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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
WickedHope Oct 2014
distraction
contraptions
i don't work right
haven't enough reason to fight
please distract me
in your arms
enwrap me
when i can't sleep
i'm up thinking
and when i have you
my thoughts fade from dark
without you
i'm in my own head screaming
i wind up bleeding
and not holding you
but
distraction
contraptions
...
you are the better distraction
-me
Moonsocket Feb 2017
I've done strange things for the sake of rings spun around solar systems

Myself I seek for a silent leap into a fantastic fracture

No world need convince me that these cracks completed spill serendipity

I separate them neatly when they start breathing scenes best left for a blind patronage

Perhaps your malfunction is a product of something more sinister

A human condition decides on renditions torn from a black white horror show

Freezer burn for our nutrition when the world insists on absurdists amplified

Our sincerity is matched only by electricity extinguished for better imagining

Ghosts consider our progression like hindsight heros

Decadent glee when a plastic choked sea swoons from hurricane hijinks

Paranoid pirates tuck treasure into garbage heap grottos the size of Texas

No map for a wealths navigation

Buried beneath distraction contraptions and know how hardware

No connection like the steadfast junctions that perpetuate envy

Skies cease their indifferent observation and decide on surrender

A wooden giant crumbles while the modern slowly assembles

The vanity runs like storm stained dancers

pooling politely for easy consumption

Scoop the slips and magnify some misconceptions

Sometimes normalcy negates these more formidable formalities
mark john junor Mar 2014
the hour slips by without a sound
and through the looking glass window
the days unfolding scene
gives life and motion
to the surreal stillness within
the silent theatricals of man and beast
strive and fail under the shifting skies
like the rise and fall of nameless empires
their brilliant banners swiftly stirred by
the storms and seas

i walk along the fresh laid carpet
with bare feet feeling the texture
and stand at the doorway
with its wooden contraptions ajar to allow breezes
to walk into the dark house

the heavy presence of paint on the air
and the devices of workmen underfoot
soon will fade to memory as our polished lives
are neatly adorned and trimmed
we have become what we dread
civilized

she walks from the bedroom
wearing nothing but her dreadlocks
as i finish making dinner
we have duck and wild rice
i teach her some ballroom dancing steps
we laugh and whisper
the night has come to its fading
and though we are restless
we trek to our bed
and wrestle eachother to sleep

this is evening with her
and our elegant love affair
Beleif Feb 2016
This music box,
With many locks, and countless knobs,
These melodies play on its strings,
They're nightmares that contain my dreams.

This music box,
A proud disease,
Cannot sustain my faulty sleep.
If I thunder down the walls,
Within, another structure stalls.

O' music box!
Open enclosure that can't release!
Calming madness in a silent stream,
Lined with boulders and a storming breeze!

Collect my thoughts!
Within this music box,
An open sea, yet no sea released.
It tempts me with its pounding waves,
Arrests me, I can hear but I must see.

I am trapped, and just this box can set me free!
Part I of Unwinding Steely Strings
Jacob Mar 2016
I see it
A change is taking place
The good in all is nowhere
Every life is taken for granted
Memories are strung together
In a lost papier-mâché craft
Gaining dust in a Kindergarten classroom
Where the boys and girls of tomorrow live
In a crazed life filled with
Devices and contraptions
It makes us all feel blue
But we caused it
What we see is what we want
We see what we caused
We kissed the sweet lips of evolution
And it opened its legs to innovation
Save the stress for later
We'll all worry about it another time
When silver bullets are sprouting
In the garden of our beautiful
African-American brothers and sisters
And a disillusioned land of education
Save them from this misery
Such a shame that we gave our best
Now you see it -- our paradise is ******.
Cecil Miller May 2015
SATOR
AREPO
TENET
OPERA
ROTAS

