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Stone Fox Oct 2015
"The thought of  the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air, slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto for all those years but had to let go."

The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we've most likely tried to already forget. Suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in, that there is a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to their fellow man.

All the while, boasting a loud tolerance that would be found on the very last Autumn-the very last colorful arrangements of watering oranges and smothered reds our world was ever going to be privileged to witness again.
The thundering drumming of my own beating heart gave my freshly dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few extra *******, lingering, successful gestures that reflected a sparkly prism of tracers.

Tracers that were birthed from the most brilliant of lasers, as I was radiating something that was blindingly gorgeous, something that was heightened with more sensitivity as it shadowed over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my life..

Spinning a silk and gold web around me that was almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake.

This flaccidly tight response came at a price, leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions at the sight of  it's unwanted face..

The time of dignity and grace felt decades away as your tiny little temperaments began to attempt to soothe me into a very still silence.

"Wooing" me and "seducing" me with such a strong touch of romantic readiness, I knew it would never be matched or found again causing me to feel a stroke of sadness at the single sentiment.  

This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation’s of men, but instead the idea of a possibly new tasseled dream, sparked me into a shimmering prism bouncing glittering, glimmering, glowing rays off my skin, as I put the shine in the sun.
The story behind this poem is to never put your hapiness in someone elses hands. People will come and go in and out of your life but you will always be stuck with your own reflection for company.
Gavin Paul Boehm Jul 2013
Lately I’ve been considering clarifying my spirituality while trying to get a hold on my reality. My days are surreal as I peel away from the human race, putting on ratty clothes to save face and change pace to obtain grace in a place where it can only be found in a name anymore.
I’ve been bound to the imaginary floor of my conscious by fending off faith like false accusations. Thoughtlessness is the root of this mess, as I’ve yet to reboot my less than sincere concept of what steers me down the road of apathy and godlessness. It could be nothing more than arrogance that causes belief in the chance that we learned this dance of existence all on our own; but from what we’ve been shown, nothing can be known without a doubt.
So I strut with a straight spine and my head held high, staring into space while glaring at the sky. I shout at the darkness to get out of my substance so my stance can beckon light toward me to explore my soul and implore me to roll my stone away… but it’s grown accustomed to the moss.
Now, accustomed leads to stagnant and stagnant leads to combustion, which is something I can’t stand for; so I strive towards infinity by growing my affinity for aesthetic authenticity at a constant rate.
The debate rages outside my tarnished gates: Religion teaches hate, but faith can be great when man’s meddlings are left on cutting room floor. Love each other. Treat each man as your brother, each woman your mother. These preachings reach to our basic decencies, but detrimental thoughts are spread through our frequencies, interrupting the harmonious symphonies to which our species dances to each day.
Our hearts know the way, but our brains overcompensate for the seemingly irrational, natural compulsions pulsing us towards our actual emotions.
The notion that we were grown out of the unknown isn’t easy to swallow when the thought of being so along leaves you feeling hollow, but I find it hard to follow along when the almighty one smites men for placing their faith in the wrong plans.
The idle hands of man have branded faith with scandalous standards for eternal happiness, which is why I’m happy to dismiss what some call bliss. But seeing as I can no longer identify as an atheist, I want whatever god will listen to understand me when I say this:
We all miss our respective Mimi’s each and every day, and I hope that mine will see me again one day. But going to church each and every Sunday should hold no sway as to whether or not that is the case. Amen.
Though the hill of life decencies
Into the terror of the valley of death,
Thy river must still flow into my sea,
Though thy yoke of love is full of magic,

Causing the pleasure of thy love to shine,
Thy eyes and mine must still dance in rhythm,
Indeed, the honey behind the magic of love is our
Strong wings that must still fly above the heavens.

© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com
jeffrey robin Apr 2014
~<•>~ ~<•>~



The day
Calling us out

Out of the hovels

••

The simple decencies have been forgotten



The train
Leaving at dawn


Shall be empty
Again

••

We are still lynching negroes

--

She said
" **** me "

NO ! WAIT !

We're supposed to tell each other
I LOVE YOU FIRST !

THEN **** me

••

All the ambulances
Going to the hospital

All the hearses going
To the morgue

(I see you here )

••

The pregnancy

The universe in its joy

Asked you for something

You said --- NO WAY !

••

So many promises to keep

So many  claims
Of hearts being broken

••

She walks lonely through the town

Look !

A young boy

He joins her here
Traveler Aug 2021
Out of the
wretchedness
of a superficial
social set
of decencies
Wrings out
an open hearted
family of hippies

Those of us
who remain
unrecognized
the ones deemed
the wishy-washy
    kind….

But…
annually my people
the creatives
get together
rockabilly, blues
folk, jazz and soul
tie dye and feathers
the goddess so loved
the grove this year
she showered us
in sweet summer’s
sunny starry weather

Arms open wide
as wide as our minds
wider then the sky
creatives
lovers of life
music magic
free of strife

Artist mirrors
a larger truth
allowing
the aesthetics
of all souls
to renew!

I sang my songs
and cast my spells
I basked in the love
that heals all hell!

I bid farewell
my closest kin
until our flames
shall gather again!
Traveler 🧳
Deborah Jarrett Jan 2019
Shane and shay
Only did they enjoy
The most corrupt things of all
Nothing of decencies
Will they partake
Their souls have become ugly
They are still childish
Together
13 is their score
Together
Slick and sly
Do they make
Slimy snakes
Cold embrace
Slick and Sly
Please choke on your mother's
Love
Gone to waste

— The End —