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Ejiogu Stanley Dec 2015
The colours of life all seem bleached out now.
At the edge of euphoria, we deepen our curiousity.
Our need for fresh evidence and knowledge is the river from which the liqour of drive is fetched
And the sands of time are the canvas on which our deeds are etched.
Life births curiousity which in turn births passion, then purpose, drive and accomplishment chronologically
Adam must, however, remember not to forget to keep his feet grounded and not get swayed by the swift tides of this river of knowledge for it is a never ending one that flows into an ocean only swam by the dead and supernatural.
For the ones that matter the most at death are given at births.
It is then, when we've circumvented life and must leave it behind, when we boomerang to the dusty point where it all started, that we have a full palette of rainbow colours where our *** of golden knowledge is found
And not a single shade shall be missing from the crayon box.  
This is fulfillment.
This is Legacy
This talks about mankind's never ending search for answers,a legacy, knowledge and understanding and how that quest is only quenched in death and the afterlife
Acuriousnature Aug 2016
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer

Taking your words to heart?
Truly
Though, understanding them?

I believe i have a skewed view of the true layers hidden beneath the rows upon rows of your starlight garden.
I am but a bird above your garden, admiring the upper beauty shone brightly  in the starlight.
I have but the faintest clue about the memories and experiences that root so deeply into your poems,
Nor the meanings behind the words that hold the earth so tenderly.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
But as the greatest trees stand tall in their royal crowning,  their historic roots support them whole heartedly, with their focus all upon the lifting of the grand finale.
Deeply do your roots reach down into thine heart. And deeply so.
For how can one reach the stars without a strong story below?
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer.

I cannot be so bold as to claim to know what each poem means, for that would be to have lived in your story with each passing breath.
Nay, i can only express the emotions that these words give me in relation to mine own,
curiousity, like flower garden, grown.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
My homage to a poet that to this day I still admire. May their life be filled with joy.

Another old poem recovered through the annals of time
Danielle Rose Sep 2013
Panic kept my heart and adrenaline pumping
I told myself to never look back but the temptation was overcoming
When the realization hit that I had come so far
and could no longer see the start
beads of sweat shaped my brow
A physical confession of complete and utter fear
A psycological obstacle that rang loudly in my ears

I gazed at the steps willing my eyes to see the end
Itching for hope or someway to transcend
But reguardless of the vigorous time spent climbing
Into the heavens the staircase kept winding

My mind begged to cave
Desperate for an escape
From limb to limb my muscles twitching,tired,and shaken
I couldnt help the tears from flowing incessantly
While I searched longingly for some kind of reason or deep meaning to drive me

I dropped religion along the way
I pushed through the treachery of tongues leading
I threw my backpack over the rail so my possessions
couldnt weigh on me
I fought the false antedotes
I stopped blaming others
I grew to great heights yet still I wound up seated and flustered

Uncertainty haunted me
Leaving my head in my hands
In a world of illusion the next step is always difficult to determine
I looked back up to my challenge
Questioning the means
and learned that with enough curiousity
anything can be achieved
WickedHope Jan 2015
You never looked at me like that...

Together I see you
I try not to stare
That girl do you love her
Or simply not care

Attention focused
On one another
That boy do you love him
Or does it not matter

I don't care and it doesn't matter
Maybe you two will be happy together

For
You never looked at me like that...
Over you, I swear...
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
"Olympic,what was my sister like?
Did the people make her grand?"
"Yes,my darling,she was fine,
The finest in the land.
No one else was like her,
No one had her creed,
I knew within my very heart
The life that she could lead!
I sent my best of wishes to her
On a tenth of April day
She sailed away into the sun,
Nothing stood in her way.
Oh,Brittanic,my darling,
I wish that you did know
The spark of pride she sent in the air
Where'er she did go.
The air around her seemed electrically charged
With her undeniable glory
I watched from afar,
Knowing she'd make a front page story!
I felt pride within my soul
When people would stop to gaze
My sister was so beautiful and bound for happy days!"
"Olympic,why did my sister die?
Why couldn't I see her face?
We wait among happy people,
She's in a somber place."
"Brittanic,my dearest baby,
I cannot tell a lie
You must put up with this old girl,
And know that I shall cry.
I cannot think of my sister
Without my vision clouding with tears
I have been without her for so very long,
So many pain-filled years.
The day I heard that horrible truth
Will be etched forever in my heart.
The day I lost my beloved sister
With which I never wished to part.
When I received news of her sinking
I raced across the waves
Hoping I'd be able to say 'good-bye'
On her very last of days.
Oh,but I didn't get there quick enough!
I didn't have enough speed!
The Captain ordered me to give up hope,
An order I didn't want to heed!
I had raced across the blackened surf
Pressing to see how fast I could go,
Now the Captain ordered me to stop,
I hope you'll know the love I did know.
I wanted to go to that very spot
Where my sister's life did end,
A glorious lady with a glorious heart,
All ended by a word called 'sin'.
He hurt me with his ruthless order
Ceasing my propellers purpose-driven churn
My anger at him burned in my soul
I didn't want to obey a command
He was forcing me to learn!!
But,he forced me to learn
Forced me to turn away
Forced me to live without saying
"Farewell"
Forced me to return to work that day.

"Olympic,are you mad at yourself?
Upset you never could say goodbye?
Upset you left her all alone?
All alone to die?"

"Oh,Brittanic,why must you ask such things?!
Such things that tear my heart in two!
But,answer you,I will,my darling,
Answer you,I shall do.
I have tried so vainly to forgive myself,
Yet,half my heart is plunged in grief,
It wraps around my very core
Like a strangling ivy wreath.
No one gave me a kindly look,
A sympathetic word they did not say,
Such as "Fair Olympic,you did all you could
To save your dear sister that day."
But I tried! Don't they know?
I tried to save her as across that ocean I ran!
I would of said good-bye
If not halted by a foolish man!
Yet,I never got to say 'good-bye'
Never let her know,
Titanic! My treasured sister!
How I love you so!!"

