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DivineDao Jun 2016
Kamera-! Action!

- I'll never give you another word!
- This is terrible!

Parlor of sweet Puer Aeternus
Washes his

Slender figurative speach
Sulking in
a corner

Rumination upon celestial arcs Intersecting

Audacious pi and its consequencies ~ do

Foible mnemonic techniques                         &

                       Mems ?

- Onomatopoeia!  Khhraaw Khhraaw Raven is long dead!

- Waterraneous!  Whoossh      Whoossh       Whoossh Whoossh        Whoossh       Whoossh  The canoe levitates




Darkling dead man plays on a magic alternative guitar.
Stellary Canoe is his home.
Steellary Canoe - swiftly stolen!

- Parenthesis!
- Who are you?
- A parent of a thesis!
- And you? Show me how much you love me!

- Aeol Gods! Tell this woman I'm crazy about her!

Lofty ideas were born
Of the Mount Olympus
Clouded lingerie seams
Were made of dreams
In their own admission

Too exuberant
To exuberant

- Aeol Gods! Tell this woman I'm crazy about her!

Waikiki Hawai Loveable Artistry Sumptuous Menagerie Canary

Waterraneous Islands Are We
A strangely peculiar



Alive and kicking

Drop dead gorgeous

Alabama whiskey songs
Roses in an old vineyards
Loving lush Detroit lovers

Global nets, dancing on wires
Pyramids in patterns
Bluberries in revival

Jarmush in New york

Leonard with Bacall & Space Ship Remote Controls
Based on the association play of words.<3
Written with my beloved, still young <333
Seanathon Jan 2017
Be not mistaken
I'm here as a creator
Your words hold no sway
Over my designer's eyes
So keep them in your own lines
There are two kinds of people in this world.... (;
'And when was this? I dunno, I dunno:
like everything else, twenty years ago.' - August Kleinzahler

Whosis slunk next to the rastamagnet
dj booth, in a limabeanhued suit
jacket, limabean sleeves rolledup to
deploy albino ancons for jostling.
My ****** lungs ached; gluttonous Venomised
pelicanbills. Cig o' no mercy, cig of life.
Serpivolent smoke is nicocreaming
ceiling of this dive Dasein dosses in.
Unrequiting snoutcloud of her chuffing
form siffles thru her mousy enamel.
'Light reflecting booster technology',
advertising Boswellox, scents her hair.
Male Black Widow Complex boings in my brain,
as the vogueress exits conceivable zone
of address. Yet she cigawrenches
my stalking thoughts across the pumptup ballroom.
O those farouche salad nights following
swotting up in the humid Octagon!
Male Black Widow Complex, th'always boinging,
lidded by lemony orange lager.
I crashed Crasherkid frabble, rocked to
DJ Shoppinghour feat. MC Niche Jah.
My Sax Pustules & Dead Kinnocks LPs
accusingly mouldered in my heart.
Crasherkids twatted then, dated now, now
grooveriders haggard. But time was the thud
of arterial Cherry7up
was the dub of their youthful BPM.
Triptown beefnecks w/ classic legoman's
Acid House ecaf (before e-cafes
had come & gone), mandy stag party.
I still slow my pace at their fearless napes.
The rock club had delusions of grunger,
crush at the bar was lumberjack cubism.
Era of Jingajing-chicka-jing-jing Kurt,
anno domudhoney, left a zeitgash.
& in the goth club, cadavolescent,
guylinered Xennials listened to
Placebo, but poo-pooed manginas.
Identi90s: genres, not genders.
Blotto elbows on sudsy bar, I cross
lanky barkeep's gulchy palm w/ nugget
for latest in a lost count of snakebites.
Streak of **** is a broom in a skinnytie.
'I'm hyperboring as much as you!' quip I
to a cheetahthinking softdrinker.
There'd be no ruction if pickled franion
spilt his Tab Clear Kaliber, H2ooze.
Yestreen's teen mums of teen mums, renubile
on the glash. Simuladies who soft soap
saps to buy them...a drink, QVCexy.
If shopgilfs surrender the goods, QVChy.
Whosis, tattie-bogie of the floor,
turned Turok w/ liebestorschlusspanik.
But his limabean lines are jejune, even to
zirconia Zsa Zsas on the zhelf.
Whosis, lima green last chancer, I'm a
aphroluddite like you. Both crud dancers
too, corybantersauruses. It's all
smoke 'n' mingers & we've got lunge cancer.
'There's a party on the hillside, would you like
to come? Bring your own cup & saucer
& your own cream bun!' Friends joyride
home dead, so ride dead joy home alone.
Simian, simulacrum, something for
the weekend, sir? Or are weekends just for
something before ip dip dogshit
******* ******* silly *** meet the kids then what?
Stereotripe, not Stereospeare, yet unknown
plexors would kick in. Or was it the joypop?
Popliteal self on higher neon knees,
Mother Brown's got nothing on me!
Anansesum of my fancy footwork,
Bez in blossom under tiger strobe.
Chemical cochise, call me 'Tarantulip':
totem, tarantism, bruxism, bloom.
Yeah, I liked DJ Offroseanne before
the coward sounds of Simoncowellland
killed Cool. Taxi for the Corpse of Cool/
fetch your coat, love, you've pulled the Corpse of Cool!
Since the ears dot, aural laurels were hot.
& the beat authenticity lays down
is still the drill sergeant instrumental
that leads blind zeit pipers of all pied geists.
Lima bean fugue, forearm flash, Dear John tats.
Nocturnal vernal mental of the comeup
becomesdown w/ no summerlove, bad trip
(Raggaman Kafka say 'Uneazee Dreamz').
'Taxi Driver' cinematography,
neon printcest of clubland signs dimmens.
Pick up your tuttifrutti braindamage
- time to go home, hungover twichildren.
Traveler Jan 2014
Can she see through creative eyes
Violet truths, purple lies

