I could see you later,
Talk to you next time we meet again and again we find ourselves in these strange situations.

What ever will we do things really have to be this way?
Fare well hello there.
I guess it depends on what words you decide to read me something nice so I can fall asleep.

.Goodbye Poetry.
Put the comma where you like.
Andrew Dec 2017
They either say "We'll spend some time"
Or they say "Well, never mind"
Is it the apostrophe
That makes us we?
Or is it a mentality
That sets us free
To changes
And ranges
Of open thoughts and feelings
That bring us together
Until negativity starts stealing
And our connections we sever

We'll feel well
After escaping the hell
That is the difference between well and we'll
But they will not be the hands that heal
When they act like adding the apostrophe
Is tantamount to apostasy
So they wield sabres
Of different flavors
Like the shallow gravers
And the glow stick ravers
That look good on paper
Until they are erased
When I need their embrace
I'm left hanging
Like an apostrophe
Putting me down
Into a comma coma
Leaving holes in me
Like a drama stoma
Like a mama boa

You're your apostrophe
When you take away being
And turn something into a possession
You channeled my overt obsession
Then punctuated with aggression
The end of our sentence

I can't survive this period of my life
When savages cause serious strife
By adding small marks to me
Until it becomes too dark to see
In the shadow of their apostrophe
Ryan O'Leary Jan 8
Golden Valleys, Growing Naturally


This is a Logo in Ireland, Dairygold™
is the company.

I would safely say, that there is hardly
an acre in rural Ireland devoid of some
form of artificial fertilisers, pesticides,
herbicides or fungicides.

(Ireland is riddled with consumer cancer)

If the Logo was written as follows,
a comma between Growing & Naturally
plus an exclamation mark ! which should
really be a question mark ? (in the absence
of the comma between Valleys & Growing)
Golden Valleys, Growing, Naturally! or ?

               Then it might pass.

Let's see if we can force them to change
it and by doing so, it will highlight the
fraudulent practice of duping consumers
with blatant grammatical omissions and
the wordplay illusion by clever marketers.

(Well, perhaps not as clever as they thought)


I spent all morning, wondering should they
be a comma in the last paragraph, in the
afternoon, I removed it.  Oscar Wilde.
I will get straight
to the point, shoving
past year after year
after year, count them
dear, sick puppy
torn from the pack
blood smeared
you culled me from
the herd and made me
your stuffed meal
your worse than zeal
your mascot

When I was twelve years old
you bent me into a comma

When I was twelve and
one quarter you bent me
into a fist, a fetal position
you could not resist

The love of a child
when I was twelve
and a half I fought
back but lucky you
no mother love was

The anatomy of a child

You *******

Who's the hunter now?

Not you, nearly seventy
years old, ***** hippie
with one dry pointed
finger (you know
which one)

To be

To be continued
when I'm done
Sombro Mar 13
A bed in an ICU
Is just an electric chair with cushions
Your broken feet charred and inert
Twitch in your sleep, like you're dreaming of getting up
And telling me you're going to stay
For the memories we'll still make together

And when you're awake
I almost wish you wouldn't be
But I smile like breaking glass
Waiting for the after, the endless without
And you talk for me, as I don't

You're scared, but you can't show it
Because my peace always came first for you
But that won't be much longer
Your full stop is my comma
But there won't be a rhyme tomorrow

What you mean to me
Will be broken into a thousand words
That will fade, like the sound of your voice
To mean nothing, the world you still walked in
The soil I can't make grow again

No spring will set in your chest
But I'll have to greet the winds that take you
To think without the dust
And meet the heart that's left behind.
Ken Pepiton Jul 25
Bohemian Rhapsody at an hour and twenty-nine

a glass door opens and I watch,
from inside,

poor Freddie die, slowwwww

wonder if that might've been a time
or a half time
when dreamed of crossing
roads or
ways or paths or circuits were fitted
with resisters
set to never disconnect from base.

Standing ready to resist,
stood in the rain watching others die
for me,
via-curiously as all hell,

you can feel this guy falling, this is mazing

is there a way back out, if it were a movie and not
tickling or itching
***** little fruit flies shifting dna in every
imaginible way?

what if rock and roll were the lie,
all along? or what if

we confessed, these wee gods we made and
idolized, were
but are not, now they are lies that lived in stories
we can tell truer than hell

sistere, we stand
peace-keepers keeping on keeping

this thing that builds our dreams,
realistic, in a common

kind of sense. Always gentle,
honed-est to the finest edge

could Milton have seen this thing coming,
from all the stories he told,

I don't think so.
I dont' think,
so a
comma changes ever,
just like that,

this hapts to attempt morphic resonance as
easy on the ear
after a while

as the music Milton listened to
--- but it is not rock and roll

--- its self made hermetical art flowing through the canyon

remaining a scar to remind us all,
we live on the wreck of a world.