"Olympic,I hope you know I love you,
E'en though your heart is sad,
Forgive yourself,my dear mother,
You did not commit any bad.
Titanic knows you love her,
She knows you tried with all of your might
When love drove you across dangerous waves
On that perilous night.
You mustn't keep hurting a heart
That has dealt with so much bad,
Forgive yourself,Olympic,
And then you may not feel so sad.
I'm sure she is not mad
At the efforts you did make
You avoided danger the best you could,
Though your life was still at stake.
You acted with such bravery
On a night devoid of moon
You did all you could in hopes
To get to her so soon.
I love you,old Olympic,
I'm not angered at your ways
Concern for one you did love
Has lasted for years and days.
I'm sure you were the perfect sister
As you are the wonderful mother to me
I feel so proud when I see you come in
From a long,weary week at sea.
When I am old and wizened  like you,
I'll remember the pleasures I have known
From a grand lady named Olympic
Who hid a heart so alone.
I love you,my beautiful friend
And I'll recall a story behind the tears
Of perservering adoration for one
That you won't see for the rest of your years.
And,I'm sure,Fair Olympic,
When it comes time you too shall die,
You will be reunited with your sister,
For your kindness never did falter,nor lie."

"Brittanic,my dearest one,
It is a reassuring thought,
I will be so glad to see her,
For love will perish not.
But,for now,I am nothing more than
For men to hurt and command
But I shall dream now
Of a far-off and distant land.
A land where my sister resides
Where she,perhaps,waits for me
On a big eternal expanse,
A grand,forever sea.
I am sure my time is coming up,
I am over 20 years old!
The humans will not want me much longer,
I am no longer eye-catching and bold.
Twenty years old and over is not a lot,
For me,my life did really now just begin
But the humans will not want me much longer
They will make my life end.
I am no longer the fashionable steamer
That people clamor to take
I am 50,000 tons of steel
One day that the ship-yard shall break.
That is our future,my darling,
No matter the life we had,
It has happened to a good many ship,
It is so brutal and bad.
Do not think false wishes
That I shall escape this fate.
No,my baby,I shan't,
It will be either early or late."

"Oh,Olympic! They cannot **** you!
You have such a life ahead!
How could they be so cruel
And with their blows,make you dead?"

"Brittanic,my darling daughter,
To them,we are naught more than machines
We have no life,no hopes,
They don't even think we have dreams.
I could tell you so much more,dearest,
There is so much more I can say,
But the humans want me to go somewhere,
So,I shall come back one day.
Be true,my darling,while I'm gone,
Make me proud of your ways
Strike out over life,
Rejoice in the sun's rays
I shall come back again,
Don't you doubt that twice,
I have much more to tell you
And your company is so nice!"

I watched her as she sailed away
Into the slowly setting sun
Thinking of all she had told me
And the life that she had run.
The first thing she had done in life
Were joyful sails o'er the ocean blue
Then,drafted into war she was,
And cared for the soldiers too.
I loved her so very dearly,
And dreaded when we had to part,
But thoughts of meeting once again
Gradually settled my heart.
Her Captain took her one way,
Mine took me the other,
I remembered everything I saw
So I could later tell my dear mother.
Not everything was exciting
In those future trips I took,
Months were passing,but I recalled
Everything like a reference book.
So much time was passing,
Now the time was nigh,
When I 'd wait for dear Mother to come in
From the waves she did ply.
I waited and waited that first day
Sought out on the open sea,
It would be a wonderful time
When it was just her and me.
She would tell of her trip,
I would tell of mine
How proud she was to carry the flag
Of the White Star Line.
I waited and waited to see the tugs
That would pull her back to shore,
Just her and I together,
Sharing stories once more.
She didn't come in that day,
Perhaps that she was late
Taking a little longer that
The time the humans did slate.
She didn't come in that next day either
And I started to fret!
Did she come into a different dock
Than what she'd normally get?
The next day came,and far way,
I saw quite a sight.
Something that looked like a ship,
Though didn't appear quite right.
I watched the tugs pull it closer,
Yes,'twas a ship indeed.
But,what in heavens happened
To give it this somber lead?
I could tell it was grand at one time,
Yet,that seemed so long ago,
Curiousity wracked my mind,
And I wanted to know.
This somber shell came closer,
Devoid of deck and stack,
I looked toward the starboard bow
And the name
OLYMPIC
stared
back.

I couldn't think at all that moment!
My heart welled up with pain!
Olympic! My treasured mother!
I shall never see you again!
You were right about the ship-breakers!
They ruthlessly tore you apart!
Not paying any heed to your
Loving,kindly heart!
How shall I survive,
Without your beauty and your truth?!
Those ignorant men killed you
In your 25 years of youth!
Oh,I hope they be cursed
For doing something so bad,
Now I am without you
And so terribly lonely and sad!
Olympic! Olympic!
I shall say your name over and over again,
Hoping it shall bring you back
From hard-hearted sin!
I watched as they pulled you away,
My vision has clouded with tears
Yet,I keep on watching
You endured such fears.
Melancholy feelings grip my heart
I no longer have interest in life!
I have seen the meaning full and complete
Of a word you did call 'strife'.
No more stories to be shared
On a night glowing with moon,
No longer shall I see you,
Gleaming in the sun of noon!
The men have done their worst,
I shall no longer hear your horn,
Such a proud note it had
That I've remembered since I was born!!
Olympic,Olympic,I love you,
I'm so happy you got to hear those words
I'll wait and watch and listen
As the lament is echoed by sea-birds.
Those tug boats are pulling away
Taking you to the last of your fate.
I love you so much,dearest mother,
But,the ship-breakers I hate!!
You pass so slowly before me
I gaze for the last time at your sleek steel,
So strong,once you were,
But that doesn't now seem real.
With barely a ripple the water glides
Across your red and black coat
The humans are so uncaring
Thinking you are only a boat.
Good-bye,my mother dearest,
Farewell and aurevoir too,
I hope so much you are with your sister,
In the heavenly,eternal blue.
I wish you the best of happiness
For you loved your sister so,
As soon as the ship-breakers broke your heart,
I know that's where you did go.
I am so glad I heard the stories of
The life that you did live.
I am so glad I knew the love
The heart of you could give.
I hear the echo of your voice,
The tales that you could bring
The truths of your soul,
And the love that you could sing........