Can she feel me when I'm numb
Drink with me the pirate's ***

Can her touch bring me pleasure
Is her bounty hidden treasure

Where I'm going, when I come
Will she know if I'm done

When I bleed will she see red
Will my hungry heart be fed

Shall all be lost in lovers cove
Or shall love shine like stolen gold
Traveler Tim
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2015
First you’ll need advice.
Something nice. Like from us psychs
about human nature.
Never mind the nomenclature. Subversion
is the key to stature. Stuff like that.

Next you’ll want to dazzle everyone
with the mysteries of neuro-synaptic morality.
Only then can your insanity
achieve the strident vanity of oral self-loathing.
Life, predicated by death. Stuff like that.

A little reading won’t hurt
so long as it’s not a dictionary,
which only serves to limit your potential.
Read the papers instead. They don’t rhyme,
so why should you.

Make your poetry scream. Stun your
parents(slash)lovers out of their ambivalence.
Poetry is the highest court. Punish everyone.
You can’t change the past so punish the reasons why.
Truth is futile is punishment is lies are
always relative is the reason why is blame.

Realize that your own miserable life is
someone else’s fault.
Let it die. Loudly.
Point your pain at everyone who ever lived.
See your poetry as one last chance
– to be seen.
– to get even.
– to dance upon the lips of Death one
last time before you metastasize within the
curling smoke of someone else’s dying soul.

You are so beautiful.
And I will be your guide.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Payton Hayes Jul 2018
I do not need alcohol to have
I do not need cigarettes to be
I do not need dope to be
I need to feel you in my
I need to breathe you in with every
And even if you’re just a high,
I want to never come
I do need you.
Thank you to everyone commenting, reacting to, and liking my poem! If you enjoyed this poem and want to see more of my writing, follow me or check out my website,! Also, my poetry book will be out on the site and on Amazon, April 16th!!
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
A night owl in the harvest moon
was awake till the crack of the dawn
but wasn’t surfing online, wasn’t rowing
the boat in the digital river.
Deep down to a dreamweaving scene
that was, in musing, painstakingly creative.