--- and Michael, my broken brother-in-law


whoa, I feel this tug to hug, very strange, but
I hug him and say

now is okeh, I don't say it's okeh because it is else when
now is okeh,

we deal with this,
every, asif ever, but not

but often enough that we settle things fast,
if, you know,
y' let go and let the power in us

believable. Try. No lies, starting now, stories we tell
must be defanged, declawed

but unchained. Free stories of told lies,

those are those words to the wise you heard of.
Never were secret stories,
always been secret lies about stories teaching when

truth, in the telling, tells us what not to do.

Don't lie and don't let lies be pre-sent in packages of
maliscious conscious opposition

to entertain us, ah that high whine in my left ear that peaks then
falls in to background
white noise

soft, occasional thunder way off, a siren, a jake brake blaring

far far away, a chainsaw, not obtrusive

subjected to the filters in place,
this is a fine day to remember.

Like one of those Septembers, we share at the mention.
Milton could never amuse his muse with a movie on a chromebook in the desert on a rainy day, while watching elders by a bit die by bits.
Ally Van Amstel Jul 2018
I’m sorry I took a month to respond.
I’m late because I didn’t know what to say.
I say “I know this is still really painful”
but what I’m really trying to say is “I’m sorry.”

And by “I’m sorry” I mean
“I’ll never forgive myself for the pain I caused you.”
Caused us both.
And by "us both" I mean this was hard for me too
because I’m the one who had to make the decision.

And by make the decision I mean I’m the one
who had to take a real, hard look at us, you know?
I’m the one who had to tug the thread
and feel the unraveling in my hands,
and watching the unraveling in your eyes,
and do the unraveling of our life.
I’m the one who had to face what neither of us would.
We hadn’t had *** in months.
We were newly weds.

And I’m sorry we were newly weds.
We should’ve been newly broken up.
And what I mean is that
I shouldn’t have married you in the first place.
I shouldn’t have planned a wedding with you.
I shouldn’t have said yes.

And what I mean is that I felt the burning in my belly
that night you asked me to choose you as my knight,
and to assume the role as your queen.
And by burning in my belly I mean I knew
even then that my “yes” was tentative
and that it felt more like a “maybe”
and that maybe I wouldn’t go through with this at all.
But what do you say, other than an emphatic “yes,"
to the man who has loved you for a decade?

And what I mean to say is that the “yes” wasn’t mine.
It was theirs
and it was yours
and it was ours,
but it wasn’t mine.
What I had was “no.”
Because what do you say, other than an emphatic “no,”
to the man who has tried to love you for a decade?

So my “no” sounded a lot like a “yes” that night
and I’m sorry I got them confused.

And what I mean is that you deserved better.
Not someone better than me; that’s not what I mean.
What I mean is that you deserved courage.
You deserved all of the courage
I let hide behind the moon that night,
and all of the courage
I tucked toward the back of our closet those months,
and all of the courage
I swallowed in favour of a more palatable flavour that year.

And what I mean is that I should have said “no.”
That you deserved “no.”
And all of this is just to say that I ****** up,
and that maybe I was stuck in the Upside Down
where weakness looked like strength,
and absconding looked like leaving boldly,
and “no” looked like “yes,”
and “I do” sounded a whole lot like “forever”
didn’t it?

“To my love, forever”
I said.
Emphasis on the comma before “forever”
because I never could pass up an opportunity to be pretentious.
And what I mean is that
I’m sorry I got your ring engraved with “forever”
when “forever” meant more like a year-ish
and I’m sure as hell positive
that you haven’t felt like “my love,”
have you?

And so I’m sorry I said “forever”
when what I meant to say was “not ever.”
How freeing that would’ve been for us.
And by freeing I mean I could’ve saved us both from this mess.
From this d-i-v-o-r-c-e that we now have tattooed on our hearts.

And so I’m sorry I didn’t say all that I meant to say.
And that it’s too late to say any of it now,
because now we’re strangers,
but what I meant to say that day is that
I love you
I want to leave you.
Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
Memes! Angels, aberrations of opposition super standing
overseeing you,

The screamin' heebie jeebies.

Yo, where you wanta go, you axin me we just go

with it, the flow 'know?

