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Edward Coles May 2014
The tightrope expires
And the skyscraper hollows out.
This hate is vicious and repeated,
Repeated; repeated on the news reel,
And in a Hollywood romance.

We’re skipping generations
Through faded vinyl sound
Of dust mite and crack;
I’m folding digits over chords,
Extinguishing lovers
By turning them to songs.

Oh, reality convenes, convenes
On the mind, and on the consciousness
Of fact. Don’t steal my job,
Don’t **** my land,
And never fall asleep
Under the sun.

There is poetry to mathematics,
Scaling the harmonics of the sound,
Some universal language;
Some bottled message to our brothers
Who are looking back at us
From the distance of the stars.

And, terror is called from every side,
Until we’re terrified to eat or breathe,
In the tremor of a terror
That can never come to be.

The tightrope fell down with the buildings,
But its idea, it still lives on.
We could be on the precipice of better times,
Or under the shadow of a nuclear bomb.
c
My butte shall pry wood today
That she's barely enchanted by egress and
Will grant a peaceful way.
As veracity comes so nigh in her ancients
That now convenes with her in paradise
But her love is banally tragic
Round haunts she's claimed forthright
Yet she is newly aplomb in nature
And her love is a dement today
That cast a circle upon the great day.
a loving relationship
L B Jan 2018
To love
you must find
where light convenes at daybreak
brooding

You must search
beyond impending greenery
assertive lace and pirate flower

Below the clouds of spring
that can’t—
be seriously taken

Behind time’s betrayal
where vined lattice
cages fragments of a smile

Why sophisticate such sense?

Far more to the extent
of will and heart extended
taste is answered
unaware
of when the sweet was gone

For presence is!
when savored sources—linger
...in their endings
known—and not resigned

Melted...quiescent...priestly moment

It’s not Zenith!
but Twilight

who drops her eyes!

To love
you must—
must love

beyond...below...behind
Harsh Sep 2012
The Judge, me, walks in, settles down on the bench,
a cue for the jury, me, the accused, me,
and the defendant, you, to sit down.

It's a special kind of case at the Court of Conscience today.
No representation. No witnesses. No audience. Just
the parties affected and those who arbitrate. You and me.

Crime, Falling Out of Love! Walking away, leading you on,
not giving us a second chance, wasting your time, taking you
for granted and ripping your soul apart.

The accused, Pleads Guilty. As the law requires to discount
a third of the maximum sentence, the judge and the jury,
decide that the court will recess for three days.

I'm on bail but I cannot come within eye contact of you.
My guilty heart is tagged so each time I feel your pain,
sadness or anger, it alerts my brain and shocks it!

The court convenes. The judge clears her throat.
Because she's too emotional, along with the jury,
to even talk, let alone think clearly or decide.

"We find the defendant Guilty!". Guilty of
involuntarily man-slaughtering this relationship.
I sigh! Justice does not mean fair, not in law nor life.

The judge goes on. "However in this particular case
the sentence is to be decided by the defendant."
Because the ball is in fact in Your court!
This poem is the sole property of me and cannot be copied or used without permission. [Copyright G.H. Rodrigo 19/10/2011]
CharlesC Jan 2014
The dark coatings
of our lives
serve as does
black paint
found on glass..
A mirror formed
seen on rising
facing our day..
As our mirror
convenes both
dark and light
Our greater Eye
convenes the same..
Now we see
our dark coatings
form the Mirror
for our Eye
to see…
Tammy M Darby Jul 2017
Thoughts fester and wallow in retrospection
Regret reclines upon your left shoulder
Gloom unforgiving sits upon your right
Prodigious and ever bolder
Attired in the colors of the night

Vacant is the once brilliant soul
It's path freely chosen
Ah unwelcoming heart bloodless and morose
Once pulsating with love and life now infinitely frozen

Indeed it becomes you
As glittering tomorrows metamorphose into yesterdays
Anger devours the futile effort
To unburden one's self of taunting shades
No words of this world shall relay to that which awaits
The unwavering constant confusion
When the moon grows dark on the wane

When Regret at leisure sits upon your left hand
Gloom hushed and brooding
Convenes with melancholy upon your right
Come the watching murmuring somber shadows
Provoking madness in the mind.