Wait till you snap up a witty aphorism.
The darling buds of May will be in bloom.
The tickled pink nightingale too will
give out its voice, singing a song.
Save a copy and tweet it to all,
but do give us a demo, tell us a bit more.
Where does it shine and sizzle?
Where did the winter tuck away the rose?
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Dancing the billow in the sea
the cool one will show up
in no time with love.
Deep down from the deep
with the flute on the lips.

Listen to the flute!
The chorus clouds bang out
floating by the river blue,
they sing down the sky as they move.

The sun draws in
from the secret valley
ambling with the wonder light
as if it, the punter sun, in the sky
knew it, knows the flutist arty
rose from down the sea!

Every planet is a flying bee
twirling around the inner music
nothing ever stops in the solar disc.

The waning and waxing Moon
in silhouette and at half-light
swings over the sea full of life.

It all starts from the ground;
it was from our sea waterfront
Him the creative sweetheart in the midst
floated the leading light the bumblebee.
All the stars bubble in the galaxy
they know this ancient story!

Since then the brightest bulb
the sun in the solar ring  
leads the bunch’s mindful
butterfly dance on the way home.
Following the enduring haunting melody
of the pre-design command ‘qun’ be!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Unconditional
J Rodriguez Mar 2017
Be smart about it think what you really good at and make something out of it ... a lot of people want to see you fail in life them that u can make nothing out of something be creative with these haters because haters will always be found  hating on me or hating on you ...
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's gone mad but my mind is made up.
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind,
A place where I'm the referee of a poetic world cup.
This is where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town.
No more radio or TV saturated with all the sad news,
I have got enough breaking news of my very own...
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews.
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom,
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind.
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom,
It's a place that's so special, I reckon it's one of a kind.

You have to know that I always act blind but I see.
In my mind, I can walk stack naked and levitate.
My mind is where I remain totally black and free.
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate,
The code that will outshine any power on this earth.
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access,
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking a breath,
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress.

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge,
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier.
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge.
In there, I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier.
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas.
It is a vessel and place in which I do magic with letters.
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative Judea,
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers.

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind.
This is where I turn letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind.
Come and see where all words become useful swords.
My mind produces powerful words like some light beams...
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation.
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams.
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation,
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space.
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command.
twitter @ivanclappers
My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words.
Ilunga Mutombo Aug 2018
Steve - Hey

Steve - Hey

Steve - Hey how are you doing?

Steve - Hey I’m just trying to get to know you.

Steve - Wow so it’s like that?

Steve - You won’t even give me a chance?

Steve - I know you see the Facebook messages.
Anna - Hey sorry I don’t feel like talking. You are not worth my time or attention.

Steve - I’m good now.

Steve - I found me another lover.

Steve - All I wanted was your time and your attention, but you placed my heart in an emotional detention.

Steve - To me now you just another potential lover I could of loved and cared for. But you loved your ego more.

Anna - I’m sorry.

Anna - At the time you wanted me I was busy.

Anna - I want you now though, even though you have another lover, I envy her. Your persistence showed me you were worth my time. But my ignorance encouraged me to ignore my heart and feed my ego.

Anna -  Now it’s sad to watch you go.                                                  

Anna - I wish I knew better and did better. Now loneliness comforts my ugly mess.

Steve - I guess this is goodbye, because with persistence I also come with, love, patients and loyalty. I am glad I never gave you the best of me.

Steve - My lover truly deserves all of me. My time and my energy, my flaws and insecurities. Thank you for letting me find the best of me.

Steve - You were the light that had to shine in me for me to find the best of me. Your rejection brought out a better version of me.

