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RK Aug 2018
I was thinking about you and reminding myself not to interfere but it’s so hard not to, when I love you.

Still, that gives me no special rights so I ended up minding my own business.
The whole saga unfolding before my eyes I tried to reach you fibrationally. I sent you love and kind wishes and many blessings
All the while realizing the dangerous situation you had encountered.
I saw you  losing your vitality!
I prayed this prayer for you !

Move away from the toxic atmosphere. That cut throat, manipulating back stabbing, "you scratch my back,  I’ll scratch yours, if you want to succeed in this life, attitude."

That environment is not good for you...

Money isn't everything! Pray tell me, if you lose your soul what good is the whole world?  It will be empty, destructive and counter productive.  If you say you need more you tell yourself a lie, you already have everything. Why create a lack, a void, where none exists? I watch you grow paler thinner-the light in your soul  dimmer, a bare glimmer of the one you truly are. The dis-ease is spreading like wild fire burning you out mercilessly, eating your liver. Destroying your beautiful vigour.  

I see it so clearly, will you hear, will you hear?

You see, I remember you! Yes, you had everything. Love, kindness and empathy, all these beautiful soul qualities. You knew how to share, care and be fair.
Now you are empty with lots of money, you have nothing and everything. What a ****** dilemma!

The degrees hard earned, and book knowledge but nothing really of true value, no equilibrium, balance.  
Too much of everything! And you told me you are full of despair. You laid you're heart and soul bare, a circle outside the square, yes I heard you.
You've travelled far, drive a fancy car. Nothing wrong with that, the world is your oyster.
Though in the grand scheme of things, do those  things really count for anything.  Albeit money itself isn't the real issue here. It's the belief that without it you are nothing. The words nothing and everything are so misunderstood! We all have to work out this ****** and harsh conundrum.

You included!

Thats if you want to know the true meaning of success, of being blessed, that is...

Can you hear, can you hear, can you hear?
The prayer answered ...

Oh! I hear, I hear! loud and crystal clear.
I now know, and of this you can be sure. It's taken a long time to work it all out. Now I'm here, and close enough to understanding the conundrum.

So yes,  I hear!

And I understand The dilemma! Not left or right,  but the centre. The circle squared if you like! I had to go through all the fear, oh! the terrible fear to find the truth. The courage to work though the pain the suffering.

I remember when I started out.  I didn't fit in at first.  I was so innocent, a lamb to the slaughter.  I became so competitive. I fought, driven by ambition, t'was like an addiction. I wanted more, worn down to the floor accumulating, name, position of authority, the status. The friends, the enemies! Who is who? Trying to figure it out was horrendous.  I lived in dread, under the threat I'd lose it all. The sleepless nights, the reflux, anxiety,  the psoriases, the fall.
But I kept climbing! Never staying too long on and any one rung, moving higher and higher. The ladder was made from steel, the building made from concrete blocks, while I, was born of only mere flesh and blood, a mortal being going under. Saved by grace, seeing my beautiful being, falling asunder.  


The awakening!

I'm clearing the slate of all the confusion, delusion, and getting to the emptiness where I now reside alone, not born only of flesh and blood,  but of spirit, of good. With God in my soul, I now know
the glory and wonder of the world.

Peace
Hmm, I'm not sure if this is suitable to post but I'm posting anyway. It's a dialogue in my head I had this morning. A friend and I have discussed these problems and issues and this morning I j found myself thinking of this person and marvelling how this dear one  came through such a rough period in life. All these musings are based on all the suffering the person went through!
Peace
stopdoopy Jul 2018
(In a vacant church Little Girl and Big Man sit on a parish
a few feet apart, in between them lies a book titled"My Feelings".)

(The curtain opens. Little Girl sits staring at Big Man. Big Man gets up and goes to the statue of himself in front of them for a closer look.)

Big Man: Will talking in person really make a difference?

Little Girl: I like to think it does.

Big Man:  (turns to look at her incredulously.) What wishful thinking, you're so naïve.

(Little Girl opens her book and starts to read aloud.)

(Big Man cuts her off with a noise every time she starts to say something until she falls silent.)

Big Man: Just as I thought, it doesn't change anything.

Little Girl: But you don't-

Big Man: (cuts her off again.) You just can't let things go, that's your problem. I told you I didn't want to do this, yet you dragged me out here. It didn't accomplish anything!

Little Girl: That's because you don't even want to listen or try to talk, you just want to yell and blame me!