Cropsman,
Alpha-Omega is with you, and bids you go forward with a patient but steady momentum.
Keep yourself to the Old Truth.
Your work
Is that of the seasons which are cyclical as the wheels of your sowing and reaping contraptions.
This ancient charm, called the Sator square, was used to ward off bad fortune, and to heal the sick. It has many otber uses. In this piece, I offer my interpretation, an affirmation of the simplistic old faith. It was often used by christians and pagans to heal sick animals like beasts of burdon or domestic pets.
ym Mar 2014
parents telling you one thing
and the internet insisting another

brainwashed bobbleheads of corruption
lies stained with the tropical freshness of 5 gum

everything is a bore, and nothing excites anymore
blank faces, straight mouths, eyes half open
the generation morphed into mannequins
faces glued to apple contraptions

the struggle to express emotion and wondering why
Black and Blue Aug 2013
there was a girl who dreamed of flying; over mountains and oceans and forests and beaches. She searched and sought ways to soar into the horizon. She tried to construct wings of wax and feathers, like Icarus. She tried to fashion contraptions similar to Orville and Wilbur’s. She tried to mix potions and find fairy dust and jump off high buildings with large sheets tied to her wrists.

She had almost given up hope,

                 until one day she met a boy. With startling brown eyes that shocked her into living. With rough, but soft, hands that cradled her porcelain fingers. With careful lips that whispered what she didn’t know needed to hear.



And after waiting so long,
        the boy had finally filled her with such sunlight, and warm oxygen, and such life that her feet lifted off of the ground. Her toes curled and her fingers splayed in the wind, and she grabbed his hand to show him the insides of clouds.
Gene Wilder's ***** Wonka once asked me
to step into a world
of pure imagination
and I danced to his voice
of sugary imperfections.
The swelling strings drizzled
on top falsetto inflections
captured me childishly
with candy-coated attentions

But even the finest chocolate melts,
and I learned to let purity be
pushed by treacly lyrics
or stern midgets secure
in their fudge-topped zealotry.
It sifts too pretty for me,
powdering my grown-up
infatuations with petty
wants, getting a little messy

What I crave instead's stained-glass contraptions
to propel me past the stretches
of biblical proportion
where light and dark don't mix.
I'm no Idiot, good-hearted
in the veins of Fyodor
or Akira, and I can't see
beyond the pure tedium
of a blurredly driven snow

I like my mental drifts grime-choked and splotched
with some savory do
dropped in to dissolve flossy
confections to a salted soup
of imagined impurity.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Chad Chumley May 2014
“Thanks for the ride.”
I often say.

With no car and only a bike or a bus
To get me around.

If my friends (or even strangers at times)
Will give me rides I can only
Say I’m blessed.

I hate those contraptions that
Buzz around.
So cut off from others unlike a bus,
Yet so fast unlike a bike.
It can take you anywhere unlike a bus.

I’m in love with cars just like every other American,
But please cut down on the greenhouse gases
For the future.

I still hate cars.
Maybe even those that have them think the same.
Maegen Sheehan Dec 2013
These things we wear,
sometimes feel like contraptions.
Restricting freedom but
providing protection.
So many ways and styles,
the possibilities are endless.
Through heat and cold
always an accessory,
even if they are not on our feet.
They go everywhere with us,
seeing even what we do not.
Josh Koepp Oct 2012
Talent.
So so Far I've seen the talent-less and the talented
**** heads until their skulls cracked and we peered in
and saw a garden growing green leafy creativity
Gallantly trotting across the right brain like the  breezy morning wind
And as we looked away and declared the winner had won
but cracked his skull on the stubborn brick wall
the talent-less had spun
out of hard jealousy and mortar crafted from their own lack of self discipline
The sun even sighed
died for a second
then came back alive only to find the talentless
still forrunning their forte
up every frigid full soul he found on his way
So the days saddened into rainy Saturdays
19 in a row
with the downpour too vicious to even kiss on the cheek as a pity way of putting across that
"you should really go"
the rain rained down boulder sized bouts of concentrated creative energies
only able to be ****** up by sponges with cracked skulls
and thus made into uncracked skulls
mended skulls
Talented unabridged uncensored skulls
that may drown out the talentless
just like the rain and storms tried to muster a try at
And by that we only see the talented come out walking with rain pouring Into their brains
getting ****** up by extracorpus veins
Not because they were born with contraptions
but because they avoided distractions
and gained traction in this multiverse where everything happens with struggle
and pain.
Martin Trahbeg May 2010
The earth’s been our playground, beautiful and vast.
A utopian world on which the human race was cast.
In the sliver of time, we’ve been an industrial culture
We’ve preyed on her resources like a ravenous vulture.