"Brittanic,my darling dearest,
When I was torn into by a collision with the Hawke,
It wasn't exactly pleasant,
And I had to return to dock.
The gentle men,they repaired my ****
Made me as good as new,
Then I sailed out again
Into the ocean blue.
Then,I threw a propeller blade,
Humans called me an accident-prone sort,
But,back again I went,
To be repaired at Belfast port.
That was the last time,dear daughter,
Titanic and I would be side by side
I wished it would last longer,
Yet time did not forever bide.
People took a photo
That immortalized that day
The very last time we'd be together,
Forever together,they'd say.
I hold that glorious memory
In the chambers of my heart.
Under 'lock-and-key',
Never,ever to part.
My sister and I together
Upon the ocean's crest
Glowing in the sunlight
At our next-to-best.
Oh,that moment was so long ago
Our moment side by side.
The last time we'd be together,
Before she sadly died.
The Captain thought me foolish
To plough through icy sin,
Yet,if it meant to save my sister,
I would do it all over again......"

My mother's words echoed
As she drifted away from sight.
Now she was with the one she loved
And tried to save on a 15th of April night.
I said my last good-bye to her
When the tug boats pulled her away.
This memory emblazoned fiercly
On this unforgettable day.
I watched a little longer
Wondered if there was sadness in the sea,
The Olympic-Class was over,
Now there was only me.
My mother was a masterpiece
When she was under steam.
Like a picture-postcard,
A reigning Ocean Queen.
People once loved my mother,
They sailed on only her,
But then,there came a change,
And she became a bothersome burr.
No one sought to save her
From the scrappers filth and grime,
She was wanted no longer,
Her age and fashion,her crime.
The people remembered her little
After her scrapping day
No flowers were strewn
In her solemn way.
Did any one else say 'good-bye',
Or,was I the only one?
Bading farewell to her grandeur,
And those crimes she hadn't done.
No monuments were erected
In her grand memory.
She was the daughter of Belfast,
And her second love was me.
She filled 25 years with her riches,
And also with her pride.
Filling them with love,
The love that never lied.
I always thought my mother to be
An invincible sort.
Who had no fears,or,if she did,
She left them back at port.
Her haunting words echoed
Her fortelling of her fate:

"I am nothing more than 50,000 tons of steel
For the scrappers to break...."

She said it with a certain sadness
For that was her future path,
She didn't deny  it with falsehoods
That they would tear her heart in half.
I shudder at the thought
Of the scrappers fire and tools
Who looked at my mother so eagerly
With eyes bespeaking cruel.
The company wanted her no longer,
No matter the life she had had,

"Scrapping happens to a good many ship,"
she said,
"And it is so brutal and sad."

What had she endured
In the breakers waterless dock?
Did she think of me?
Was I her final thought?
I love you,dearest mother,
There shall never be another like you
Think of you often,I will,
Upon the bounteous blue.

I am always the daughter of Olympic,
Always shall be Brittanic,
Always shall remember the love of my mother,
And the bravery of one named Titanic.
I  will always miss my mother,
And our days together in dock,
The stories she lovingly told me,
Be also under lock.
I will probably not share my stories
With many others,true,
But if the time does arise,
Share them I shall do.

"Brittanic,what was Lady Olympic like?
Did the people make her grand?"

"Yes,dear friend,she was fine,
One of the finest in the land...."
Though I am very learned in the subjects of Olympic,Titanic and Brittanic,any one who knows the story will realize many details have been left out. The reason for this is because I made it more of a 'human-interest' poem,to show the three sisters in a different light other than engine-driven steel leviathan vessels. Placing Olympic as the mother of Brittanic makes it easier,in my opinion,to gain feelings towards the matter. Yes,Brittanic was sunk in war ages before Olympic was sold to the T.W Ward shipyard,but to mix the details around makes it more interesting. I aim this prose to  spark interest in RMS Olympic,a grand lady who is remembered little.  Put yourself in the position of Brittanic and imagine the fright at seeing the demolished and scrapped vessel as her mother. When all is said and done though,I dedicate this poem to RMS  OLYMPIC. Rest In Peace,dear lady.
nissa Apr 2014
when we reminisce about our childhoods
we laugh at the lies
the kind of lies we don't fully regret
but there is one lie that is just too cruel for me to forget
it wasn't curiousity  that killed the cat
it was the hand that trapped it in an airtight bag
and that hand is you
Umi Mar 2018
Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ?
Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears.
In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases.
Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh.
As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy.
Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart.
Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice.
Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably
Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure
I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily
Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness.
Until the sun rises once again

~ Umi
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
My sweet Jasmine Pearls
has touched the hearts of many
So now I wonder

Would you like more of
free-verse poems about teas?
Please do let me know!
My Jasmine Pearls did great! I'm so glad everyone enjoyed it!
Let me know if would you like another poem like that?
Much love,
Lyn ***
M Salinger Jun 2018
The anxieties are there
about meaningless things
and the meanings behind them

Time is spent
wondering

What he's thinking?
What he's doing?
What he remembers
and holds on to?
If any?
If all?

Why he's with her?
If he thinks about me
like I think about him?
If he thinks about my touch
like I think about his?
If he yearns for me?
If he wants to ******* kiss
and all of me
again?