Big Man: That's enough, this conversation is over. (Walks off stage right.)

(Little Girl screams in anger and throws "My Feelings" at the Big Man Statue.)

(The Curtain closes.)
I wanted to try something a little different! I've never written stage directions or a play before but I thought this would be a nice change. I didn't really convey the raw anger or passion, nor was it the scene what I originally wanted but maybe it's a step in the right direction. Trying out different styles is neat. Not happy with this piece though but... oh well.
Did you know that
if you pour fat on a stone
God will eat it and
chip his teeth
becoming, ...angry?

Did you know that?

Is that, ...literal?
in meaning...
did God once bite a man's flesh
consuming his shoulder;
like a pork shoulder?

Did God do that?

Maybe God just shouldered,
...the burden of...
silly men and teacher's tales?
Maybe he didn't chip his teeth at all?
Perhaps he swallowed something ridiculous?

I don't know,
Believe what you like...

From space the Peloponnese,
appear like a chewed-up shoulder.


Don't they?
Tom Spencer Dec 2018
clouds race by
like kites with broken strings

trees sway
***** branches rattle

cold wind
stings my ears

you ask why I love
the winter

sycamore leaves tumble
and swirl through the garden

brittle sails
crackling air



Tom Spencer © 2018
JJ Hutton Feb 2018
It was an—I don't know—unfleshing of sorts. There I am. I'm in my old room. My parent's place. And Mom's telling me what all we need to pack up and organize. This place, my room, it's frozen in time. It looks exactly the way it did when I graduated high school. The lime green walls, the Brett Favre poster, a few pieces of artwork my brother did. There are all these medals and trophies for soccer; football; academic *******; and most of it, to be frank, was undeserving. I phoned it in, my education and extra curriculars. Things came easy, et cetera. And the lesser accolades, the participation trophies, for these, Mom hands me a pocket knife and tells me to pry off the nameplates and she'll donate them to Goodwill. It was tangible, right? This erasure. I've talked to you about that before, erasure. I wanted to disappear completely, but there I am in my old room, prying away pieces of my past with a knife, a couple of nameplates popping off and hitting the floor before I can grab them. That sound, dull, empty, metallic.

I'm alone a lot now, you know? After losing the job, entering this funk, gaining weight. I'm in a depressive state. In that room, I felt like I was just further removing myself from the world, like my deletion had gained dimension, it was truly, ****, what word am I looking for here? Help me. Comprehensive. That's good. Sterile and safe for work. My erasure became comprehensive. Ha.

And it's hard to talk about this, depression, erasure. I always feel like a selfish child. I'm perpetually throwing a fit. I won't clean my room. I don't want to brush my teeth. I don't want to help grandma with lunch. Ha ha.

You say that. And I appreciate it. But if I always talked to you about this stuff, you'd stop answering the phone. Or I'd feel so guilty about bothering you that I'd stop calling. This feeling gets you from both sides. It's like that old adage. Never chew on something that's eating you. But that's precisely what I'm doing. In this moment. Outside of this moment. I want to ask you how do I stop. But what could you possibly say. Stop thinking about it. Find a hobby. Exercise. Read. Journal. Go to therapy. You could smile while you told me these things, you could pat my hand, you could finish your coffee, and you could walk out the door to face your own little tragedies, feeling like you'd done something kind today, check the box, score some karma. You see all those recommendations are tired, generic; they're surface level, phony. What would I prefer? I think if you threw that coffee in my face that'd be a start.
Emily Sep 2018
Hi
[How high is it?]

I’m not exactly sure—how tall are you?
[I’m about as tall as I’ll ever be—one day soon, I’ll probably start shrinking. I’ve heard that happens when you get older.]

Well...
[Well, you say? How deep is it?]

It’s hard to tell, since I never used it for water.
[Deep wells are best—why I still remember the drought of ‘34 and all the trips we made to the neighbor’s well after ours dried up.]

I’m sure those were quite the days, but how are you today?
[Today? Today I do as I please...so long as I’m pleased to do as I’m suppos’d to.]

That sounds like a good strategy.
[Thanks. You’re welcome to adopt it—I won’t even charge you for it.]