A carnivore hunting for bigger and fatter game,
All in the guise of improving and seeking for fame.
Inventors create contraptions and devices,
Never bothering to notice how much smaller the ice is.

Carbon is aplenty, spewing forth in filthy emission
Ozone suffering from man with limited vision.
Many animals hunted to extinction, and more on the way
Ecologists fight to be heard, to government's policies sway

Our waters suffer abuse and lose their purity
Advances in culture, lend earth no security
Oil and garbage circle the earth killing the wildlife off it,
Inventions and efforts to save us, offer no profit.

Efforts must be made to lower and stop pollution  
All species soon will be dead without a solution.
Let’s work together and help clean mother earth.
What’s our future generations’ health really worth?

A partner we should be, and not a voracious parasite,
We are cognizant beings; we should know to do what’s right.
Love the earth, give back more than you take,
Do it now, do it fast, for our children’s sake.
Robert Ronnow Jan 2019
I waited too long
to mow my lawn
biopsy my lung
yet lived long enough, anon,
however long is long.
Whatever. It's not wrong
to count along
while busy living. Sing
and stay strong
absorb the sun's photons
and store them in your bones.

Those bones
outlast slights and spurns
are white as lightning and strong
as sticks and stones.
Inside is one's
spirit, soul, the nameless one
the one that's never known.
It has no cell phone
can't communicate or even moan.
Therefore. Why complain?
Have some fun.

Soon
I'll be undone
underground
my garden burned down.
So what. John Donne
died and so did Milton.
Emerson too, and Whitman.
Get over it. Vote. Love. When
the train comes in the station
whistle with it, wish on
stars with passion
or careful hesitation.
Anything's fine, within reason.

Season by season
things get done.
Algebra and calculus, Malcolm X, George Washington.
No taxation
without representation.
A gun
in every den.
People will be governed
one way or another, by a king
or trusted friend. Corporation.
Men
are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than
to right themselves by abolishing the Evils to which they are        
      resigned.

I'm too young
to die! I cry. My generation
cannot outrun the sun
but I want to see what happens
next, a tsunami or tornado, rain
and wind beyond our comprehension
hit in the head by speeding debris, irony
of ironies! plastic contraptions,
rotting computers and yogurt cups, pain
in the baby! Moment's
notice. None,
I notice, live long
enough to see the end. Amen. A million

years hence
human sense
has so modified and mutated under
other moons
we share one mind
and everything's remembered by everyone.
Look it up. There is no death, just perfect rest. A perfect tan
is possible, and work is fun.
I'm going there when I pass on
because souls will travel at warp speeds, using nuclear fusion.
About suffering, religion
was right (and wrong) all along.
www.ronnowpoetry.com

--U.S. Declaration of Independence
Isaac Godfrey May 2017
Steam, Heat, sweltering mechanisms at work,
cogs, collected, combined, creating copper cirque,
wheels rotating, furnaces incinerating, gears moving at busy speed,
circulating, building, crafting, machines making what we need,
Tubes pump Scarlet Liquid, contraptions clank and ratchets clink,
as I ponder - what all the parts do, one requires to think.
Parts seldom give up, nor contraptions shirking,
but this wonder, marvel, machine, is the human body working.
A poem I wrote with not much though until I contemplated just how many mechanisms we conceal - just within ourselves! Then I really got thinking, Constantly, without end, our furnaces, our kilns, our production lines, never stop building what we need, there's a whole foundry within us, a factory, contained within.
Alysha L Scott Aug 2012
Hairy little men

I've got, hiding in my ear.
 