So many musings
driven by curiousity
by desire
by a muse,
in every sense of the word

Awakening something deep
within me
deeper than lust
deeper than longing

An intensity
that's intoxicating
addicting
terrifying

An insatiable hunger
to search and swim
within his soul
one touch,
one moment
at a time

Only felt
never acknowledged,
engulfed in secrecy
engulfed by secrecy

Drinking each other in
between nuanced subcontext
one moment
at at time

Setting each other on fire.
Stu Harley Sep 2014
light
is a friend of mine
it has
a curiousity
towards mankind
when
light ricohettes
then ripples
through the
hearts of men
this time
a Oct 2014
what a curious world
but what a regulated curiousity
i'm not allowed to know what that spot is
because it'll hurt me
but i'm told that being gay is bad
and that won't?
hmm
Helen Raymond May 2014
I was bathing in the sterling, fawning light there dimmest be when I came upon a phenomenon unbeknownst to me.
Quiet, bluish lights dancing in the pale, blinking every time -again and now but a chorus faithfully throughout.
What was this, a faerie funeral?
Perhaps a will-o-wisp walkabout?
Fly, oh, the Valkyrie, I feel you may 've missed you two or three.
What is this hovering, waving sight -harbingers of ancient light?
Stole one from a widow clothed in black, turns out they're bonny baby fireflies, imagine that.
There has always been a plethora of fireflies in spring and early summer, but these acted in a way we'd never seen before. They flew close to the ground and their light was nearly unblinking, and so much dimmer than the norm. I saved one from a spider's web and found them to be very young fireflies.
Caro Aug 2018
Curiousity killed the cat,
What of it?
I am not a cat and neither am I curious,
I think.

I want to know and see, but few things hold my interest.

Lately I crave being craved,
Lately I hate that I love the concave of my stomach when fasting for a smaller waist to contemplate in my mirror before going to work,
Lately I’m waking up moody,
Lately I’m grateful.
Lately I need more sleep,
Lately I’m not quite in the place I used to be,
Lately I think I must be growing or changing because this new sense of knowing is gnawing so softly on my skin it feels like luxury.

I think I must be on the edge of an expansive biosphere of me, complete and untouched, because the vision of her is fading as my ten little prints and their oblong archless counterparts bring me closer to the edge.

Staring boldly, daring no one proving nothing peering down into my canyons.

Just on the edge of this cliff, feeling my wind my edges my rivers holding me up,
And up,
And up,
And down so far below.
Though it’s not down that I will go.
It it through.

And richly on the other side I will emerge.
But for now that is not my concern.

Standing on the edge, arms spread wide, I’m alive.

Quite Grand Indeed.
Mosaic Jul 2014
When an electrical outlet
Looks like an answer
How do you stop yourself from questioning?
4am On the drunken floor of my Wingmans apartment I place my red solo tankard down to instigate a quest.
"ROADKILL!"
That's what we call my wingman.
"Roadkill! Lets go on an adventure to king richards faire tomorrow!"
"Sure! When do we leave?"
"Don't worry, I'll wake you up."

See. When your best friend says they need you,
you don't just call them.
You drive.
Tonight,
on the anniversary of Roadkills worst tragedies,
we are getting drunk.
In the morning,
We're going to prove that life is worth living.

7:30am our alarms go off.
"Uhhhg."
"Curse you phone."
Hands slap towards the noise,
Spilling last nights wounded soldiers.

"Roadkill your shirts inside out."
"Thanks man."
Actually, while you have it off.

Black doesn't go with brown.
Pick a whole different shirt."
"It's fine."
"*******. There's a blue shirt right here."

Belting sailor shantees
Roadkill and I adventure three hours in
My four wheeled ground Zepplin.

"A curse to you lads,
a curse on your head,
Drinking pint after pint
until I am dead
I just keep drinking
and I don't know why,
But tonight is the night
that I drink 'til I die!"

Upon arriving at the faire we spot an ocean of goregeous maidens.
The ticket booth doth not take credit cards, however.
So we needed to speak to the gatekeeper.
"Excuse me, where's the atm?" I Ask.
"it's right over there, Handsome.
I'll need your id's first, though.
Don't worry, I don't bite
... hard."

Roadkills eyes grow the size of stormwind.
"I need to bring you everywhere man.
You make everyone love us."

we return with cash in hand
The gatekeeper pulls our ID's from her corset
looks them over before handing them back.
"How are you boys younger than me?"
"It's the beard. "
I wink.
"Keep a secret?"

Swords on hips
songs in chest.
Mead was flowing
Boots were clomping

Roadkill paused to look around
Standing like a pleased statue.

I bounced excitedlly around like a child.
ROADKILL
LOOK AT ALL OF THESE GOREGEOUS OUTFITS ON THESE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN!
"Hey!"
handsome men, too.
"Thank you"
It's like we teleported to Flurb heaven!
Look!
a garb shop!
Oh my god
A boot store!
They have a whole store
for leather larpy boots!
There is a tail shop!
I could buy and wear a fuzzy furry tail!
This is amazing!
There is a giant duck
Being pushed back and forth by two huge jacked dudes.

"I need to hug everyone!"
I am in love with everything!"
"Can i please hug you?"

"I swear to god, Nick if you touch me."

We try the knife throwing challenge.
The crossbow challenge.
The dart throwing challenge.
We **** at all of it but we have a blast.

We walk into a leather shop.
A small redheaded girl dances around us. She puts fur around our necks
Her hands trace our chests as she ties them up
You boys look like the type to rock these.
She drags us by the belts to a mirror.
Look at how handsome you both are.

"Roadkill" I whisper.
He is already lost in her eyes.
I place a hand below his chin and close his mouth.
They talk about where they're from.
Their families.
What they do for fun.
"Oh you do larp? We do dagohir it's like full contact grappley shield kicking larp"

A group of customers walk in and she leaves to tend to them.
A brunette helps take off roadkills stole.
"How much are these anyway?"
Roadkill asks the brunette.
"$600" she answers.
"I feel ashamed for even trying it on"
Says roadkill slipping off the precious treasure.
"Goodbye ladies! have fun today!"
I say, pulling roadkill by the arm.
"Oh... okay then... bye."