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby July 27, 2017.
v V v Nov 2014
(the reconvening of my mind)

It's always the extremes
that bring me back to center,
but it's the trips I take on purpose
that remind me its time to go home.

Today it was the thought of blood.
I cannot stand the sight of it,
and neither would I brave a plunge
in icy depths this time of year.
I’d rather gather sunlight
and convince myself there are
no ghost revivals,
only blood reprisals from
daddy's DNA.

I tell myself
I need to get away
to where I can pray
again, to quit giving in,
to stay and fight wars,
the black, the white,

the gray fluttering darkness that
comes out of nowhere swooping
past my ear, scaring the **** out of me
as if it never happened before
but it has, its just been a while.

So I call for a council of angels,
then prepare for the riptide
of demons that join the fun when
my cranial convention convenes.

The left against the right,
The east against the west,
The pros against the cons,
all the ups and downs,

I don’t give a **** what it is
just give me back my wars.
Give me back my reasons to live.

Give me Nietzsche
Give me Brennan Manning
Give me Sam Harris
Give me Frederick Buechner
Give me Bertrand Russell
Give me Henri Nouwen
Give me Daniel Dennett
Give me Gerald May
Give me M Scott Peck
Give me Pia Mellody
Give me Dante
Give me Jane Kenyon
Give me the Marquis de Sade
Give me Dostoyevsky
and that should just about do it.

Within these names exist
enough controversy,
enough conflicting views
on life, on love, on God,
enough heresy,
enough truth,
enough lies,
enough knowledge,
enough beauty
to keep me waging wars
inside my head until the day I die.

Give me back my wars.
Canto II in process..
CharlesC Mar 2013
and I am fine..
she speaks first
this her report
each Monday noon
when our group
Soup Salad Scripture
convenes to her
weekly de-light..
Visiting her home we
met precision and grace..
a white decor reflects
her sun-lightened hair..
in her elevated space
we imagined the Peak
closer than before..
her walls portray
her art fascination
a loving life partner
all in this Moment
times in Alaska
and the wide world..
with all this
she served us wine..
we know now
she is Bette
and she is fine...
A tribute to a ninety-one year young friend.....
Mike Hauser Dec 2015
Not so sure it's good
For me to be alone
Gives me time to think
Of the things I know
And the things I know
Never are quite right
The way I think I may
The way I know I might

Not so sure it's good
In the choosing of the sides
Where my brain convenes
With the left and right
While one stands up for yes
The other sits for no
Never can you tell
Which way this mind will go

Not so sure it's good
To let it out to play
Where in its adolescence gets lost
Or just ups and runs away
Natalie R Dec 2014
She always thought about him.
Every waking moment of every single day she thought.
His absolute perfection cherished her heart,
Lavishing her with faultless hugs, kisses, and affection.
She was saturated within the tenderness of his touch,
The desire that convenes within the obscure dimensions of her heart,
Her soul,
Her entity.
The entity that was brightened into a stream of gratitude and indulgence. Emanated from what seemed to be an eternal hell, he was
Salvation.
A deliverance of palliation,
Easing her with his captivating influence,
And relieving her of her poignant past.
She looks at him and his blemishes are blurred.
Admiring his frayed edges and his vial mistakes
They celebrate each other.
Lacking the sour stink of irritability.
Their love drowns in certainty without a single drop of ambivalence.
He heals her with his rigid fingers,
caressing her petite frame.
Reviving her from the depths of her severed self-esteem.
He is her,
Salvation.
bleh Aug 2015
"I am matter trapped in reason"
           -scrawl on a restroom stall wall


1am


A couple blocks from the centre of town. The haze of rumbling sub-bass, the buzz of a hundred voices, the multifaceted shapes of flesh in heels and black dresses and puffer-jackets congregating outside nightclubs. Converging on the heart of the city, each voice becomes distinct, discernible from the background noise, a palpable aspect midst the otherwise nebulous air;

'We could just commit? I'd be so down for a chicken scorcher..'
'Ah man it's Gary! Gaary bro! bro! Gary!'
'I-it's okay, do you have your I.D on you? no, aah, no don't lean on the bank doors when vomiting, you might set off an alarm. h-hey, yeah you, sorry, do you have any water she could borrow?'
'Well you know, even though maccas is out of the way...'
'Aww mate gary! GARY! Aww yeah! Show us your ******! Gary!'