 
Verbal Contraptions:
 
By means of saliva,

deep sighs and black
 
tongues
 
 
Has anyone seen the Barber?
Sofia Paderes Feb 2013
let’s watch whales together
let’s catch stars together
let’s collect jars together
let’s put our dreams in those jars together
let’s write poems together
let’s play with foxes together
let’s sail together
let’s count asteroids together
let’s save penguins together
let’s read books together
let’s sing together
let’s eat Poptarts together
let’s paint together
let’s talk about elephants riding unicycles together
let’s listen to the willows whisper together
let’s cry of laughter together
let’s ride horses together
let’s discover the beauty in hidden places together
let’s build contraptions together
let’s get lost together
let’s live with different tribes together
let’s…
together
Sienna Luna May 2016
It started with existence

just a lowly perspective of a mute
time when I was able to
make sense of this pressure
make sense of why
you are now here to guide me now
on this looser journey; a lonely crabapple
still grappling at shriveled skin creating a face
that I still
cannot
distinguish.
With the end of presence as we know it
you have finished, rightly
in my dressing room
bright screen lit up
but only for a moment do I dare look away.

It started with you, and it will end with you

Closed off from me, shortly
your bioluminescence radiant,
your perfection incomplete.
I’ve known you for six straight years
or was it five
just enough
construed construction, a bloated
piece of mind that left me free to wander
aimlessly down I path I cannot recognize.
It was you who caused my blunder,
keeping me awake every night
with your brightness and distraction and amiable personality.
I decorated you with bits of me,
tangled in and out like woven webs of cybernetics
optimal connections, you died twice and I revived you.
But that was in the past
and you still cling on, for how much longer
I shan’t not know.
Only that what it means to exist
when I should be letting go.
I have to face the trust of reality and its weakened points;
that dangerous, well-formed world I find myself in.
I hope you can follow me
as long as you are able,
my clunky plastic compadre
your heart is metal mixed with other
kinds of fragile contraptions.
I know this end to my happiness is not your fault.
You were there when I needed you most,
even if you are a tool of innocence turned foul.
I once learned all of existence from your knowledge,
gleaned myself raw
trying to let you help me
understand myself.
We are not truly over because I am bound to you
somehow
even though I’ve used you for my own gain
abused your trust and have my own heart slain.

All I ask is for you to give me a chance
to make it right

again.

And then I can move on to better things.

And not be obsessed of what you think of me.

And find a way to pull myself together.
wordvango Aug 2017
once then a time been a morn' shine a day grown
into a full year it seems stunningly glare-ing
me into a sudden reality
it spoke commonly about
a heart and a wink a kiss a soft shoulder
pink
on a bank of a river flowed
small animals testaments
they gathered round
for this was magical
a story of  
many textual diddy contraptions and she
was sure
me was her one
and it hearted warmed calmed me
and felt me like I needed
all surety and  conceptions with dreams
all colliding
in stardust dreams and moonbeams
with moon pies and hot coffee
and confessions
penetrations are awaiting
ears are amazing
Thibaut V Sep 2013
Hasina had gums of a prune colored play dough, much like the type which he used to mold and model into similar contraptions and cases. Contrasting with the teeth of a superb suburban plaster, the ***** contusion continued its conversation. Collecting admirers and adolescent adonis’ innocent of their sins. Since the inoculation, passed away, a pretense to nervousness approached the very essence of our chest; the bead of the brooch where we found the philtrum too close to the nose. Curling inside its own bare curves. A bed without sheet, hindered, harnessed, the horse dragged on.

We soon found that the things we feigned to hate would come close to fame, In a magazine cover sheet, handed in late.

Hasina, and her mother, certainly did not suppose that that beneath the floor boards, neither harm nor concern would be discovered. And neither was. With the way their will worked things became distributed. Disturbed guests of unwanted presents and gifts soon re-sent to other more malleable means of hospitality.