Steve - Love stings like a blind bee it can kiss anyone and make them feel it slowly. For those it never kisses their hearts forever remain lonely.
Qweyku Jan 2017
Despair unrequited asked of me;

where do proverbs, poems...
such wisdom's go to die?

do they expire with the ink of thought
penning themselves out of imagination?
or, simply tire of expectation?

tell me
i would scourge
that unenlightened grave-site,
guillotine its immoral keeper,
decapitate him upon
a writer’s block!

show me
i will breach earths bowels
wrenching words from darkness' depths
with the light verse of celebration
a calligrapher’s paragraph of praise.

only then should i rest in piece
from wordy passion
scribed with its, novel pleasures

when spent, 
upon my epitaph do write;

'she was consumed,
birthing words to life'

© Qwey.ku
ELK Jan 1
Stars fall like dreams
that have lost their shine
Collecting like dust
in the distant skyline
From afar they glow
with iridescent light
But sputter and wink out
when brought close to sight
Molten silver
more precious than gold
From the stars that fell
mere fragments of old.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
I think the stars may be what I hold dearest in this world.
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
I woke up very happy
This joy isn't for me alone,
But for nearly everybody
Who calls this world home.

I woke up energized
To continue my journey
For me and those marginalized
For the poor who has no money.

I woke up determined
To continue with the hustle
My exuberance remains untamed
In spite of my personal struggle.

I woke up feeling blessed
For dear life and its woes.
I, yesterday was depressed
Today I care less about what life does.

I woke up very pumped
Determined to do better.
Yesterday I erred and stumbled,
Excellence today is what I'm after.

I woke up feeling rejuvenated
To change the poetic narratives
So I remain resolute and obligated
Hoping my poetry will impact lives.

This came from nowhere...maybe I woke up for this.
Skylar Keith H Jan 2018
20:00 - Dinner
Alone but entertained
I like it that way

21:00 - Skype calls
Not having talked for four days
I've missed her yet the occasional silence is nice

22:00 - Fillers
Scrolling through pictures and sharing thoughts
A pleasant and calm feeling

23:00 - Rethinking
The first hypothetical theories about the day
Laughing at the slip-ups to push them away

00:00 - Reflecting
Doubting choices throughout the week
Faking a small smile

01:00 - Endurance
A familiar feeling spreads
Downcast eyes and a facade of peace

02:00 - Creative
New ideas and thoughts fill up the space
Pick and choosing which ones would hurt the most now

03:00 - Idealistic
Reading stories about happiness, pain and change
Wondering what will become of me

04:00 - Closure
Horrible thoughts tearing down the last walls
Curling up and crying again

05:00 - End
Following a familiar routine before sleep comes
Cradling the broken mind
A familiar Routine
Perdue Poems May 1
be careful,
                   you wouldn't want too s
                                                               ­     o
                                                          ­        r
                                       d         e  specially fo
                                          e                   ­         r  
much structure i    s                                       you
     i    p    r   a   t                                                    t
       m   o   t   n                                                      h
        ­    p           d
                a                                           to be  creative
                    r           n                                       o
                       i           e                                     n
                         t           e                                   t
                            i          d                       ­          r
                             v          e                                o
                   ­           e           d                               ll
                                                              ­              e
                                                 ­                            d
Edit: for trouble reading: be careful, you wouldnt want to slip or slide much structure is important, imperative, and needed especially for youth to be controlled. Read only the regular parts: be careful, you wouldnt want too much structure especially for you to be creative.
Ozioma Ogbaji Apr 2015
Like the heavens and the skies
Like the deep seas so wide
When I am confident and true
When I have faith in you
Colour me blue, colour me blue

Like the royals of Great Britain
Like the noble in truth and ambition
In my wisdom, dignity and pride
In my mystery and grandeur so wise
Colour me purple, colour me purple

Like fire and blood
Like the intensity of a flood
In my strength and passion
In my desire, love and emotion
Colour me red, colour me red

Like the warmth of the tropics
Like the sun, my daily tonic
When I am determined and creative
When I am happy and attractive
Colour me orange, colour me orange

Like a smile so warm
Like joy even in a storm
When I am cheerful and happy
In my intellect, when I am savvy
Colour me yellow, colour me yellow

When I am all these and more
When I am despised or adored
With the colours of the rainbow
With the colours that make me glow
Colour me colours, colour me colours
ghost queen Oct 2018
My Muse is here, softly whispering in my ear.  
Forgive me, if these are words you do not wish to hear.
I looked into her eyes, and saw passion of ancient lives.  
Now I understand, why men died to look into her eyes.
Enchanting is her smile, disarming in the night, I felt naked in her sight.  
Her magic is strong, I can only but succumb.
My dying wish, to touch her lips, and surrender to her kiss.
My Muse is gone, my candle flickers.
Sleep calls, bells toll, from the Vicker’s
Zachary G Nov 2018
My mind
Patiently awaiting
Creative blur
Erupting slowly
Almost in
Poets mind
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2017
Come let’s squeeze in
while the sphere’s moon-lit cheek
turns her other sunny-cheek.