"They seemed sad we left.
What was that about?" Asked roadkill.
"Well do you want the blunt educated version or the ignorant positive version?"

"Ignorant of coarse."
Then they're dissapointed because they were interested in us.
"Out of curiousity, what's the blunt educated version?"
"They're upset We didn't fall for their act and buy their expensive wares."
"Whelp... there goes my self confidence. Ignorance really is bliss"
"Yes it is roadkill. Yes it is."

We Travel back home.
Again, singing sailor shantees.

"A curse to you lads,
a curse on your head,
Drinking pint after pint
until I am dead
I just keep drinking
and I don't know why,
But tonight is the night
that I drink 'til I die!"

Park the four wheeled ground zeppelin in front of the Apartment.
Clonk our boots up the stairs
Grab angry orchards out of the fridge
Slunk into the beaten brown couch
raise my bottle into the air
"To living one more day exactly the way we want too, Roadkill."
Roadkill raises his bottle.
clinks it against mine.
"To living."
"I love you, Roadkill. You're the best." -Geek
Kara Jean Jun 2016
Mediocrity
Mediocre
No good melody
A definition stained on the upper region of my brain
Actively producing fungi fumes
Nauseated, you are excused
Instant hate when uttering its name
It makes our hands shake, to be displayed in such a way
It has no purpose, only an intention
Killing curiousity, by outlining others self righteously
Mediocre is my creative space for acceptance and I have requested an invitation to everybody
No reasoning just letting go of expectations consuming
Hope to see you soon
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
The rain beat the pavement as the man ran to a nearby bus shelter holding a newspaper over his ragged hair. The rain hitting the glass was nearly deafening, but there was comfort in the sound. A public transit bus comes and goes, recognizing the bleak figure immediately. This was, after all, his commonplace - the closest thing he had to a home in the past two years.
"Get a job", people would say, as if it were ever really that easy.
He had been diagnosed with depression after his wife’s passing nearly four years ago and suffered alone as he mourned and pushed through what most people see as a normal life. On the outside, it was unapparent how miserable he had become, unable to share the world with another as he had now for so many years. He came to his cubical on time each day, he worked until the late afternoon had came and went, and he left without a word. He was the unnoticed face in a crowd.
All at once, he lost his drive to live his life. He stopped showing up to work, he did not pay his bills, he didn’t answer the door or the phone. The clear print reading “EVICTION NOTICE” had meant nothing to him. He took only the essential things with him as he left behind an empty house behind. The last thing he put into his bag was a copy of the Odyssey, worn now after so many years of attentive reading.
The tattered copy sat open on his crossed legs, the moment passing by. The walls of the shelter sheild him from the wind and welcome him into their embrace. the adequecy of lighting was questionable as the sun descends and the world loses its colour. A streetlamp flickers to life and casts an ominous glow onto the street beneath it. He continues to read about the long journey of a man trying to find his way home, not unlike himself. What’s happening on the page is disconnected from thepart of the world that he is trapped on; he watches his secret world become a vivid painting beneath his hands and turns the page.
"Hello," said a man waiting for another bus to take him to a far off place.
He didn’t respond.
"I take it you like the book, judging by the condition…" The man tried again to grasp his attention. His dark figure loomed on the other side of the glass.
"I do", he said.
"What’s your name, son?"
He paused, turning to fully look at the man. “Its Tristan,” he said, contemplating the man as he stepped into the light. The man shuffled into the shelther gingerly, leaving behind the loud clack of his cane. His clothes chaffed against the skin on his legs, and he carried his fedora in his hand. He creased his face in pain as he sat beside Tristen.
"My name is Connor Wright", he breathed heavily, struggling to continue. "I have a spare copy of that book myself, laying around at home. No use to myself. Would you want to have it? I can bring it to you the same time next week"
"How do you know I will return it?"
"Perhaps I don’t want it back"
The silence stretched. “I would like that very much, sir” replied Tristan.
A dark blue bus pulled up to the stop without warning and stirred the stillness in the air. The headlights shone in their eyes and caught the edge of the mans thick-framed glasses. “I will see you next week then”
Each week came and passed as Mr. Wright began to bring Tristan books frequently, exchanging each new book for the last. “Why do you treat me with such kindness when I have nothing to give?” Tristan would ask him each week, never recieving an answer.
A year passed by in the presence of the silent agreement. Mr. Wright would often bring Tristan a warm container filled with soup, or a sandwhich left over from lunch to accompany his reading for the night.
On a cold night in april, Tristan waited at the bus stop for the greying man. He spotted him across the street as he waved to him. Tristan, flashing his increasingly more common smile, returned his vivid wave in the direction of Mr. Wright.
"Hello Tristan", he began as always with a bright smile. His distinct aroma filled the hollow bus shelter - a mix of burnt wood, but also new paper and musk, and apparent paradox. After a brief conversation, Tristan took the book out of Mr. Wright’s frail hands.
The bus arrived shortly thereafter and Mr. Wright borded the exhausted vehical, taking his time going up the short stoop of stairs.
This book was rather unlike the other books that Mr. Wright had given him in the past months. His books had usually been full of journeys abundant with creatures, or filled to the brim with a quaint scenery, embodying an allegory in a far off place. The book he held in his hands was called “Darkness Visible”. It was a self-help book for those in the winter of their lives, much as Tristan was, though he hated to admit it.
He opened the page of the book and the spine cracked as the smell of fresh ink and paper filled his senses. This book was new.
He read with curiousity at first, which later turned to deep interest, and later still, turned into inspiration. The following week, Tristan returned this book to Mr. Wright as he told him that he would not be returning to the bus stop with any more new books. “I wish to see you again in the future”, he said, handing Tristan a slip of paper with his name and phone number on it.
Many years passed by and the two men kept regular contact, discussing the endevours of Tristan and his success in his new life.
"Doctor Spense, you have a visitor" his secretary informed him in her usual airy tone.
"Send them in, please"
A man with strong lines creased into his face turned the door handle and entered his office at Kingston University. Commonalities were exchanged and the man fought back a solemn look as he took a seat across from Tristan. The armchair engulphed him.
"Doctor Spense, I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Connor Wright passed away this morning as he succumed to his long fight against cancer", he spoke as though he had said these words in practise. "I am here because you were included in his will and we need to speak about legalities".
Mr. Wright had left him his entire collection of books, including that first copy of the Odyssey that Tristan had cherised so many years earlier when he had had nothing else. As he opened the familliar book, an envelope fell to the ground.
He stooped to the ground to pick up the white sheet and put it in the pile of other loose pages when he saw in handwriting, “To Dr. Tristan Spense”.
He read the words and tears filled his eyes, prickling at the corners and pooling in the clear canvas of skin before his jaw.