Hungered as the hundredth wolf come to late. He too howled, but not at the moon, or rather not its simulacrum of a glowing truth, its silver light, or any movements its clearly showed. Growing loose the tumor slipped out, slowly. And with a plop, pressed against the walls, The jaws dropped and the mason jar closed and posed on exhibition for lessons, and interests, obsessions, dreads, things grotesque pressed against the walls.

To be captured, resting above the skyscrapers. Where in the hours of dawn, space overlaps, a frowned pace of a clock grows fondly of the time that is lost and past.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Exercising belief about unknowns.
Makes sense to take your best guess.
Using history, numbers, extrapolation.
Getting the trajectory right for re-entry.
Few dissenters left for climate change, evolution.
Nuclear power brings a process to earth
that occurs only in space. Dangerous
but necessary? Not a risk-averse weasel.

One among many mammals is the weasel,
not known for its consideration of unknowns
but, for its extreme caloric needs, considered dangerous.
My wife says in England violent gusts
forced a locomotive off its tracks. One interpretation
might reasonably be that the mother, earth,
has stopped mothering man. We're entering
a period of unknowns and must evolve.

What might this involve
and what adjustments are possibly feasible?
Walking rather than riding to the subway entrance,
using less electricity until more is known,
preserving agricultural soils and forest land,
buying fewer plastic contraptions.
My brother's washing his pajamas less often.

None of this may make the slightest difference
in how the earth and the sun and universe revolve.
But we are human and addicted to action,
the probable less attractive than the possible.
Also, there's no percentage in respecting death
unless it's imminent. Better to remain centered,
focused on food, child-bearing, war and the poem.

All driveways plowed, all lawns mowed.
Just in time before the first snow, I raked our leaves.
Two eight hour days. What percent of all time is that?
Draw a ray with point A the first pile of leaves
extending to the extrapolating end of universe.
.01 of Aaron. Zero of Zach.
Hawks playing, hunting, mating, canaries in the mine.

Having been too many places to count.
*** bars, infant formulas, fire crews, last rites, permanent
      jobs, traffic tickets, judges'chambers, out houses,
      wedding banquets, boiling teapots, frantic centuries,
      ****** tissues, presumed innocent, clear intentions,
      stainless steel.
Spiderweb glove. Deerfly earring. Daddylonglegs
      seeingeyedog.
Memorized songs. Privatized loans.
You cannot know what you're doing until you've done it.
Erudite sweep the floor. Articulate make the bed.
Infrared town hall. Crab nebula. Your last crap.
Eye of the tropical January sun. Slouching toward temperate
      zone.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Scott M Reamer May 2013
Not complaining, it's just all these god forsaken *** semon demons, suckling sucubus
Take my animal, then sell the stock, it's high treason
Contraptions arachnid, stick it to me ****** and shmozy.
Lady, shady, it fades me. But by all means phase me like ******* wild eyed vixens, oops who's slipping missy.
Marge Redelicia May 2014
your ears are jammed with
energetic beats and good melodies
though accompanied with
lyrical lies that
distort
our views on what really matters and
define
who we are and how we should be.

and your eyes:
glued to the screen
as you await to see
if your face
is worth enough of those
tiny blue thumbs up.

but
you've absorbed
too much nonsense and radiation
from those handheld contraptions that
you have grown
too deaf and too blind
to see anything beyond yourself

but I say that it is time that you
look up,
open your eyes,
and see
His holy
glory setting upon
our minds waking
our hearts stirring
our passion blazing
our generation rising
our people fighting
our nation triumphing

look up,
open your eyes,
and see that
hope is alive and abundant!
because Hope is with us,
Hope is in us, and
Hope is through us.

all these chaos is translating
into something beautiful and exciting
so come
look up,
open your eyes,
and see.
I'm honored to be a part of this nation and this generation. Mabuhay tayong lahat!
Carsten Tice Mar 2014
Someone should invent
mechanisms for opening and closing
the best parts of ourselves
so we don't have any destructive contraptions
interfering anymore.