2am


A small gathering convenes on the lawn of a nondescript flat. the building next door is covered in scaffolding, a mess of pale grey illuminated orange parallel geometries hanging, droplets of mist swirling in light breeze.  indistinct chatter. Shuffling figures standing around packing herbs into a small metal cartridge. A flickering light. Coughing. Repeat.

On the other side, over a small fence and through a window, a figure stands in his kitchen naked, looking out, watching. An indeterminate expression.  

A voice of the circle calls out.

'Hey! Hey ****! what the ******* looking at?!'

the figure turns away.
'Ha, oh man, I bet he's gonna go get a shotgun. I beat he's gonna ******* **** us!'
(
'oh man this ****'s naasty')
'**** son, ******* look at him go, I think you're ******* right.'*
('dude, we should ******* maccas, are you keen? I'm keen.')
'Oh man! oh man, I'm so pumped. are you pumped? I'm so pumped. Aah, we're gonna die, I so ******* hope he does.'


3am


The streetlights have gone out a couple blocks down. Rather than the usual orange haze, the dumped cars and pavement are illuminated by the traffic lights alone, a universal filter flickering between crimson and lime.

A man approaches from across the street. Moment of apprehension. Mid twenties. Staggering. Broken nose, blood down front. Flash of switchblade in hand. Increasing apprehension.

'Oi, were you at that party? You with that ****** that ******* punched me?'
'N-nah, sorry, I wasn't there..'
'How do you know if you weren’t there?'
'Well.. which party? not that one over there?'
'No no, the one down that way'
'Where?'
'The one on high street.'
'High street? isn't that like.. somewhere in Mornington?'
'No, it’s.. the one we’re currently on.'
'...wait, really?'
'..yeah? I.. i think so?'
Both start looking around uncertainly, the man looses balance and tumbles rather dramatically into a fern.
'Um. Are you alright...?'
'Haha, yeah, just, rather drunk. and maybe concussed?'
..."/Cough/ ..Anyway, you seem all good ****, don't worry about it, sorry to have bothered you."
/awkwardly puts knife in pocket to shake hands/


4 am


Return to town. Humanities dilution and waning departure. Droves of seagulls dive in, assuming command of the area and the plastic bags. Only a couple handful of figures remain. Police cars and taxis patrol, dance in concentric circles. the last drunken remnants of raving students lie down in the street, clap their heels together

'Tell George to hurry the **** up or he’ll be left behind!'
'What?'
'I said hurry up! We're going for a Maccas mish!'
‘Who?’
'I said we’re going for a Maccas mish!'
‘Aww mate! I’m keen! Hold up.'

Swirling isolated points of light escape from street lamps caught in rows of trees, and a confetti of shadows swim along the sidewalk in motion with the gentle breeze. A twenty something in a hoody cargo shorts and sandals explains to a policeman in breaking drunken fevered tongues how,

     love, love, love, is the godhead and the godhead is love;
       within us reaching out, but also on the outside reaching in,
          it makes you whole by ripping you apart.

while vomiting on the officers car


5am


  A blanketing dampness sets in. not quite rain, but an omnipresent mist. A gentle fog slowly folds out, wavering among pale streetlights. While substanceless, it still holds form as an ambient covering poultice; drawing in the illumination surrounding into opaque convalescence, but then
     dispersing too,
                                    in turn.
-


                   (I am matter,
                                                              trapped in reason)
dZang Roller Jul 2015
The custodian association convenes for the final time
The final time
They started on Earth
A fearful bunch
Frightened into competence
Clinging together
To clean and maintain the systems
First of the Earth, then of the other planets, then of the Sun, then of the Galaxies
And now, they must realize their most important purpose
(As everything they ever did was the most important)
These beings made of the material of the Universe
These beings emotionally reflecting the concern of the Universe
The One