"The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty…" - Mother Teresa
I treated you kindly holding the knowledge that you would have nothing to give in return because I saw something I once saw within myself during the darker days of my time. I helped you because I knew your soul would rot and perish in a sickly way should you go unnoticed. I helped you because I hate faith in you and knew you had the kind of illness that could be taken away with the love of a friend. I hope that I have been able to give you the medicide loneliness, desparity and hopelessness and that your cabinets are stocked full. Remember where you have come from, and remember that it is always darkest before dawn.
Your friend always,
Connor Wright
ili Apr 2014
new
the first time we are introduced to new surroundings,
our eyes are wild with curiousity.
the first time we meet someone,
our eyes are starving
ready to devour the very human being in hopes that this someone might finally give us life.

the first time we are introduced to life,
we are anew, we are naive, we are excited, we are not who we are when we start to realize the obstacles that will cross our paths.

After we are introduced to new surroundings,
After we meet someone for the first time,
After we are introduced to life itself,
Our eyes lose their
Curiousity
Excitement
Hunger
and all else.
Our eyes turn stale from realization.

Everything looks hopeful at first sight.


If first glances are what it takes to be overcome with hopefulness, hunger, excitement and curiousity,
Perhaps, it would be most ideal to see everything in the first perspective.
Paramount Pawn May 2015
You laughed awkwardly
Sorry I didn't mean to
Asking who you like randomly
Was a weird thing to do
Curiousity gets ahead of me
So I let it out of me
Wondering who you like
Could be a pain or my happiness
Janelle Mainly Oct 2021
Gratitude holds their breath
Memory runs a marathon
Exaggeration shares the news
Truth watches their actions while writing silently in a black and white notebook with grey ink
Mystery peaks behind Truth
Curiosity is right behind Mystery without seeing Truth's scribblings
Rest tries to pull Gratitude out of the sea while unfounded Criticism stabbs curiosity in the back
as Curiousity cries out Care embraces the culprit
Love holds Curiosity in their arms
Who will resucitate curiosity?
Inspiration
Inspiration comes to the rescue
Dieter Muniz Oct 2011
Am I,
protected and Ignorant?
Instead, choose to
countlessly amount problems.
Often wondering that romance, anyways
blind being without shade:
Sun-gazer;
fry pain from eyes.
As closed eyes turn,
eyes open for curiousity
you punish
No, just no…
Punish you, curiousity for open eyes.
turn eyes closed
as eyes, from pain, fry.
sun-gazer;
shade without being blind.                    
anyways, romance that wondering, often.
problems amount countlessly
to choose instead:
Ignorant
and
protected;
I am.
He wasn’t fat and jolly.
He was muscular and calm.
He didn’t have a white, fluffy beard or a bright red suit.
Instead, he had a goatee with little white straglers,
And instead of the thick, red and white coat and hat,
He wore blue pajama pants and an old white t-shirt.

From my room, I heard rustling sounds, sounds similar to paper crumbling.
I heard feet, trying to tip-toe across the living room.
I heard kind voices.
It had to be him! It just had to!
I jumped out of bed to meet him with excitement.
My six year old self felt the need to give into my childish curiousity.
Quiet as a mouse, I stepped lightly to my hiding spot.
Did I want to meet him? Am I ready?

Hiding behind the hallway entrance, I peeked over the doorway.
There he was! Santa Claus!
I had laid my eyes on Santa Claus, just as I believed I would.

Instead of rushing out to greet him,
I chose to stay hidden.
Santa was wrapping mine and my brother’s Christmas presents.
My eyes saw him roll out sheets of wrapping paper – as shiny as sleek gold.
He placed pretty, ruby red bows on each of our gifts – each so ornate in their own natures.

Santa was such a giving man…
That’s why I’d make sure he’d get his favorite cookies!
I was told by my father that chocolate chip cookies were Santa’s favorite.
Santa gently placed each of our presents under the tree with ease.
At that moment, he stood up, looking at our tree, focusing on our star at the top.
He was smiling.
He stared at it for a good minute, like a man who had found serenity.

I had been thrilled to see my gifts…
The idea of opening them overran my heart with so much giddy excitement.
Yet, Santa was happy with giving me gifts.
Who gives Santa gifts?

A second voice came from the kitchen.
It was my mother’s!
“Don’t forget to eat the cookies!”
Mom knows Santa?
Confusion filled my little head.

I could not fathom the truth.
Then it hit me!
My dad is Santa Claus!
His signature changes for just one night!
And his favorite cookie is chocolate chip too!!
AND he knows exactly what I want for Christmas!

Without making a sound, I tip-toed back to my bed.
I closed my eyes, and smiled.
My dad is Santa Claus.