We could also really use
subtle reminders to
make eye contact with ourselves in mirrors
and dance to the sound of our own heartbeats
at times when we can't hear the music.
Emma Langley Oct 2012
To be a bird with
Their sharp beaks,
Their soft feathers,

They long for all the attention
Waiting for a curious eye to find them.
Like humans long knowledge
Of being able to master flight.
Only birds can master flight.
Humans have gotten pretty close,
With their many contraptions,
They try to imitate flight.

But you will never know what it feels like,
To have the wind surround you,
To have the wind ruffle you feathers,
And then fold over, around, and through you
Like a soft blanket the wind will comfort you

You will never know what it is like to land on a branch,
Your scaly yellow talons gripping the rough bark.
To feel that small moment when you fell like you will fall,
And you are surprised that your small talons,
can hold all of this weight

You will never know what it is like,
To fly with beautiful iridescent feathers,
Changing from green, to blue, to gold and back again.
What it is like to have jet black feathers,
That some how change color as well,
Subtly changing from pink, to blue, to gold
As smooth as satin,

We will never know what it is like,
to be comforted by a soft layer of down.
So soft that when you touch just one feather,
It feels as though there is nothing there
Nothing to touch,
nothing to feel
But there is something.
Something so magical that only a bird can feel it.

We will never know what it is like
To sleep in a robin blue egg,
To live for so long in something frail,
yet strong at the same time.

We will never know what it is like,
To hatch,
to bang against a shell with our egg tooth,
and feel the joy,
Of being free.
After being locked away for so many weeks.

We will never know what it is like,
To be birds.
please comment
Moonsocket Oct 2017
My life is usually unraveling quietly inside various states of disarray

Its my own doing and I am a professional

I know I sound self absorbed and self afflicted

I hope I didn't steal your time

I am a lot of things

but I am not a thief

I suppose I could take comfort in some small consistencies streaming through our species

In comparison to the time we spend dodging trains

Or pursuing another 0rgasm with an animalistic momentum

This is light speed fleeting

Still

Only a small step away from creating black holes

Anyway...

I say obsessive compulsive disorder

the red tape says crazy

I say these 60 hours of consciousness are the product of a restless mind

the white suits say its surely a chemical inbalance

but upon what scale are they operating?

(eyebrows raised in disbelief)

THE SCALE OF SANITY OF COURSE

oh

The only thing that provokes a serious need for vacancy in my life

Is full pockets

That's not a half baked metaphor

nor is it an obscure display of nerves crumbling

...forever deconstructing inside a failed attempt at demonstrating the burdens of existence

I really cannot stand crowded pockets

My lifestyle does not accommodate such a condition

Tobacco boxes and plastic flames

Cheap contraptions for times subtraction

A wallet absent of evil

Still

Chalk full of all the proper identification for existing

and depending on the day

The necessary tools for twisting reality into compliance

A touch screen distraction full of pain and despondency

Its disgusting I know

we all stay cozy and space phone faded

When I come home

The first thing is excavating pockets

an act of defiance towards my own brain

I throw it everywhere

my disease has broken three phones

This has no purpose

Nor does is contain the thread of my own insecurities

its merely the ramblings of a mind finally breaking

its clearly time for the sleep that keeps eluding my trajectory

it will be a microscopic moment on a backdrop full of faceless collisions

My off switch is stuck on the green light

I wish I could wake up for a sun rise

instead of avoiding it like a criminal caught up in circumstance
Despite the right to spite the far away
Of only what I know is nothing as a word
Only what I know is everything as a meaning
******* **** in this early morn
******* love of that metal music

ENOUGH OF THIS (will make you crazy)
Heterosinea contractual echinacea of aviary actual sack attack
ATTACKING SACK INSIDE A RACK O' FLACK
FLACK BOMbardment of horse willed ensnarement
Wiley wicker writhing in illness

Loose found youtube through fool rude nudes
Useful contraptions trap attraction for creative adoration and many more "things"
Wrote this kind of early.  Apologies for mistakes and bad poetry.
STLR Nov 2016
N64 Flow