How generous of you. Thanks. You have a good day now, ok?
[I hope to, because every day above ground is a good day.]
Inspired by and compiled from conversations with my Grandpa, who lived with my family during my formative years. He’s the first literalist I ever met and frequently said: “You talk so much, you talk so much, you worry me to death.”
melancholy eyes glaze over
the old honeycomb wallpaper pattern
and the mottled ceiling, paint peeling
noting every crevice in your new apartment
my consciousness dips in and out
of every nook and cranny, catching
fragments of the conversation.
you should always be the centre of attention.
i'd tried to entertain the notion, you'd noticed
my eyes in the ceiling and ushered me back
to the boring evening tea room with a gentle
fingertip or two pressed to my wrist.
do you wish you were somewhere else?
would you read my tea leaves and tell me,
what does the future hold for us?
Diana Nov 2018
an individual should always feel
confident
IN their looks
but should never be confident
BECAUSE of their looks
Tommy Randell Oct 2017
Sunlight makes me sneeze.
Atishoo in a Haiku?
Just the Sun, Bless You!

Tommy Randell 10th October 2017
Elizabeth Brown Oct 2018
Stop me if you've heard this before
but I feel this feeling fleeting,
running opposite me
to lands unknown
where lost dreams go to die.
Why are words so fickle? Leaving at the lightest touch,
the barest hint of anything new.
A world, undiscovered,
lies within a place I can reach only when I am most bare.
My purest form of self,
mewling and screaming,
pulls from me this insatiable insanity.
Yet with the slightest digression my sleeves roll themselves down
and it's gone again.
I am lost into reality like some suited being,
honking at the other monkeys in futile attempts to make up for lost time.
Was it worth it?
Is that loss of captivation worth an ounce of conversation?
Bring me back to that place.
I want to feel the pen warming between my fingers again.
That smooth ink feel on dead, life-giving friends.
Is this the closest I can get to holiness?
Dennis Willis Nov 2018
With some imaginary
smart people

who get me
sorry

you got caught
in the middle


Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis
Mars D'Mello Dec 2018
A flight here and a flight there
Let me compensate for not being there
When you needed me
When you need me
I taught you how to deal with pain
While being lonely
I thought you how to fight away the demons
By leaving them to feast on your flesh
To gnaw at your bones
To leave you for dead
And I return to take you on a trip
To take you away from the misery that i am blind toward
That I do not know you have
I taught you how to talk through your fears
Now the only ones you talk to are in your brain

No father, I will not shed a tear
I am the water beneath the desert
the undiscovered landmines in the soil
I am held back tears and the god of war
The war against pain
As I fight in the trenches
In a battlefield facing myself
Battling an enemy that is closer than the end of my nose
Breathing so heavy, until the pain to goes to ****


Don’t let me see the tear stains on your sweater sleeve
You are not the child i birthed
You are but a machine
Do you not feel a thing?
Can you not say you’re glad?
I’ve never seen you smile
Is that a tear in your eye?
Save it for later
Throw away the paper
You cannot be another traitor
To your brain
Do not talk about your heart
you are not a painter

No woman, i am not your child
I am nobody’s daughter
Just a trapped little boy
Screaming through the windows
Cause you won’t let me out
Of this house made of hate
With these cracks in the walls
That lets in little rays of love
That I am too afraid to touch
Because i barely know love

But the walls of my house are my skin and my bones
And the prison called *** that is set on the roof
No I’m not complaining I’m just being honest
Didn’t you teach me that when you said I was going to be nothing
When you called me a pig and I learnt to cry silently
Now I almost always cry silently
~~
For these are the scars that I bear on my soul
That I wear on my sleeve
For i have been told that there is beauty in acceptance
In accepting what you’ve faced
And learning how to be loved
And how to be alone
Kewayne Wadley Jun 2018
Some fears are simple.
Others are not.
Joy murmurs above.
We crave patience.
Twisting the top off each other's head.
Who first insults permission.
Applying our hands as cups.
No longer dull to the vapor of how we feel.
We recline in long verse.
Spudders of interruption.
The rush of anticipation.
Pressed against the couch.
Some fears are simple.
Others are not.
Opening up to you without cease.
Frequent sips of red wine.
Tilting you over filling my cup.
Eager to sip in weighed sway.
I hear and smile.
Feeling the effects.
How you laugh.
How you smile.
It's funny how time flies.
Leaves in Spring.
Blown away, scrunched up in the crinkle of your dress.
Rustic brown & red accented in black.
Some fears are simple.
Others are not.
There's no alternative.
I'm an alcoholic.
Pursuing sip after sip.
Civil in how we converse.
Neighboring bold taste
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