I had known Santa my whole life.
He may not have been Santa to the whole planet,
But he was my Santa.
Dad always showed our family the magic of Christmas,
And as all of us got older… toys grew to be of less importance in my desires.
I eventually desired electronics and nicer clothes.
But as I grew up… all I’d want for Christmas was for him to stick around for another Christmas.
As every year passed, he grew more tired and weak,
But he never stopped giving.
He was also Santa to numerous individuals.
Giving is a lifestyle, and that was his.
My dad was my Santa Claus.
Santa in the true sense,
Spreading the love of giving to others till his last day.
Julia Staples Aug 2014
Curiousity lasted across an expanse
Venality put chastity in a menacing trance
The future once appeared open and vast
The ecstasy vision of childhood never seems to last
When its' beautiful stainlessness begins to slowly fade
Irretrievably lost in an unfair trade
Approval rushed and reproach is strong
Is it possible to recover something once its gone?
my second draft, slightly edited.
Gem S Sep 2013
Chests rise and fall
Hearts exchange in each others eyes
Whispers leap into gaping ears
A hand gestures a new idea
Body presses closer in acceptance.
One more whisper leaps-
But lands with a pound
Bruising the sound of a pleasantry
A **** back.
A blank stare.
A tight jaw.
Exclamation points,
capital letters etch across the mind.
A desperation for distance,
seperation,
withdrawal.
Assemble a  new language to be decoded.
A worry,
A curiousity,
Voices dance in irregular beats.
Then seize.
Clasp.
Waltz.
Jae Elle Dec 2011
Ribbon-wrought
A package brought
Greater interest to her stairs

Such little luck
Curiousity struck
When she saw its nameless flair

The package bore a pair of eyes
To better see the sunny skies
& the window-perched man glancing down

The latter, who, unnoticed knew
How harsh her nearsight quickly grew
As his sunny eyes met hers of brown

Curiousity killed Miss Catherine Ryde
As struck by a car, she instantly died
With thankful eyes locked to the windowsill

Of a man whose heart so deeply wept
Crossing the street, love's life was swept
& her farsight kept forever still
To the window-perched man upon the sill.
Maeve Apr 2014
Corrupt the innocence
Poison the sanitized
Intensify the danger
Dischevel the brain
Starve the greed
Feed the curiousity
**** the clock
Ignore the hours
Bury the body
Cover it with flowers
Forget never the philosophy
Of the need for power
entropiK Nov 2010
you enter my dreams with such audacious curiousity;
examined the void with intellect- deprived precision,
inspected every crevice painted in colour.
you left the blue for last because you say
the amphetamine matches my eyes.

you sample every syllable ever borne from my mouth,
denude the metaphors to their unchaste nakedness,
reach inside for unfleshly meaning.
you say all my filthy secrets implode into
ugly saliva bubbles on the brim of my tongue
and that is why you bite it off.  



you make the drain spin out water. you make reverse hurricanes.



you euthanise my suffering mind with vulgarity and sliver-veined chalks.  
i like it when the moon is yellow and not white.                                      
spread me across your bones, you make me cold                      
**** in flesh. you wear me on your head as you would a stubborn fever.
you lick the lily, burn away its petals and
then you use the ashes in your next drag.


there are ghosts in your hair, they want idiosyncratic judgments.
they want anatomised angels and amputated wings.
they want ribs, signals, vessels and chlorine and aileron segments.  
and electric ***.


i am thinking of lexemes and lycoris, the vulnerability of artlessness,
prosthetic fingers and cigarettes, the umbrella under metal rain.
i only remember realities when they are expired.
the ribbon between cognition and the ventriloquist.
the psychology in undesired sentences.                      
this is the only immortality you and i may share; amongst ourselves
like teenagers filching answers before algebra, like dealers exchanging
eight-*****, pipes and profanity, like animals in chemical heat.                                                                      
this vanilla immortality that we no longer need.



i'm watching the end of the world

from underneath your clothes.
sometimes i have to write horrible poems to remind myself of some things;;
You keep a garden
Some of your arrangements are to

Boast and show off
Delight in and keep for yourself
Alter with curiousity and growth


So you keep this beautiful garden
With every right intention

For leaves to sprout with confidence
For stems to hold firm and sturdy
For flowers to flaunt beauty and rich color


But do you see your precious garden
Is so riddled with weeds?

Weeds that expose iniquity
Weeds that slowly eat away
Weeds that make your Father frown!


Try as you may, in your garden**
To hide or otherwise ignore your ugly weeds

But your leaves, they will crinkle
Your stems will fall short and break
And your petals will surely wilt.
PrinceAlexander May 2016
My reader, looking at the ring, have ever you been caught
On efforts, spent to make it, sudden flashing thought?
About sifting through waste rock to find the rare gem
Where mother-nature hided it from curiousity of men.

About jeweler's stone cutting skillful labor duty
To grind the gem, exposing all it brilliance and beauty?
About ring design, embodying stone in golden artful frame
Creating masterpiece to glorify forever craftsman's name?

Likewise, in poetry, the sense of being attempting to extract,
Bard feelings puts in words to shows time's connection act.
Craig Harrison Feb 2016
Looking up at that big yellow star
the one that lights the sky throughout the night
it can be seen from where ever you are
shining ever so bright

You look so close but yet so far
Sirius A the brightest star
The skies are full
but not all can see
the curiousity that exists within me
boreeeeedddddddd
patti Nov 2012
one o'clock in the morning
switch switch clack clack
there's a train and it's streaming swirls of
steamy illumination
clack clack
eyelids drifting; icebergs, somewhere, melting.

there's a part of my brain and it's
it's drifting back to you
you're walking on those steaming lights
palm on palm and eyes on eyes on faces
creased and turned
with curiousity
and the beginnings of devotion

there was a past, storied; perhaps too complicated
and it's faded; I have managed to turn my head
painfully removed,
toward blue jackets being pulled on
blue and maroon
blue and maroon

you're different, and she's absolutely different
I do not know how I missed the mark
(but oh I hope that she does worse)
blue and maroon
when patched together minds of mine
**** backwards and--
I can't feel you anymore, I can only think
so maybe this is better

blue and maroon
he's getting better; he's not perfect in the same way
but you weren't either in a big way
his faults don't rattle my teeth in my head
and blister my fingertips completely out of bitterness
my eyes don't bleed of acid when he strikes an ill-planned chord
you're gone
and I am staring at this train
eyelids drifting
thinking of blue and maroon
And earth is its own god,
A very confusing thing to wrap our arms around and call home.
I try, but its never worth breaking my back over..
I point the finger at myself once more.