Controllers Rattling
Mario Battling Bowser
Solar Traveling
Star Foxin for hours

Toy Boxes, Trinkets, and World watches

Sipping Soda fizzing
Eating crunchy Frito Snippets
Watching ***** Wonka
wishing I had a golden ticket

Scraped knees, Bicycle Tracking
Wilds woods equal childhood
Blueberry & cheery picking

Kisses from a girl who was
older are still vivid
No witnesses were present, but presents were still given

In the form of innocence
It's was nothing but child play
Assorted memories
Become a part of my current day

Who's to say that I've changed?

As I reminisce, my past was forged of oddities, deceptions of tall tales and everyday Odyssey's

Pictures of wild women, explicit *******,
Disney diluted story's and fictional prophecies

Depictions that lacked religion
Late night Toonami dreams

Insights from other youth
that didn't make sense logically

Visits to the water fountain periodically

Teacher said there's no such thing as dumb questions

but they never answered honestly

Everything I've learned from life
I've already learned from Monopoly

I'm always landing on GO,
therefore I'm moving with the green

House rules obviously

You can interpret that as currency
in our current state physically

But I just see it as a
constant stream of positivity

To create is a state that is channeled by electricity

Childhood memories is my youths ticket for authenticity

Those days were full of fun and madness

This excitement couldn't have been replicated by a smartphone nor tablet

Sunshine & green grass actual outdoor access

Inhale curiosity, exhale the astonishing

Running at full speed, gunning at high velocity

The excitement was never ending
a continuous lottery

Summer books I would never read

Instead, I drew in the summer breeze

Illustrations of disfigured stick figure's and murderous scenes

I realize that I have no idea, who I'm destined to be
I don't know where my next travels will lead

I am but nomad upon a land with no wagon or steed

**** these contraptions for my actions speak louder then screens

An N64 and one controller is all I need
People, people, what have you to say,
In response to your naïve, ignorant way.

How many times does Mother Earth,
Have to teach you your lesson, and retract her Mirth

Why don’t you listen to Father Sky?
Your contraptions are causing him to say “Goodbye.”

You cannot recognize that Brother Water,
Is leaving from us, farther and farther.

Sister Willow, she very plainly weeps.
Her drooping, graceful leave have fallen to eternal sleep.

It’s our life, our own precious home we choose to ****.
Universal tears weep, if we had only followed natures will.
Alexandra Askew May 2014
The tender warmth
Small kisses, just a taste?
Warmth begins to singe
Soft safety holds you down
Tearing at flesh
Grit, sand, dry- all overwhelm the senses
Skin peels away
Muscle burns to ash, blowing away in the wind
Skeletal contraptions, lurking.
Only one left.
Ribs cage what words could not
Concrete and cold
Nothing to Nothing.
Eh lol
The eagle that stoops and then swoops,the marching of troops,the banks that recoup what they lend,the end of the line where what's yours becomes mine,the beginnings of time,the primordial slime that drips down on the naked,sublime may occur,though not here over there where the air is still ****** and pure.
This is not cure for a trust that I placed,stone will not rust before faith turns its face and looks out on displacements with vacant expressions,compressed in a moment an hour becomes flea like,a bug to be rid of,a firefly slides off the edge of the light in the night of no mention when water retention sparks wars and inventions makes ****** out of minds that crack questions they find and pick out the kernels,
internal relations,contraptions contracting first contacts relaxing the spans of the worm holes through strung theory portals,
and all of me mortal and just dying to know, where do dreams come from and where do they go?
Joyce Savage Nov 2015
Racing across the hilly meadows,
Racing across the dusty plains,
Scorching sun up high above them,
Their bodies drenched with cooling rains.

Not caged in with wooden fences,
Land as far as the eye can see,
Independent of man’s ways,
They are free.