What I mean is, are we memes or mes or messes of yeses
gone all johnny rcome late-rotten scarred scared, some thing not so far
from sacred when you put your mind to the whole idea of life being

at all. Thinking this is not easy. We are Able. Our belly's living waters cry out,

you are your brother's keeper, yes, you are.

Be leavin' that be, I am is, and you is,
too. When you apprehend the meme named
That meme has led the me-me mob for as far as men
remember, but
now, machines remember for us, all the facts, just
the facts, ma'am.

Why'd the d go into a comma, Pop?

Welt (Duetch, bitte) Enshaung, glaube ich, vie leicht, aber

are we ever going to filter out these German bleed-overs?
stay tuned, next week the meme beacon is pulled down,

who shall pre or post or ex maybe vail, travail, like
wow, I hate being a 20 year old vet back in the U.S. of A.
FTA All the way, Airborne

*******, Herman Hesse *******
Jorney to and fro the east to west, and soon, et
cetera. Siam is a mere myth now, eh?

As the Narnia thing not called a heathen lie was allowed
allowable in mere Christianity.

I've only seen the English POV's on PBS, they may be filtered through
feedback, meme belching bursting bubbles from new wine 'nold vessels about to plode into eternity, singing along.

Thank you, very much. May I introduce, duce, intro duce, y'gittin this?

Duce means 2 if you see e squeen between, you see that?

Fun. No reason for fun? Who here, now, believes that or, no,
bees leavin' those lies be told?

Hunh? Y'know? Watch man, waht of the night?

See, what I mean? All this from me hearin' some guy say,
"Come and see, like that was  okeh. For any body, n'me, too.

Thinking, as a past-time, is pointless. You know, if you act like it.
Reading Howard Bloom's (Audiobook) for about the fourth time this week, while continuing the Radioman Chronicles pre-see-quel dilemea. I think epic poetry is seducing me.
Bom Dec 2018
I knew you wanted lover’s strings like I do,
and thinking about love makes you feel so blue.

To see fate, but not meant to be.
I was full of bitter hate.

I wished you stayed longer,
wished we stayed together to be a bit stronger.

But patience wasn’t in our veins,
so we left with the grains of heartbreak.

We had so much plans,
had hearts that rung like pans.

But why’d we leave?
Why did our fire burn out on Christmas Eve?

I was just a kid too early for reality,
was supposed to be riding unicorns and drawing dinosaurs.

Why did I have to fall so early?
Now what was I to do?
I was supposed to be happy in childhood beauty.

I trusted you,
like a fly attracted to the white –
thought that you were bright like city lights
but in the end I had fallen in fright.

Wished I listened to my Momma,
she said to give your life a comma,
or you’re gonna fall into a life of drama.

Know when to stop –
‘Cuz she almost went to the rooftop
living a life without love.
She thought of the scars,
scars that looked like bars.
Maybe if she broke them,
she could go back to the stars.

Oh, Mamma –
Wish I was as wise,
wish I could give as much advice,

Wished I would’ve listened,
Stopped the kisses and the lust,
should’ve known it wasn’t bliss n’ comprehended,
that our love would’ve eventually ended.

Momma, oh, Momma –
Maybe I wouldn’t’ve loved so much,
and lost so many,
if I could’ve loved myself already.
But we both knew it wasn’t that easy.
Postal Leo Jan 31
Tries to disappear, to a world of drama. Shocks real people far to much, end that **** with a comma. Confused by reality, diluted by hate. Wasn't given a real chance, no no, just told he could be ******* great. And he talks big ****, and acts real hard, cause he's afraid of dying. But I'll bet you twenty-five and a subway ticket he spent all last night crying. You don't gotta talk mad, for me to believe that you can punch my lights out. If you talk big game, what can you really be all about. Nothing, and let me tell, there’s nothing to make me angrier, so thank Saint Peter, that your protected by the power’s that be, is, isn't, and forever will sing!

As the world ends, and the chess board clears, fat man sings, then chugs a few beers, I’ll still exist, left behind by the rapture. No heaven for me, God’s light will never be captured. Yet I look around, and still see all of you. Even his people, have no clue what to do. Because all of us are with fault, unworthy of his plan. So he’s remaking the flood, just to deal with man. No rainbow to stop him now, he’s to go all out. And in heaven he’ll stay alone, his personal hideout. For he threw the souls back down to earth, he grew tired of them, but ghosts aren't real, cause I've never seen one man. Just saw a vision of the woman, who was meant to be my wife, hung upside down, taken her own life.  