I admire this bird I had once seen..
All shunned to a cage,
but still managing to sing.
It was so hopeful...although most of the day was him staring at himself in a mirror that was placed inside his forever trap.
He was fighting to stay sane.
That bird and I, we aren't so different.

There is a horrible longing tattooed in my mind, for some divine sign.
Some worth.
I feel as though we all look for it.
Its in our curiousity, only to be let down.

Forward ill go...
Just believing in what I believe,
In hopes ill find another who believes in most of the same.
(Note to Self*)
Godspeed Darrion.............Godspeed.
I.
My eyes are heavy in my head,
or more accurately, my lids,
but my mind is running figure-eights,
thoroughly, like fits,
and at the cross of the eight,
the little pinch, the skinny waist,
one point manifests itself to every sense,
sight, touch, smell, sound, and taste.

This one point dares consume me,
my skin condusive, tinder,
and my blood begins to boil,
and reason have I devouring to hinder?

I don't think so.
If not for the advancement of theory to fact,
for what does a man live?

Everything else is merely cobblestones
along a bridge, civility, politik, tact.
Ignore the brightened
neon agitprop I say,
and carry yourselves headlong.
Nothing else have we
on which to agree,
but on the idea to think,
this alone elevates us above
the throngs of simians,
gibbering like themselves.

Gideon himself believed in thought,
believed in product placement as well,
and with simple words this world
has onto it been wrought
with sorrow and beauty,
but of course, hell hath no fury
like an illiterate with a Bible.

II.
You might as well give her a brick,
one cannot force an entry with a book.
Nor will she, however,
understand that blatant libel,
but it's irrelevant,
as this is the last place
I'd expect her to look.

She, indubitably,
is she of good fortune,
or rather good misfortune,
or rather than rather she
of a wheel of fortune,
a wheel that seems to have
finally
stopped
spinning.

I fear now she is a victim
among victims,
perpetrated against by they
whom she had once before wronged,
and if they were arsonists,
they'd be ******' torchin',
and she certainly wouldn't be grinning.

If she has wounds,
and I'm sure she does,
or will soon get them,
she better get licking them,
because she's about to rub up
against those pillars of salt
she created looking back.

A funny thing about those pillars,
and I'm sure it's common knowledge,
they were once your friends.

Sure, I see a few tears aflowing,
but I'm **** sure its the salt in the eyes.

This carnal kernel of misogynistic
jibba-jabba came to my attention,
my attention, not because I cared too much,
but because of plain 'ol curiousity.
You see, want, and you shall recieve.
Ask, and you shall ******'
find the **** out.
Simple as that.
Now, following that logic,
and I try to do so with furiousity,
even a mental gimp'll
come to a reasonable conclusion eventually.

III.
Conflicting sides.
One can discover the truth sensually.
I believe that the ability to perceive
people's emotions is as great a gift as any.
And of course that means
one can decipher motive.
Who has motive?
Ah, to know that,
you know the perpetrator.
I discover motive sensually,
and the trail for the contractual
assailant has been had,
the jury has deliberated,
and they find GUILTY!
Oh dear lord!
Can it be true?
Yes,
and based on prior history,
it ought not come as much surprise.
One thing left to deside, of course.

The sentence.
Jared Eli Oct 2013
I'm obsessed with the vision's edge
How we look straight but there's always a sideview
Looking right through
The glass of a picture frame
The image splattered my name
On every newspaper, a cheap kind of fame
The sideview shows the real me
The kind of person who I'd be
If I'd sent this body out to sea
In that funeral pyre blazing to the sky
Mom and Dad think that I'm too young to die
But you're never too young to be that one guy
Your friends see on the tv with a nice little snippet
Of how you hated your thread so you got up and clipped it
But your parents will talk to the reporters and flip it
Say you were so great, so happy and nice
Always the one to give the good advice
The one crossing the street as you looked both ways twice
And the truth is you were already cold as ice
You tried to cry out but they nodded with grins
And they looked at you pondering and stroking their chins
And in this situation there's no one that wins
Because there's always a bridge or a cliff to jump off
When the stress level rises set off by a cough
Or you just up and choose to dive into the trough
And get eaten by pigs, digit by digit
And since you don't give a ****, you don't even fidget
When they bite off your legs and leave you a ******
But size doesn't matter, you're dead in a few
And it's not as if you have to choose what to do
In the end your fate is just pay per view
Because you'll be there, it's you that is dying
But the life negation requires none of your trying
So you can sit back relax and just watch it
There's more than one way so it's hard to botch it
Your death is the end, because there's nothing else to it
You once had a life but you up and you blew it
There was **** to be done but you just said "***** it"
And it's true, it's your life, and you have control
But before you eat lead, put the thought on parole
Give yourself minutes or days to rethink
A miscalculation of that size would stink
Set up some goals, some silly, some not
Of things to accomplish before you hit the black cot
Where they stick all the toe-tagged
The black-bagged
The life-gagged
The death-filled
The over-pilled
All those singing from their throats
Bleeding like goats
From the knife wounds like Abraham
Would've done in just seconds, ****
But the voiceless have no spokesman saying
"Hey world, there was no point in staying!"
There's always a point, and you've just got to find it
Once you do, wrap your mind and bind it
Obsess yourself with the point of staying
Remember the steepest price you'll be paying
Sometime in the future, but now be braying
The call of the stubborn, those that won't leave
The ******* with something in which to believe
I'm one of those ******* and we need more members
To warm up the cold of Depression Decembers
Obsessing about the vision's edge
The only thing that kept me on the safe side of the ledge
When I was seconds from falling down
The sideview turned my *** around
Gotta find the source of the curious periphery
Curiousity killed the cat, but the sideview saved me

— The End —