Now it is happening
The outer edges of the One have drifted so far
Entropy has gone so far.
The beings ready the Gravity Loop sequence

All the information of this epoch
Lies in the Akashic record
Time for the material to be recollected
Reshuffled

The Custodians embrace, sing,
And they throw the switch.
Time for
Absolute Gravity
Triggering a Big Bang

The cycle runs healthy
It doesn't rhyme and it's sci-fi/religious delirium. I suppose I ought to apologize. It felt like Divine Inspiration. The Custodian Association!!
Meagan Moore Oct 2016
A moment's acquaintance with the scintilla convenes as a gallant trail blaze through a dilation of the universe.
A dismantling into compulsion and magnetics.
poetryaccident Dec 2018
Excuse me please while I indulge
naughtiness born of lust
a restlessness I’ll cater to
revel in full latitude

to which ends I can’t admit
suffice to say it was obscene
in the eyes of proper folk
not admitting to the same

this tag is made on judgment's tongue
admitting more by the unsaid
when jealousy may be implied
as virtue struggles to stay alive

freedom lives beyond these taunts
devilry on personal terms
though the actions may seem *****
compared to those who push all curves

a derivation of what’s fun
sourced in consent between two souls
or maybe more if the crowd
convenes to play in carefulness

in private spaces away from most
not advertising except to say
fellow travelers may apply
leave convention at the door.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181208.
The poem “Excuse Me Please” was inspired by a realization that the website ‘fetlife’ features quite the population of people from my local area, the same area reputed to be the buckle of the Bible Belt.
Ikimi Festus Jun 2023
In the realm of riddles, I shall weave a tale,
Of women who dared to risk, their spirits unveiled.
They belittled themselves, chained by their own doubt,
But within them, a fire burned, yearning to break out.

A call to action for those who undervalue their worth,
Who think beauty alone can grant desires on Earth.
Fashion's trends may sway, but cannot define,
The essence of a soul, radiant and divine.

Humble yet afraid to take a leap of faith,
They stood at life's crossroads, contemplating their fate.
For life, a game of truth and dare, they knew,
To seek the truth, risk must be embraced anew.

Abigail, the joy of her father, held the key,
When Nabal insulted David, her spirit flew free.
She acted quickly, in desperate times she knew,
Extreme measures were needed, her resolve true.

With gifts offered in secret, she soothed anger's fire,
Submissive and respectful, she fulfilled her desire.
Bowing before David, forgiveness she did seek,
Her courage shone bright, humble yet bold and meek.

Joanna, a name mentioned briefly in holy verse,
Willing to follow her Savior, her faith a rehearse.
Supporting Jesus and the apostles from her own means,
Connections to Herod's palace, where danger convenes.

Her husband Chuza, the right hand of the king,
Yet Joanna chose the path where faith takes wing.
Risking it all for her Lord, she stood strong,
Her dedication rewarded, she witnessed the empty tomb's song.

Rahab, known as a harlot, yet her past did fade,
When she risked her life, her loyalty displayed.
Spying for Joshua's men, hidden on her rooftop,
Lying to the king's men, her family's safety her hope.

Deborah, wise and courageous, a beacon of light,
An influential woman, standing firm in the fight.
As a prophet and priestess, God's voice she would hear,
Leading worship and preaching, casting aside fear.

With Barak and troops, she ventured to the fray,
The glory destined for a woman, prophecies would say.
But not Deborah herself, it was Jael who would stand,
Driving a tent peg through Sisera's head, bold and grand.

Esther, the Queen of Courage, in the palace she dwelled,
Never forgetting her roots, where she once excelled.
A loyal Jew, she held fast to her faith,
Trusting in God's wisdom, she prepared a banquet's wraith.

No blind rush, no heed to doubts and fear,
She approached King Xerxes, her voice crystal clear.
Risking her very life, she yielded to God's might,
Trusting His plan, walking in His guiding light.

Ruth, when her husband died, faced a choice,
To return to her kin or embrace a new voice.
Against doubt's agony, she held steadfast,
Choosing to stay with Naomi, her conviction unasked.