So, as we waste away my dear, let us promise to never leave the other's side. For I refuse to be responsible, for your acts of mass homicide. In a kiss we bind our tongues together, now able to determine truth from lie. And now, just like late Sir Montague, I drink the poison, die. And then reach for the sky, see a man in blue, don't want to die. So scared of getting shot, it makes some grown men cry. Am I part of the system, of “systematic oppression”? I hope that it doesn't exist, and my kids learn the lesson. For it’s to late for me, i'm all out of ideas, and hope, and love, and anything to keep the world moving.

Tell my father, I'm sorry, I was disappointing. But let him know, he has a soul, worthy of voicing. Tell my brothers i'm sorry for being a bully. Making them backed in a corner, make em tumble down a gully. Dear sister, im sorry, i never understood our fights. Two top dogs always trying to say their right. If i, could turn back the clock i would. Because together, we could have owned the block, the entire neighborhood. And mom, we have had many a word. But i feel pride to call you mother, the same a gnat would a bird. And I all hope that you accept the one i choose. But I think still lose.

The world becomes unfamiliar, and i become filled with doubt. Not knowing who i truly am, something you know nothing about. When it all becomes against you, and your completely filled with fear, you begin to lose hold of everyone you hold dear. Then maybe you'll have an inkingling of what it’s like to be me, alone, afraid, all hope is lost, and you would make it better, at any cost. It’s just called emotional distress, and i'm under complete emotional duress.How can you find me this way? Acting like i got drunk, without a party underway. If I’m so lost without you, what's the point of sobering up? I think have nightmares of you, because your the reason i end up at the bottom, of a red solo cup. But in my nightmare’s there's a light that begins to destroy the darkness. Does it have a name? Is it coming for my carcas? Am i even of importance, to it’s omnipotence?

How does one even discern the inconceivable mass that is knowing all, being all knowing, rather, not being free, and never again having the chance to learn anything. It’s a, sad state of affairs that we’re in, when you have nothing else to live for expect living itself. Breathe. What does it mean? H20, science terms, and a few other things. But if you bridge away from your omnipotence, and look into the human mind, you’ll find, breath, means to live, live fast, strong, hard, and quickly. And that’s something omnipotence would never get you. Human emotion is far too complex to ever truly understand. Therapists, they make what we call, educated guesses, and listen to you speak to find the root of your problem, but beyond that….
I got a bit heated with this one, i suppose. Please suggest tags. Feel like this is one i want to update, so, look out for that.
jonas ernust Jul 25
I'm such a *****

my love is just a fake

it's not even noteworthy

a fluke
a flunk

a ******* evaporating **** stain cloud

but her
haunt me.

and I hate that.

I hate that it has seeped into my soul. I was too strong for love.
too strong
for emotion.

too strong for vulnerbilty.

but she wants
to flaunt herself naked to the world. and flaunt her love interest, and flaunt how great
her life is
all the while she cries
when I call her out.

I love when they cry.

I love when you ******* cry, knowing that you've been wronged.


I loved you, I don't even believe in it;
it's an illusion, a chemical imbalance,
but you've affected me,

you've made me believe.

how dare you.

I don't want to reach the sky,
I want to feel you,

I want to touch your neck,
and wipe your tears,

you wear the rock in the withered
you were the floating


I am the abyss. the dead, the searing, the withered, the hopeless, the blackened.
I loved you.

I loved you Amy.

I was made whole, I felt human, you wante the admiration, but the
dirt is only so deep.
Im just grateful,
that I have air.

I have great skies, and the blue air,

nothing to hold me back, but the sea. god may not be real, but the universe smiles nonetheless.

I've been hurt,
so many times that it doesn't;t matter. maybe there's truth to the silence, and the gray graves.

you were
a part of me,
and the part of me now blooms. I love you,
love to be told by no one.

dead, dead, dead, dead ,dead ,dead ,dead

eye less,
just like heaven , my hippie love, my uncertain love, my old love, my love too good for the '*****', my love which sleeps in sand, my love now buried,
I promise to be myself.

I will be myself, and so much more. love love love love love, so much more,

the end is just a comma,

, ,
* Amy

Ajey Pai K Nov 2018
A letter came my way,
Neat and decorated.
It smelled like my lover,
Writing from the east.
There was no salutation,
Or such sundry words.
There was no warmth,
Owing to early winters.
He wrote to me of things-
That had changed off late,
And of the people he'd met,
And of his all important job.
He wrote of the many things-
That wouldn't interest me at all.
No sooner than I'd thought-
To write back with passion,
My pen ran dry of its ink.
For good reason so, I guess.
I had just realised that-
I would've penned a comma,
Where he'd put a full stop.

— The End —