Come let’s mingle in the splash  
while the sunup basks in
swims across the dewy green.  

Come let’s try it again
while we are alive and breathing  
there is a time for everything.

Come let’s be creative no ocean is deep
while a pearl shines in the seashell.
A handful of earth is wrapped
in the midst of a colossal airy space,  
there is still a wonder in ****** green!
annh Sep 8
This morning I awoke with a cluster of words resting in the palm of my hand, my fingers tracing their gentle form like the decades of a rosary. On the tip of my tongue a song, a story, a fable of experience, existence, and eternity lay dozing.

There I floated between my inner and outer worlds, an exquisite confluence of wakeful consciousness and drowsy carelessness, until daybreak shook the last of sleep from my tousled dreams and my verses disintegrated like dust into the ether. It was at that moment, when the cool breeze through the open window intervened and the thrum of traffic in the distance drew me out from beyond the covers, that I lost my poem.

I know it will return: as droplets of rain on window glass, or as threads of loose cotton on a frayed cushion cover, in the rhythm of a lazy Sunday afternoon, or in the sigh of the ocean’s flow. All of these are mesmerising in their effect, some intangibly soulful, others enticingly tactile. All are enough to quiet the chatter of the quotidian mind and allow the delicate operations of the creative imagination to reign.

Only then, will I attempt to commit my words to paper...and you shall read them here.

Where do all the lost words go? Do they know their way home? Do they come with contact details attached? If not, does that mean they get confused and end up inside someone else’s head? Did I post your poem my mistake? Did you post mine?
Sienna Apr 12
i think a lot
about sphynx
no hair to care
for the lemon-shaped eyes
that squeeze shut in the breeze
but do not make lemonade

no sugar either
all protein bro
do you even lift
a finger because EYE do
YEW dont but they dont call you a
sphynx, do they?

oh wait nevermind i sphynx i got confused
eye am not a sphynx i do apologize
but Lucy is, shes my friend.
maybe even more than a friend
eye dont know
its just that shes a

mutant like me
and she pays for it too
just in cancer and heart disease
not with crying and mocking screams
saree i didnt mean to go there
but eye sphynx eyem getting worse
so random but i kinda love it?
Osiria Melody Apr 22
burn an
orange-red of
smiles and laughter
To warm my loneliness
which is now blown out
My temper, once short-
fused is now prolonged
into an indefinite strand
of patience within
flames of kind

Thank you for your conflagration of kindness, HP!
Seb Tha Guru May 2018

****** been watching me, wow.

Blowing my high.
I get no replies.
But my number one question is how.
How does it feel?
Now that you told.
Shut the **** up.
The ***** getting old.
How do you know?
What I be feeling.
And what I should do.
How about you don’t.
How about you just get the ******* ****.
How about you read this and never forget.
People aren't worthy of knowing my ****.
Now that I know, I won’t do it again.

Feel like a sin.
I'm all on my own.
I wish that y’all would, just leave me alone.
Trapped in my thoughts.
They don't have a home.
This is realer than raps.
Realer than poems.
Ilunga Mutombo Aug 2018
Edger Allan Poe inspired me
Shakespeare educated me
Maya Angelou raised me
These writers created a beast in me
A beast of emotions, words that lack definitions
Only existsting in my expressions

Ideal to the common citizen
I write with a pen full of love, curiosity and pain

Emotions that have gone blind, to common sense, and swallowed a pill full of ego

I realize I am worthless without this pen and this pain

I write of love as if I feel it
I write of Justice as if I need it
I write of human behavior as if I need to fix it

If I am to die let my words live on within your emotions when you read them
Forever and ever I hope you feel them
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