Her influence grew, as others took note,
Admired for her loyalty, a foreigner of note.
Favor gained from Boaz, protection sought under wings,
Her decision stood out, like vibrant colorful rings.

A woman who stood apart, shining so bright,
Impressing the town and elders with her inner light.
May God make her like Rachel and Leah, they blessed,
A pillar in Ephrathah, her name forever impressed.

To the women who ponder their worth and might,
Who belittle themselves, yet yearn to take flight,
I ask you now, in the face of life's glare,
Will you embrace risk's dare and dare to dare?
Bo Tansky Oct 2018
Say what
Say what was that you said?
So glib, so sure, so true.
Sweet talking you.
Hey, money talks
Ted Talks
Pep talks
Heart Talks
Talk, talk, talk
He talks strategic arms
And limitations talks
He talks the talk
And walks the walk
She’ll talk strategic arms
And limitations talks
If you want to
If it pleases you
If it keeps you safe
Makes you comfortable
She knows  
He knows
Well, no one quite knows what he knows

Say what?
What was that you just said
Between strategic arms and limitation talks
I heard you say

“The preliminary party of your subsequent and diplomatic arrangement of the nuclear accord.”

“Say what?
What was that you just said”
He continued with the thread.

“the inspirational and endless table talk of the North Korean faction is out of their minds”

“Say what?
What was that you just said.”
Oh!
Between you and me
I completely agree
As preposterous as that can be
Let’s call an ace an ace
And get out of the race
No argument from me
I completely agree.
Encouraged he continued.

“Yeah, well the weekly fourth coming and regular meeting of the extraordinary bicentennial convenes.”

You don’t say
They’ll likely have it their way.
But, I don’t quite understand.
Do you think you could elaborate on the plan?

He continued:
“The unemployment rate is up and production is down, but we're about to turn everything around.”

Say What?
Is that what you mean?
He continued to be explainful.
But it was so painful
That I tuned him out
Losing my cool
And began to shout.

Say what
Say what the ****
What does it all mean.
I began to scream


Nothing, nothing at all
But congratulations
You said it so well
That no one could tell
What more do you need
It was pretty indeed
And you said it so well.
That no one could tell.
s1mpl3po3t Apr 2021
She sits there by the window
Her coffee keeps her warm,
With her books and study papers
Sheltered from the storm.

Dressed in winter colors
Sweatshirt dark and denim jeans,
Comfort found in simple threads
Where complexity convenes.

Steam rising from her coffee cup
Casts a shadow on the glass,
It shades the pure reflection
Of such a pretty lass.

She sits there by the window
Gazing out beyond the storm,
Her coffee cup is empty now
Her body finally warm.
Carlie Reeves Apr 2018
The grinding of espresso beans
Intensifies with each tap of the keyboard,
Students eyeing the clock
As the deadline draws near.

The corner girl convenes with her tutor,
Listening intently as he, enthusiastically,
Teaches the Pythagorean Theorem
At $125 an hour.

“Decaf-non-fat-sugar-free-tall-caramel-latte,
With an extra shot of caramel, please.”
The bemused barista smiles
As she eyes the empty tips jar.

Every small square table is occupied
With souls sipping on overpriced coffee:
Who knew one could find such thrill
Observing others like it's a hobby.
Lorraine Colon Nov 2019
Once again I'm sailing alone at dusk,
No companion to help rig the mast;
So much pain accrued in my solitude,
The lonely hour approaches fast

Gathering clouds conceal the moon's bright glow,
Now I know all too well what this means,
The dark shadows fall, then I hear the call ......
The Court of Loneliness convenes

I see the stars lighting the firmament,
Yet, where I dwell, all is bleak and dour;
With my heartstrings torn, and my life forlorn,
No beacon lights my lonely hour

Was ever a chain of woe forged so strong .....
How did loneliness acquire such power?
The clock chimes, but how strange - time does not change,
Once again it's the lonely hour

I'm lost in a forest of broken dreams,
Searching for Love's enchanted bower;
Then, in the distance, with dark persistence,
A bell tolls the lonely hour

Is there no escape, no place I can hide!
Why do bells toll from every tower?
How can I forget what comes at sunset ......
The torment of the lonely hour!

— The End —