Hoofbeats pounding the Earth,
Thundering through the sky,
Not held back by man’s contraptions,
This is where they live and die.
Anjelica Jan 2013
The towers and bricks
standing tall like headstones
Air thick with smog
driving...
driving...
cars.
metal contraptions
are you driving it?
or is it driving you?
conform to the cement
the graveyard.
Accept it,
move with it.
2 hour parking
or else you'll get a 'ticket'
TICK-IT
Put a Tick on It
**** the life
out of it.
Tick Tock Tick Tock
oh the broken clock
of Time.
You had better find it,
where is that ticking coming from?
from the broken clock
of a broken world
that covers its life
in cement and plastic
And oh the broken people
who run round-and-round it
keeping the hands ticking with the strength
of their backs.
Never let it stop
Says the voice
never let it die
without time where
would we be?
Would we Be?
Go chase your clock
and your lost broken
time,
but try no to forget,
he said,
that you make it real
You make the time.
This is all just a game
and your village is on fire...
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
Nothing ever changes,
where the worth of this and that is set.

Tell'em all, who hook ah, ha, chiral

reality, hearing, hmms and bzzz meeee
whining all kinds of things,

down, dirt hertz low, as one of those
contrabassoons,
French bubinga wood,
-Google it, it is as magic may be yet,
magical contraptions contrived
in a mind,
in stages,
whistle phone, I ignor thee,
Lady, of Spain, I adore thee,

If I had chosen a differing way, some time ago,
decided I was made
to be a river kid,
but come to find out, we breed best, where
our mothers were born,
- high green vales
- home feel romantic, as such antics were
portrayed, more, more, more
in the bread and entertainment
citizenship bought
for thirty man years
of absolute loyalty
to a bevvy
of oaths
by
any child shaped for leadership, bonded
entered into the system, asked
to swear
in the name
of all that is holy, set apart, behind the curtain,

not in Oz, Jerusalem
in that mind Christ used,
right, Romans-
let this mind be
in you… word level logic magic any may imagine
we pluralize our individuated minds,
and join in seeking clear channel communication
- tear ye the dusty curtain -
after all the outs are in for the evening,
cool of the day,
spirit and truth,
wow
we
make breathing work, come to think about that,
if your will is telling us some thing we may think,

3 major sneezings 3 by 3's, gobsogreasygoferguts,
we survive,
having coughed up a tiny, eyelash-size hair,
meta vessle,
where my bet is in the bits on this side,
war
has no
lever see,
free is bein' out of bounds. We may consider Kerouac,
his teletype paper rolls that he could imagine
becoming my entire system
liquid crystal frame nets fishing
for sentient mindshare where global peace, accepts
string theory as
my gnosisnot, is it spirit if it is true. If we are paradox-
ical, we are not stupid as a species,

we've bought a bill of goods, they used to say,
we found reason to believe,
we were lied to
for a set of reasons.
- first being we all lie, we think we know.
The onto logical truth, in my case, is - in 2023,
my life is good, I am a slob, and out of the way,
so, settled in some ways, is dust fine, we flake away.

My choice is to consider the reader, who reads
for fun,
kicks
in text
be unaffordable - attention is commodity
in any other context,
some things
are words, mere, as a word,
is one of them,
a class of flavour overlooked missed,
mere [hap]
anon,
we turn the radio on, and all we hear is humms.
Abnormality, in truth we find such things used beautifully, often,
passing in flashes one can respond to for - some time, a measure of it, may
be per haps
Madeleine Toerne Feb 2015
The miserable city.
Bankrupt *** holes and bbq.
Langston hughes rock drum solo everyday people
wear baggy pants and cross the street
no crosswalk necessarily style.
A leaf wishing wind would push it to the cleaner side of town
right across the way. Companies paid make flower basket hanging
contraptions and tend to the grass till the grass cant be tended to no more.
Glass city style, glass walls in the loft shiny windex clean
to secure the sweetest view of wendys or a steel solid warehouse.
Calculated anthony wayne trail street lights
and twenty four hour surveillance, vaudville light fixtures
and bus stops empty of any white people.

— The End —